therapy

October 31, 2026

The end of another month. Two months left in this year. I think that the pills I'm taking are effecting my desire to do this, or is changing it at least. At the same time I don't really care. No great loss. That attitude towards it is likely also coming from the pills. It has only been two weeks and one day. I feel something, but not much. I wouldn't say that I feel good, or even better. Maybe weird. Like my senses are slightly more tuned in. They say the full effects won't be felt for 4 to 6 weeks, possibly up to 8. Maybe it will get better. Maybe it will get worse. I feel like Frank in Hellraiser when he acquired the box. I don't care which way it goes. Maybe it will tear my soul apart.

It would be funny if someone robbed a pharmacy and accidentally stole a bunch of these pills to sell on the street. Hey man, do you wanna buy some pills? One a day will make you tired, dizzy, and nauseous for a few of days, then give you a headache and make you gassy and constipated for two weeks straight. Then you'll feel kind of weird for another few weeks. At 4 to 6 weeks, or maybe 8, things might get better. Alternatively, your life could turn into a horror story because of them. Only 2 cents a pill. Ah whatever, just have them for free. Good luck. Have fun.

I'm supposed to come up with something to focus on in my next therapy session. A reason to be there. The first visit was sort of a general outline of my life. What do I hope to get out of it? What would I like to focus on first? I knew the questions were coming. Hilariously, they stressed me out. I guess anxiety, I said. The therapist said it has to be something more focused, narrowed down. I agreed, and said, yes, I suppose anxiety is a pretty broad stroke. Then it was time for me to leave. I said I would think about it. And I have been thinking about it.

I'm a dog running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Leash dragging and bouncing along the ground beside me. Life keeps grabbing the leash and jerking me around by the neck. Wanting the main course. Getting table scraps. It is fucking irritating. Is that also too general?

If I start typing things about it I might resolve it, and then I won't need to go. Not really. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I hope to gain from therapy. I don't know anything at all. Maybe that is a good starting point. I'm fifty five and I haven't figured out what I want to do with my life. I've just been taking it as it comes, as is. What's that they say, if life gives you lemons? Make lemonade? lol, more like, what am I supposed to do with this fucking lemon? I'm as is. Like an old car crumbling in the weeds and tall grass beside the driveway, or in the back row on the lot of a crooked dealership. Uncertified. Broken. Needs some work. Leaky gaskets. Rusty around the edges. Rotting frame. Don't look under the hood. Vision going. Tinnitus. 2 prescriptions. Tired.