So, What the Candy Man and I Figured Out

Yet another personal post, but it’s not that heavy. Still, I’m putting in a cut.

So I visited my psychiatrist (I call him the Candy Man because he gives out the good meds) the other day…

… and I found out I like the hospital’s cafe food. That I ate there at all was because I went very early, as I didn’t feel like dealing with traffic insanity when the week had already knocked me over for six.

It was actually a nice cafeteria, tastefully decorated even if the little flower vases at the tables tended to tip over. There was a nice omelet, and some nice sausage and toast, and really, it was the only good meal I’ve had in days. When you consider that I like to bake bread or experiment with steaming and the slow cooker, this is probably a decent indicator as to where in the valley of sad I currently am.

The experience was comforting in a way, probably because the hospital just reminds me of college, with its weird furniture and really easily cleaned carpets alternating with expanses of linoleum flooring. And there are cafeterias where people cook you things like omelets to order and there are tiny cartons of milk. And there are key-card activated locks and video monitoring and campus police.

Anyways, this was the first time I checked about 80% of the right-hand column on those little quizzes they give you before appointments like these.

So after some decent crying in my psychiatrist’s office, we figured out that, ever since a very close friend of mine left the company, I haven’t had anyone with whom I’m not afraid to actually spend long hours in the company of outside of work. It’s the PTSD thing. It leaves an ugly impression when it passes by. Naturally, knowing that I no longer have such a haven leaves me mentally sort of strained, and makes everything worse, in a death spiral type pattern.

I managed to hold out for over a year. And I can’t do it alone anymore. The increased sadness blogging in itself is a sign I tried to ignore.

There is really no way I can get of things at this point. I get a new therapist guy, who also works at the hospital, and my appointments for the next while or so with the Candy Man are going to be more regular, so I guess I’ll get to eat at the cafeteria more often. They seem to do some interesting meals, actually. Dessert, less good, but I sort of can’t really taste dessert right now. Medication isn’t changing, because I react in very bad ways to experimentation in the past, and now is probably not a good time to try all that.

I’m going to go eat Wheaties now.

P.S. – whitespaced out ’cause it’s not a nice thought I cannot figure out why so many abusers also strangle. Like, okay, the punching, the kicking, sometimes the throwing of stuff… death threats by knife or being lit on fire are rather unique. I would have thought strangling was, too, but apparently it is as common as the normal beating stuff among male abusers. I can’t imagine why. It seems quite difficult to do, at least from what I’ve experienced on the wrong end of it.

As a sort of byside, if you have a female abuser, they don’t like to get hands-on too much like guys do, since it tends to be harder for them, so knives become more common in that spectrum, but it’s not like an either-or thing with the sexes.

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