Friday 8 July 2011

Actually managed to sit up for most of the day today. Still taken a lot of morphine, but it hasn't flattened me as much as the last two days. And the neck pressure has eased a bit. I even managed to do a couple of jobs - wash up, go to the post box.

But still, as I lie here ready to try sleeping, I feel miserable. And guilty. And angry. Guilty over the nurse visit that hasn't happened yet and the doctor's fucked up medical report. Angry that my efforts to find a replacement for the shrink failed because nobody bloody listens (and why am I having to do the investigating anyway?). Miserable over everything, the unending-ness. I keep thinking 'I'll just wait till after my sister's been on Sunday'. But I know I'll get to Sunday night and not do it.

I'll just keep trudging along because I'm genetically incapable of quitting. The stubborn determination and persistance that got me through an abusive, neglectful childhood now deny me the relief I deserve. What once was an asset of personality has become a liability, forcing me to stay here, living an existence that I wouldn't foist on my worst enemy.

It's like when I wanted to leave my phd programme; I knew that was what I wanted, I knew it was best for me, but still my drive for approval was so strong that I couldn't give up. Finally, I managed to convince myself that me wanting something was justification enough - that I had the right to give myself what I wanted. I just need to realise that again, so I can finally, gratefully go.

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