I am apathetic.
In my dining room, there are no curtains. Anyone walking down my drive is free to peek into the room and see what's going on. Oh gee...look at that! She has her purse sitting right out on the counter for all of the snooping world to see. My problem is I don't know what I want. Do I want woven blinds? Do I want curtains? I can't commit, so there is nothing.
This problem is deep seated and overflows into all aspects of my life, but seems to point right back to that night in December when I made the worst possible decision I could, and got out of my car. My inner voice was screaming at me to get the hell out of there, while the devil on my shoulder was simultaneously calling me a coward. I let my psyche down by failing to pay attention to the right signals.
Though I'm sleeping better, it's not a normal sleep. At least twice a week, I take something to help slumber along. The rest of the days are spent waiting for the medications to wear off. Apparently, I'm sensitive to some drugs. While I've had no recent incidents at work, I spend the majority of my working time willing the hospice hot line to be silent. Now that's a trick.
Like every Wednesday, I saw the therapist yesterday. She asked me, besides knitting and reading, what I do to take care of myself. The question took me aback and I've been thinking about it ever since. Frankly, besides those stated interests, I don't take great care of myself and I could do better, if I could only muster enough energy to care.
Today, hoping to make a real change in my life, I saw a new psychiatrist. I refused to see the last one I saw, Dr. Charlatan. He sucked. This one really seemed to care and we've started a new plan of attack. Well, OK. Started is a strong word, but the new prescriptions are filled and I'm willing to keep an open mind about it all. I'm trying...really, I am.
I want my life back.