Today's topic is fear, with a heaping side-order of self-loathing. And in no small way I'm a pretty frightened individual. I've been waiting for some kind of word from the doctor I saw last week. So far, no response. I know that lab tests take around a week or so to be processed, but I'm literally climbing the walls in agitation. Patience is not my strong suit.
Erm, back on topic. I'm not fearful about the test results, I'm pretty positive that they'll be ridiculously normal. I'm fearful about my future. Hell, I'm fearful for my present. As the time has passed since my psychological hiccup, I'm starting to remember things. I've been lying awake and alone in my apartment, psychoanalyzing myself. I'm starting to remember hate, and hate of myself in particular. I feel saturated with it. It taints everything, every perception, every other emotion. I feel as if I'm slipping away, with waves of it crashing over me. Why do I hate myself? I'm not completely sure. But I have ideas about it, sensations. I hate the way I look. At times I can barely gaze at myself in the mirror. Sometimes, when I can bear it, I look at myself and sometimes I catch a glimmer of myself beneath the flesh. I almost feel tempted to find something sharp and cut away the things that hide me underneath. But I don't. At least not yet. I remember this feeling well. The feeling of being buried alive, inside myself. It's haunted me since I was at least 16. And now it's back. And I keep trying to find some kind of help, but all I find are dead ends. This will kill me, if I can't get help soon. I'm very afraid and very angry.
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