My life is defined by all the things I didn't say.

My life consists of me doing one agonizingly hard thing after another and it never lets up. And, in the end, there's just no pay-off. I mean, fuck, it took me how long to finally try and give therapy a real chance? And the punchline is that I'm having to quit after three months because of insurance problems. Are you reading this and facepalming? I would be. I am so fucking stupid to even hope that things might become better for me. There is no use trying when all I ever do is just spin my wheels and not ever get anywhere worthwhile.

My therapist no longer accepts my insurance.

What other appeal does this blog have, really?

Therapist is out of the office this week and feel like tearing my skin off. More than usual, I mean.

I wish I weren't so paralyzed all the fucking time. I wish I could have said and done the things I wanted. But sometimes (most of the time) I can't move and I can't speak, I just go on autopilot. My eyes are burning and I don't know what the fuck I'm trying to say. Sunday has come early this week, it seems.