So, how long has it been? A couple months I think. I don't really know. I try to pay attention to that kind of stuff, but how long it's been since I wrote on a blog doesn't always seem that important nowadays.
Dr. Forrester says that the blog is actually a good idea. Since I've never been a diary person, and I sometimes feel really awkward talking to her. Dr. Forrester is my therapist. She's not actually a doctor. She went through a special school just for counseling and social work, so she can do this but there is no degree to it. I just call her Dr. Forrester for the mystery science theater reference.
She's really nice. I like her a lot and she has a really scary knack of figuring out where I'm coming from despite the fact that I've never said anything about it. At the same time, I don't think she can do me much good. She thinks I'm seeing her because of PTSD from my hostage situation encounter. Which is true. Kinda.
It's hard to work through issues when you can't tell someone what they are.
So, the blog was going to be my writing haven/therapy journal/whatever the fuck I needed. But I forgot. Because I do that. I did that before all of this. And now, whole chunks of time run through my fingers. It's hard enough to keep track of important things, let alone stuff like ranting to the internet.
I only really remembered because I am hanging out in my home town right now. My dad is getting married, and he wanted me there for the ceremony. I said yes of course, so now I'm at my dad's house, bored and waiting for him to get married tomorrow.
And the weird thing is, the last time I was here was when I started my first blog. Everything's going into a weird circle. Which is unnerving. And at the same time, nice.
Maybe while I'm here I can take back some normality. Or go walk down the parkway. Or something. Anything. Right now, I'm just dying, slow but faster than most people. It wears on me a bit. More than the nightmares I still have or the moments where I could almost swear I'm tied to a chair in that basement again. More than the silence I both fear and crave.
The worst part is the waiting.