78 Days Later

I can't believe it's been that long since I went crazy. Since I went totally nuts, tried to run away, and ended up at a mental health clinic. 78 days since my mother and husband sat there in a tiny-ass meeting room and listened to me spill my blackened guts to a complete stranger. I can't believe it's really been that long.

Once again I am sitting here in my bedroom, completely indecisive about what I should do with myself. Should I finish unpacking? No, I can do that later. Should I read a book? No, I'll just get bored with it. Should I shave my legs? No, I should be doing more important things. Should I apply for jobs? No, I don't feel like that right now.

So many shoulds. So much time wasted. My therapist told me that I need to have down-time, so that my mind can rest and I can go into the next thing with more clarity. But I just spent half an hour playing Halo 2, and I still feel confused and anxious. What am I going to do with myself?

Yesterday I bought SELF magazine. I thought it would help me improve my self-esteem. I read a bunch of it, and I think it helps, cuz I get to see that all these other "normal" women are having a tough time in life even without a mental diagnosis.

My self-esteem totally sucks. My mind is always berating me, blaming and guilt-tripping me over and over and over again. So I thought doing something "selfish" would help me out on that front.

I think I'll go take a shower and shave, and try to enjoy it AMAP (as much as possible).

Yay.