Well, you know I don’t live in Las Vegas, but “fear and loathing Down Under” didn’t quite have the same ring.
A lot has happened since my last post. Too many twists and turns to describe in detail. What I did want to talk about is this:
Funny how you can be travelling along kinda nicely, if a little miserable, but trying hard to believe in the faith that others have in you, and then you do something that makes you feel completely and utterly ashamed of yourself. Disgusted. Appalled. Filthy and rotten to the core. A dirty, rotten scoundrel*.
Yep, that’s me.
I’m not going into details, but trust me when I say I’m disgusting. I haven’t been able to shower enough to wash off this scunge. I haven’t wanted to write for fear of infecting you. And I certainly don’t want to talk to my therapist about it (though I will, my Inner Compass is good at keeping some common sense, even when the rest of me completely abandons all rationality).
And, yes, it has made me want to do things to myself that I haven’t done for quite a while.
For those of you thinking this is just my Inner Critic talking again: it’s not. She’s very quiet at the moment. She’s just sitting smugly in the corner filing her nails. It’s a shame the rest of me couldn’t follow her lead.
* Use of movie titles unintentional and of no psychological significance, other than perhaps that I am so pathetic that I cannot even to find my own words to describe how I feel.