Maybe, two months ago, I should have seen a grief conselor. I had a premonition that if I didn’t I would feel the ramifications. I think I was right. Now, the affects of not doing so is beginning to show.
- I have a terrible time sleeping.
- I am not organized.
- I am a blimp with no control over the binging.
- I am in Phoenix and wish to be home.
- Home, the safety of my Library is paramount to me.
Now, I wonder, what do I do. I am only worried about my eating. I have absolutely no self-will at this point. In fact, I feel like I don’t give a damn. At the same time, I also worry about what this fat midriff is doing to me. I fear a heart attack.
I may fear a heart attack, but if I should get one then I prefer it to being massive, rather than having it bring me down, have me taken to a hospital and poked at endlessly. That is torture to me. I prefer that not be a reality.
Why, I hate hospital’s, I know what they can do and I can’t let that happen to me. I can’t be there and be poked at looked at. I was born the wy I am and because I hate the reality it makes me not want to be examined. To many times I have been and I die a little each time. I much prefer going to my grave without such untruthful poking!
Am I depressed. It’s hard to say because usually I feel much differently when I am depressed. Now I feel only to be in a la la land. Thats it i just float through the environments and discussions I have. Can’t seem to settle down and focus on what is beeing said.
I have to think all this out!