Get busy living… →[More:]

Or get busy dieing—so says Morgan Freeman’s character from that prison movie in which he stars with Tim Robins whose name I’m forgetting at the moment. I just checked my email accounts after a month or more and a lot of stuff had been piling up. I wanted to write to a friend of mine and tell him how sorry I was for not following up on the thread that I started about a movie club on another board. I feel like a broken record for saying this but I went into a depression again. And I feel a little hesitant admitting this but I think it may have something to do with the fact that my friend’s so much more talented at writing down his thoughts than I am that I sometimes get threatened by it. I don’t mean this to sound like a reason for him to ever feel like he’s got to think twice about saying what he wants to in front of me, but I just wanted to be totally upfront with him—it’s not his problem; I’ve got to think of a way to deal with it myself.
Another thing that I’ve got to work on is my need to be loved. Not everyone has to be my friend. So a girl that I know is probably too busy for me, and another one’s already spoken for—it’s something that I’ve got to get into my head. I was watching The Sopranos and it was the episode where Tony starts to woo his psychiatrist even though you could see how painfully obvious it was that there was never going to be anything even remotely possible that would come out of that relationship if it was ever taken forward, and it was a bit of a jolt for me to think that I was in the same place where he was, and still am until maybe a day or two ago. (The doctor said something really insightful that I needed to hear: it’s not his decision to make alone, and that her wishes need to be respected as well. Respect—I wish I’d thought of that sooner.)
I went to my shrink yesterday after fearing that she may think I’m a hopeless case since I’m so horribly slow when it comes to my recovery. I always seem to be oscillating between my highs and my lows and don’t plateau for any considerable period of time. I asked her if she minds me being in the office every month with the same problem and she said she wouldn’t be bothered even if I came in shouting and screaming. I’ve also decided to restart my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy since stopping it and thinking I could do it all by myself; it looks like I need more help than I thought I did. But I do have my bright spots from time to time. Like at my doctor’s office—when the guy who takes the appointments acted a little smart with me I wanted to punch his teeth in, but I got over it fairly quickly and stood there chewing my gum. After he had finished with his work and turned to me I made the appointment and gave him a piece of my gum instead. He smiled.