I was watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. It’s the one where Meredith has appendicitis. She is high as a freaking kite on morphine, headed into surgery where they were gonna cut her open and remove a piece of her insides. I mean think about it, really, take a moment. Remove. Body. Parts. It’s serious business, the risk for infection, something going wrong, bad surgeons, reaction to drugs. Surgery is no joke.
And all I could thing was, “Man! She is soooooooo lucky! She’s on morphine and feels NOTHING! Surgery is so worth it. I wish I were her.”
Yep. It's that time again. Coming up on that evil day. Always causes anxiety, fear and aprehenson. Why? I think the day is cursed. I'm not even sure what I did to incur this kind of karma. If you know, maybe you could clue me in so I can start to make amends.
I know what you're thinking. "Your getting all worked up for nothing. It's still a bit away." And yet, it has already started. There are already feelings of neglect and disintrest. So, on one hand the thoughts run to, why bother? If it's that much trouble don't worry about it. Which has very damaging consequences. On the other hand, let it roll and harbor feelings of resentment which has it's own damaging outcome. I don't know. I suppose I should speak up, but it would be a coin toss as to how that would go. I'd have to wait, too. Why? Because I can't think of a nice way to say what's on my mind. It all sounds venomous. Not a good way to open a dialog.
I never thought I would be this age and be in the situation I am now. (Those of you who know, know. Sorry for the cryptic, this issue is not for popular consumption) It hurts. It's devastating and I feel broken. You'd think that a mile stone birthday would be something to celebrate. Something to care enough about to put effort into. I guess not. Thanks.
I guess I'll go find my therapists phone number, I'm thinking I'm gonna need a few hundred sessions to work this out.
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