Options

Okay, I have two options. I can continue my blog vacation, in which case I'm going to have to call Therapist and talk to him before my next appointment, or I can use the tool that's been helping me through the last few months and act like a responsible person. I have to do something because not doing anything isn't working.

My resident pedophile continues to lurk here, but doesn't speak, which is a step in the right direction. The purpose of my blog is to help me reason through my past, present and future, not a forum for him to air his concerns about human nature. Should he feel the need to do that, blogspots are free--he can build his own. A wonderful friend sent me an e-mail today and said the following: "We are all compassionate people 'round these parts. You most certainly are. I'm imagining that parts of this guy's story make many of us want to try to be open-minded and understanding and Christlike in not rejecting him from a community that might benefit him ultimately. But when it comes to the contamination of sacred space, even Christ himself was not opposed to physically throwing out intruders... It's your space. It's your emotional, spiritual home. A place of true convalescence of an injured soul." Normally, I don't really care who visits. Unfortunately, having this person continue to visit is causing me some emotional distress--which sort of ticks me off. Oh, and by the way, Wonderful Friend--thanks--and I love you.

Reasons why I either have to blog or call Therapist:
1. I can't sleep. When I do, my dreams are nauseating. I wake up sweating and afraid.
2. I can't eat. There's no more room inside me for food. And I don't want it.
3. My guts feel twisted in knots. I don't know what to do about that.
4. The aching sadness that left me months ago is back--more strongly than ever.
5. I'm hurting. Most of all it just hurts.

Today was the worst day yet. Everything multiplied to the point that it seemed overwhelming. I tried to sleep briefly at noon, and had a dream that I was cutting once again. The relief was amazing, the guilt enormous. I woke, and realized that the compulsion was still vividly alive. I thought I might go online and talk to someone--found a friend, and decided the last thing I wanted to do was contaminate his day with my deficits.

I went for a run. I realized after the third mile that my moodiness had been taken out on my friend, and he didn't deserve it. Somewhere in the fifth mile something gave inside and I was able to find some peace.

I'm going to work through this. I'm not going to call Therapist. I'm going to make it back to the place I was before I got interrupted.

But just in case you talk to me in the meantime, and I'm a little crabby...please forgive me. This is really, really difficult...and I'm so tired.