My hole

Um, so I am kind of a mess, and I guess I am perfectly willing to go on open access on the www and discuss. Yuk. Being that my friends read this, my spilling my guts is the closest thing to a catharthis is the form of a mental rape as anything out there.

Forgive my bitching. As I said, I am a bit of coal in the smushpot of angst.

Purely chemical, I assure you. My hot Bollywood star of a General Practitioner may have placed himself on the bottom of my New Delhi racial epithet receiver list. We have been back and forthing for a week about refilling my antidepressant scrip. He's just pissed because I have been cheating on him with my weekly visits to my hot Jewish specialist, and wants me to come see him to shoot the shi&.

So I am officially under withdrawals, complete with the resplendent panic attacks, staring into space, and overall overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Sorry kids, my long love affair with the silver spoon and the whore named - well, hmm...I never did name her. Only meth heads name their bitch. My bitch was so righteous she never needed a name. Anyway, my long love affair left the neurons in my head a bit googly. Need drugs to counteract the overwhelming depression that would set in otherwise.

So life is a peach. I am neurotic and terrified and full of nightmares and terrified wakings up at night. Dreamed the other night that the two men closest to me died the same evening. Left with soaking wet, salty pajamas and an incredible need to go skinny dipping.

As always, my man has sensed my neediness and my fear and has disappeared into some silent hole. It's as if he appreciates having such an energetic, independent woman around that the moment she turns into a creature of need, he runs as though she has a split personality.

Enough about me. How are you all doing?