The kind of week where you call your psychiatrist and she advices you to turn your phone off for three months to get rid of the “noise” AKA THOSE DAMN KIDS!
Impossible to implement in real life but she thinks a trauma therapist would be best for me. I feel like therapists make you rehash your shit in precise detail all over again and that in itself is.... Traumatic. Am I right? That’s why I believe, and don’t send me emails, please, that AA is a crock of shit. Sit around, tell your worst story for laughs every fucking meeting for 30 years? Honey, sweetie, you’re still an addict, you’re just addicted to meetings now...... Still hanging with the same crowd! Just smoking and drinking coffee. Still getting high of those memories and the memories of the newbies....... But, hey, that’s just me. What do I know, anyway? I’m just a two semester psychiatrist.
I won’t bore you with the details of the rollercoaster this week has been so far and it’s only Wednesday.
Except for this!
Saw my surgeon!! Most complicated, unhelpful situation so far. He, a uro-gyn surgeon, says it needs to be kicked up the food chain. HE can’t perform the surgery. Please help me.
He did spend a lot of time trying to steer me away from suing my other surgeon who just happens to be his age ( 36.... wtf?!) And who also graduated from LSU.... Go Tigers!
And as a bonus, I had an exam.... a whopper of an exam. I have no pride left. I’m devoid of pride. An empty black hole is taking up the space where pride used to reside. What could be better than that?
I’m doing more and more art and it makes me happy!
Have to go, there’s paint with my name on it!
Cattails!
Tracylynn
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