Monday, September 24, 2012
I still don't know whether or not I should go.
On one hand, it would be nice for him to add a few refills to my Seroquel so I don't have to call and beg for it when I run out. He won't do that unless I see him face to face with an update.
On the other hand, I'm not okay. The deal with that is he'll ask me what I think we should do. WE. As if he's swallowing the pills right along with me and dealing with the thoughts running through my head constantly.
He's not a psychotherapist. He just hands out the pills.
So I don't know what to do.
I don't want to go through the whole weaning process if he decides to pull the Seroquel out from under me.
I don't want to go through the side-effects of adding something new to the Seroquel or in place of.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.
I am so fucking tired of this game of round and round she goes...
It's all so unpredictably predictable.
I could spit nails today. Spit them right at you and pin you to the wall.
There's no feeling left on the outside.
My insides are catching up to that.