just to say hi, i guess

super busy at work, with like piles of crap to do all the time, and they all need to be done like yesterday, and why is it taking so long, sammy, you can do better.

and sadness, because sadness is always there with me.

and new therapist, because old therapist is quitting to take care of family.  new therapist sounds like parody of soviet ambassador.  he also quotes new agey crap to me like it's deep, and gave me a summary of voltaire's candide that i think was largely made up, based on what wikipedia tells me it's about.  not a good start, so i'm thinking about cancelling and trying to find someone new.

because i don't want to be told that i'm lonely because i don't relax around people.  i know i don't relax around people, i told you that.  i don't like having to deal with lots of people all at once like in person.  it's just...too...how do you make everyone like you?  and then you don't, and you look dumb, and you know they talked about it later.  if only someone cared about the things you do do well, enough to note that you're not just always the awkward one sipping coffee and eating a cookie and hoping no one comes over to chat.

how is breathing differently going to fix that, new therapist?  i can't do your instant relaxation/trance/hypnosis crap in the middle of a party.  i'll pass out and they'll call an ambulance.  that wouldn't be super awkward to deal with. at. all.  "let's not invite sammy this time.  she kind of freaked out and we had to call 911 and all."

super helpful, dr russia.

at least the anti depressant i'm still on keeps most of the worst things down.  my suicide level is still at like 0, which is at least comforting.  i kind of feel like the drugs are a little voice in my head saying, "whoa, calm down there.  let's just not worry about that, and it'll work out ok."

problem is, the bitch says the same thing to like "let's do dishes" and "that's a lot of garbage, maybe we should take that out."

so sometimes i feel like one of those crazy hoarder people.  wow, that would suck.

and sometimes i read stories or see people and make up my own story about them, and terrify myself.  like the old guy at the grocery store who had his wallet on a chain, and some snack bars, and a fanny pack with his money, and a plastic bag of change, and some listerine.  my story for him was that he realized one day that he was losing it.  like major losing it, and in those last few days/weeks/months of sentience, set up a system for himself that ensured he'd not lose his wallet, and keep all his important stuff strapped to him, so when the madness took hold, he would be prepared because his not-crazy self had set him up to deal with the world.

and then i went home and cried for like an hour.  how is that not the saddest story ever?  someone so alone that when their mind goes, they're the only one that can fight back against the madness and the world?  worse: what if that's my own fate, since i have so much trouble connecting with people?  am i going to be driving a robocart around safeway in a few decades, money and keys taped to places that i instinctively know, because that's where they always were ("i'll set up a routine so things are in place, so if i lose it, the routine will help keep things going as long as i can follow the plan").

it's halloween today, i guess.  give me your vampires and witches and zombies any day of the week.  the fear of living alone forever until my mind fades to the point where i'm barely aware of my situation, and have to rely on either my previous self to have protected me, or random strangers being paid $8.75 an hour to make sure i don't shit myself or walk into the street.  which is scarier to you?