I am going back to therapy tomorrow. The last 6 weeks have been too much. I am in the library and feel like I'm about to cry. I've done just about everything on my to do list, so I'm giving myself permission to feel shitty.
Everything feels like a compulsion right now. Writing, sex, exercise. A run would help me so much right now, but my legs hurt from how much I've been running. About a mile in, my thoughts start to disappear.
I don't feel hungry right now, but I should. Maybe Thai food would be tasty.
I don't even know if I like my therapist. He just understands OCD/skin picking/etc. and he's not involved in the mess my life currently is in. Or perhaps I should say feels like it's in. Everything is okay in some cosmic sense.
I don't want to spend money on therapy. I'm trying to spend less money. But my mood has been sour, so I haven't been cooking much. I'm spending too much money and now I'm going to spend even more too much money on therapy again. I suppose if not cooking and therapy are what I need to get my shit together, they're what I need to get my shit together.
Maybe I'll take klonopin tonight. I'm craving it right now. I know, accept that I'm craving it and think about what that means. It means I want to feel less anxious, I suppose. Therapy! SSRIs?!
Everyone around me right now talks about how sex is a coping mechanism for various things. Sex is never (or perhaps rarely) just sex. I use sex for intimacy, rather than just accepting that intimacy is a fleeting and inconsistent feeling.
God. I want to have sex right now. Too bad I have a raging yeast infection.
I don't skin pick as much when I cry or let myself show sadness, anger, or frustration. The urge disappears when I express intense emotions. I skin pick to keep myself together. I was trying not to cry in the shower the other night. I made my fingers bleed and then broke down and cried anyhow.
Everything feels like a compulsion right now. Writing, sex, exercise. A run would help me so much right now, but my legs hurt from how much I've been running. About a mile in, my thoughts start to disappear.
I don't feel hungry right now, but I should. Maybe Thai food would be tasty.
I don't even know if I like my therapist. He just understands OCD/skin picking/etc. and he's not involved in the mess my life currently is in. Or perhaps I should say feels like it's in. Everything is okay in some cosmic sense.
I don't want to spend money on therapy. I'm trying to spend less money. But my mood has been sour, so I haven't been cooking much. I'm spending too much money and now I'm going to spend even more too much money on therapy again. I suppose if not cooking and therapy are what I need to get my shit together, they're what I need to get my shit together.
Maybe I'll take klonopin tonight. I'm craving it right now. I know, accept that I'm craving it and think about what that means. It means I want to feel less anxious, I suppose. Therapy! SSRIs?!
Everyone around me right now talks about how sex is a coping mechanism for various things. Sex is never (or perhaps rarely) just sex. I use sex for intimacy, rather than just accepting that intimacy is a fleeting and inconsistent feeling.
God. I want to have sex right now. Too bad I have a raging yeast infection.
I don't skin pick as much when I cry or let myself show sadness, anger, or frustration. The urge disappears when I express intense emotions. I skin pick to keep myself together. I was trying not to cry in the shower the other night. I made my fingers bleed and then broke down and cried anyhow.
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