Letsdo the time warp again

Ok so 5 years or so back i was having a discussion with my GP. I wanted an antidepressant that didnt have sexual side effects and wouldnt make me gain weight. I knew bupropion had this profile and was widely used in the us.  The gp looked it up ans said he couldnt prescribe it except for quitting smoking.
This is the widest prescribed AD in the states, effective as an adjunct to ssris, combats comfort eating, actually reverses ssri sexual disfunction...but the nhs will only give it for quitting smoking.
I bring this up becauseyesterday I sawdr snidearses boss and he wrote a scrip for it straightaway.
Aside from that I suppose the meeting went well. My agoraphobia has been worsening but I keep going out in a limited way. Dr endoflevelbaddy wasone of those quiet voiced psychsyouwant to thump. So I ended up goading him with psych intervention evidence quality.  Normal stuffreally.
Meanwhile still want tk die.

and so we beat on, boats against the stream...

OK so on Monday I was taken in to A and E by a combination of hunky police and wiry paramedics, given tea, assessed and ...sent home.
The politics of the IDT meant the team at the hospital couldnt formulate a care plan, and said they would sort it and call me yesterday.
They didnt, of course.  Well, you knew that.
Today kicked off with a massive attack of the squits, at 5am.  probably something I ate.  OK now tho. But it left me exhausted.
And still no care, or care plan, or contact with care professionals.
At 2pm the manager of all the local IDTs, I suspect that makes him Sauron, rang.
Basically he was saying he was looking at what PALS had said, and I had said, and was calling the IDT to point out that what I had asked for, although tricky, ws reasonable, and must be done.  So victory.
However...
He said he felt that things with me and them were sooo fucked that maybe I should transfer to another IDT locally.  I suspect this may be a good idea.  But it is likely to take several weeks. In the meantime I am left with Clarice, a broken relationship and nothing much else.
He, like me, did not understand why they had been so pigheaded all the way along when it was clearly damaging me.
but then who does understad that?
anyhoo...we shall see wha happens.  He was phoning Clarice to ask about that urgent care plan from monday.  no contact so far.  cant be that urgent.

I sometimes think Kafka was a total optimist

So yesterday was a crisis.  Or rather yesterday the crisis I have been in since February came to the surface. I am an unusual psych patient.  Well I am an internet horse for a start. But beyond that...
I have spent my entire life subsuming emotion.  I operate two parallel processing systems, one emotional and one rational.  the rational one floats on the surface and that is the one you talk to.  i say rational not logical because Spock, as I call him, does get passionate about some things, and stubborn.  But in a reasoned, strategic way.  You come to me with a crisis and Spock will sort it out.  No blame, no emotion, just sort.
The emotional person, Emo, is doing all the feeling but like any juvenile drooling idiot is not allowed near the controls unless Spock is incapacitated.  Emo is like Dana's personality after possession.  There is no Emo, only Spock.
But Emo has been in trouble for a long time.  Spock doesn't enjoy things, that's not his role.  Emo hasn't enjoyed much of anything since 1980.  At the moment Emo is  covered in napalm and burning.
Yesterday Emo came through a lot.
Of course Spock comes to the surface at times when i interact with people.  When the police came to my house for safeguarding Spock offered them a cup of tea because that's what you do to guests.  The paramedic and I chatted on the way to A and E (no way could I drive) because that's what you do. (incidentally Suffolk police and paramedics v rugged.  Recommend).  So for long periods I appeared normal.If that's a word.
And the assessment team...they asked questions, so Spock answered.  Lucidly.  And all the time i was burning, burning.
I am burning still.
Because of course politics got in the way.
After yesterdays meeting I walked out and sat on a bench outside for 2 hrs.  I called PALS who were livid but powerless.  Eventually I called MrsInky, who was kind.  She rang off, called my GP to raise the alarm, rang back, talked to me to find out where I was.  I drove home at 20mph curb hugging, washed up, made a cup of tea and ran out of distraction.
I have been distracting myself since February.  When I ring out of hours line they tell me to distract myself.  The only treatment I have is distraction and sleeping pills.
Gentle reader how long could you distract yourself, so that you never have time just to sit.  Are never alone with your thoughts?  I have been doing it since February.
Spock is exhausted.  He will respond to provocation but it has to be quite strong.  Beyond that he is done. Hawkeye in the flu epidemic style done.
So yesterday I get taken to A and E by a rugged paramedic.  And they give me some tea, and put me in a waiting room, explaining they need to get a crisis team, but ask if I need help pro tem.  So I sit and origam for a while.  Then they come back and say someone from the IDT needs to come up for the assessment.  I say unless the IDT agree that Dr Snidearse is not in the loop I do not want them there, and pass that on to save a journey.
So when the assessment happens Clarice is there, I say to him "Snidearse is out of loop?"
"I cannot give that undertaking"
"Well then I want you to leave.  And tell Snideearse personally that I withdraw all permission for her to treat me."
This last because then I know she knows, for later unethical behaviour proceedings.
So Clarice leaves.  I give my version of events to the crisis team.  Or Spock does.
And then the problem.  Because I am under the 'care' of the IDT they have to be involved in formulating a plan.  They knock off at 5. So the conflab cannot happen until today.  They weren't going to admit me, which would have been my favoured option, that and some horse sedatives.  They couldn't medicate me.  They had nothing else and couldn't do a care plan without the IDT because politics.
It isn't like the IDT were treating me anyway.  Clarice is a social worker and is just about organising life changes. If my head doesn't change I have no life to change.  I have no psych intervention (I know they are a placebo but even homoeopathy would be welcome at this point.  Hell I am in the gym.  I will wait till some sane people are swimming, hit the pool with a bible then drink some) I have no meds beyond sleeping pills. And Smirnoff.
Everything seems predicated on the idea things will get better.  they won't.  Everything from here is worse.

Right round baby right round

So today has been mildly hellish.
I am in high levels of pain and asthenia.  I forced myself to do my gym workout but had to be very careful of form. Slightest deviation from perfect form resulted in massive pain.  I got some endorphin help from it but not much.
After that was the appointment with myself, Clarice and Clarices manager (Jack, I suppose) to discuss ongoing issues like are they going to offer me any treatment, or a firm diagnosis, or in fact anything.  Recall I was referred to the MH team BEFORE my life fell apart, so just dealing with the adjustment disorder is not dealing with the issue.
You recall also that due to her being an unethical untrustworthy snidearse I sent a letter some weeks ago refusing my psych permission to treat.  This means I do not want her having access to my notes.
Therein lies the rub.  The one thing they keep saying is the cannot guarantee that the Psych will not have access as they work as a team.  I point out this is a gross breach of confidentiality and ethics and means that I cannot access their service and am left totally without care.  They say well thats the system. I point out this is an ethical breach, a breach of their statutory duty, a  breach of good practice and contrary to recent high court rulings over patient autonomy.  They say, well she is a good doctor.   I point out she may be good but she is unethical and IS NOT TREATING ME and so showing her my notes is a gross breach of confidentiality.  they say but we work as a team...and round we go.
It has been 4 weeks or more since I had someone to talk to about any aspect of my life.  I have no social support network IRL.  No one to interpret the actions of people for me.  I have no treatment.  I am not sleeping well at all, late sleeping, early waking.  No pills, Well I have some opiates but having weaned self off those not keen on relying again.  Too much alcohol is too much.
A lot of the conversation today kept veering towards them saying they wanted to discharge me.  I pointed out this was a gross dereliction of a duty of care.
They are, for the second time, going away to consult and getting back to me in a couple of weeks.  meanwhile no treatment.  I have their numbers n case I need them...they do not realise the barrier here.  I would literally rather die than be forced to share confidences in these circumstances.
There are areas they are looking into motion in- pathways to firm diagnosis of aspergers for example.  but it all comes back down to the same thing- they cannot ask Dr Snidearse to leave the room when discussing me.  Why is beyond me, but they feel unable to do this.
What do I want?  well vengeance would be nice.  But two things- I want some way out of the hell I am in short term.  I also want some reason to hope that life can be better long term.  that there is some way for an aspie to be happy.  Because I am not, and have not been for a very long time.  i don't want to continue like this for another 35 years.  Just thanks but no thanks.


UPDATE
emailed the relevant PALS.  they say they are going to enquire as to why exactly my suggestions were not put into place immediately.  watch this space

Welcome to Airstrip 1

Ok so more on the psych issue. I have put in a formal complaint about the psychiatrists behaviour. I have specifically asked that she not be gjven any access to my notes and be asked to leave the room when my case is being discussed, pending the complaint being dealt with.
Today my caseworker said his manager told him that the psych is part of the team and so cannot be excluded.
I talked with the manager and said that was absolutely inappropriate. She should be asked to leave the room when I was being discussed. He said he could not do that. I pointed out that as I refuse to be treated by her sharing info with her is breaching confidentiality....round we go.
Net result is that I cannot access any support until this changes. I have had an awful awful week, this weekend will be worse. Cannot think of Sunday without thinking of swallowing all my trazodone at once with whiskey. And am abandoned. No drugs, no help, nothing.
The procedures here are a joke and absolutely unethical.

The songvremains thecsame

longer term readers will know that I hold the psychiatric profession in almost as muchesteem as genital Warts
Also you may remember, I had a serious issue with a particularly egregious misdiagnosis attempt by the current one where they were trying toget me pwt in the punishment diagnosis of narcissistic personality disorder.
At a subsequent meeting this quack accepted how wrong this was. She also said she would write to my GP. and ask for the Z drugs, the only treatment on offer, to be reissued.
So I go to GP today and find not only no letter about z Sonow I look like a drug seeker but also a letter saying narcissistic but dont tell him because he gets upset.
bloody right I do.

l havealready rung in askng for an appointment and making sure the receptionist write down formal complaint, unethical and incompetent. l have a checkup with Clarice tomorrow so that should be nice and stormy.

The woman should not be seeing patients.

people think I'm insane because I am frowning all the time.

So today was a day.  still is in many ways.
first was chasing around to get new contacts to try and also pick up cheap Harry Palmer glasses for enhanced driveseeing. That went ok.  I keep trying new contacts because i hate glasses but wearing contacts so far is like tipping sand in my eyes.  Horrible feeling. new ones frankly only slightly better.  2 hrs in and i want to inssert an icepick.  am using comfort drops at vast rate.
So after that I went to the psychiatrist.  Her role seems to be as a central clearing house for admin and platitudes. I tell her my issue is that I am just keeping moving with no real purpose and when i stop the emotions are unbearable.  She says tht often what people need is to keep moving till things sort themselves out.  I point out its been 45 years shouldnt something have sorted itself out by now?
I still lack motivation for anything.
I am biologically redundant, evolutionarily redundant, societally redundant.  What am I for?  Anyone posting a comment about the intrinsic beauty and worth of life will receive a parcel of irate mustelids by post
Speaking of which saw 2 weasels crossing my path this morning after the school run.  They were very quick, you could miss them quite weasily.
In life news Spock is arranging dates and stuff.  Its very strange.

you don't know where you met me, you don't know why...

Well today was something of a bust.

First of all the psychologist rang and arranged to see me in a couple of weeks, not today.  He asked if there was anything he should know first...so I said read the blog.

So Hello Clarice.  Do you seek to dissect me with this blunt little tool....

Lord knows whether Clarice will bother to read the blog or not. My expectations are not great.  Pace Cathy but psychologists are the homeopaths of mental health.  they weave their elaborate placebos whilst nature takes its course.  And that is just the good ones.  The bad ones do a lot of harm.  The last one I encountered, at Luton, was a spiteful witch frankly. Tried to slap a BPD diagnosis on me because I objected to her using my first name without an introduction.  The one before that was wet as a herrings bathing costume.  And before that....well a team of them.  Inlcuding the stereotypical art therapist with pencils stuck in loose bun of hair and tie-dyed smock, the earth mother type complete with nursing babe and the one who thought he ran the place.  As Edmund once said, as effective as a catflap in an elephant house.

So why do I bother accessing these folk?  deadly combination of hope and nothing else available.  Same thing that makes people watch Jeremy Kyle.

Aside from that...I had plans this evening, which went tits up due to force majeure so i ended up going to the cinema on my own.  saw age of ultron, which was remarkably grown up though The Vision was borrowing so heavily from Dr Manhattan he nearly turned blue.

But after I left...the old sadness set in.  Rough.  All the things I am doing- they are just distractions.  Spock has been busy setting up stuff to do.  Emo is still rocking.

Something else that had me rocking was the physio this morning.  I mean ok, attractive etc.  but at one point the diagnostic tantric moves he had me doing triggered a bout of no 10 pain from shoulder.  He was flapping around saying do you want to sit down whilst i was just seing flashing lights and trying to remember how breathing went.  I didnt swear at the poor lad.

Later i went to the gym and worked out because I needed something to feel.  gym went well but then i swam...
My favourite stroke is a towing sidestroke- i used to do lifesaving back in the day.  Well as I was doing this...understand how it works, you use the lower arm to pull forawrds, the upper arm is the towing arm.  seeing as I was on my own it was floating.  Weeelll my body contracts as I stroke, a motion that would look like a side to side wave...as the left side contracted my floating ribs decided to pop the wrong side of my iliac crest.  Because I have a hypermobile lower spine and vertebrocostal joints. instant searing pain.  Then the muscles in my side spasm, wrenching my pec and shoulder, which rotates my shoulder and subluxes my elbow.  So now I am spasmed into a sideways curl, left arm not working, cant use left foot, cant lift head out of water.  floated vaguely to side and hung on.  slowly by degrees spasm eased but my god I was close to unconscious in the water.

Oh and my jaw hurts.

fckit

Think I know how a coyote feels When he's howling just to Ease the pain,

In a way I have always been two people. I think it is a science thing.  Let us call them Spock and Emo.
Spock runs my life.  He does not do emotions.  you give him a problem he looks up the most rational solution then serves it up with no value judgements and no pack drill.  problem--> solution.
Emo is normally pushed into a corner.  His responses are emotional and therefore unhelpful.  In any interaction Spock gets first dibs and Emo is only allowed out if time allows.  which it rarely does.
So in a crisis I am quite frequently saying to people "drop the emotion we don't have time for that" and then getting on with it while others are flapping around blaming and crying and stuff.

Even now this is the case.  I keep saying that filling in my diary keeps me alive.  This is because Spock runs the diary.  While he is in charge there aren't any emotions so it is great.  I wish he could run it all the time.  So I need a job, Spock is applying for jobs.  I need some comfort, Spock is browsing dating websites.  I need help with mental health, Spock takes me to the psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist sees this as signs of wanting to move on, signs of belief.

This isn't right.  Spock doesn't believe in anything, he selects the best match from available options. In fact if Spock did believe in anything he would be a total hindrance as a scientist.  I think this mindset is difficult for outsiders to assess.

Emo does not believe that help is there.  He is beyond despair into destructive behaviours.  Accessing Emo results in tears and helplessness and lashing out at walls etc in a pit of pure animal hurt.  Emo is currently like a slug in a box of salt, squirming and dissolving in a world of pain.

Spock is getting desperate.  the problems he is being given are basically "how do i kill myself painlessly" and " how can I get myself locked away" which even Spock can recognise as unhelpful.

So with the psych, like today, when they ask how I am emo comes up and I start crying.  then when they ask what I want from them Spock pops out and answers rationally and in a controlled way.  So I appear to be coping.  Not typicallly depressed.

Actually my trajectory...It is like a chess player trying to play for a stalemate when someone keeps removing his pieces from the board, limiting his options into smaller and smaller pieces of the playing area.

I am currently down to a pawn and a broken horsey.

All I can think about is death.  Emo wants it and its about the only move Spock has left.  This may be adjustment disorder or whatever.  I do not think I can survive it.  The psych keeps talking about accessing the emotional side.  this is the opposite of what I want.  If I could arrange never to access that madness again I would be so much better off.

And if I say, I really knew you well what would your answer be?

So I spent most of the night grinding over the visit to the shrink.

I am currently waiting on a callback from the team.  My intention is to tell them their services are no longer required as I have lost what little faith in their abilities I ever had.

The problem is that yesterday during conversation the shrink mentioned her diagnosis of longer term issues would likely include narcissistic as a characterisation.  Quite how someone with self esteem as low as mine, with a history of continually putting others first, sacrificing career, standing and health to support others etc. can qualify for that is an interesting leap of mental gymnastics.

During the sessions of contact with the team I have rehearsed the basic problem.  I am asocial, but lack a peer group.  My brain functions in an idiosyncratic way at very high speed.  I read faster than I think, have an IQ in the dubious range where the measurement is so high it is meaningless (IQ only measures IQ though) and if I relax and speak at my ease only 3 people I am aware of stand a hope of keeping up.  The boss who just sacked me will cheerfully refer to me as the brightest person he has ever met (He has worked for decades in Universities classed as top ten in the world) and the guys at Cambridge refused to do pop quizzes with me in the room because my brain was cheating.  My peer group in the intellectual aspect ( emotionally I am a stunted toddler and physically...my 9 year old daughter can whup my ass at 10 pin bowling) is a disparate group of similar hermits scattered by the vagaries of genetics.

Of course the shrink sees this and instead of trusting me, believing what I am saying as simple truth I can back up with evidence and helping me cope with the grinding loneliness assumes that this is an exaggeration, that I am self aggrandising.

This is so much like every other interaction I  have had with psychologists and psychiatrists and so disappointing.  Time after time I reach out honestly and display the problem, to find them treating me through a prism of their own distrust and limitation and trying to label me as something that denies what I am so that I fit into their world.

Enough.  No more.

The truth is that a long term diagnosis would be career useful but I dont have a career.  The shrinks short term diagnosis of adjustment disorder is plausible, but there is no treatment beyond "taking it day by day" which I have been doing for 34 years so fuck that.

It was foolish of me to expect more.

The inkybars are on me...

Just back from the shrink with the normal feeling of time wasted. I fear my total lack of respect for the validity of the field may come over. Monday is the next appt when a Plan will be revealed.
Anyway it may comfort some to know my cookery does not always work. Yesterday one of my betes noires, wholemeal bread, went very wrong. The result could bend light it was so dense. Tips for wholesome wholemeal welcome.
Normally I would commit bread pudding but only I like it round here. So I thought....lets invent.
The following is a work in progress but my god it yums. I giveyou inkybars.

Oven 160c
4oz oats
3oz butter
8 oz demerara sugar
I loaf wholemeal bread,small, whjzzed into crumbs
1 bramley apple

Line 2 medium loaf tins, about 3 in by 7 in with non stick paper.

Melt the butter and stir in the oats and half the sugar. Press into a layer covering the bottom of each tin. Cook in oven for about 20 min till it browns. 
Cover each base with a layer of breadcrumbs1cm deep at least. Use a mandoline to slice peeled apple ina layer on this. Sprinkle with sugar, then add another layer of apple, then sugar, then breadcrumbs again then finally sugar. Put one tin on top of the other, a third on top of the second and a weight in that. The idea is to cook under pressure.
Cook for about 25 mins till brown.  Allow to cool. Slice. Nom.

With a pink hotel, a Boutique and a swinging hotspot.

I live in Margaret Thatchers frot-fantasy.

The developement where Inky Towers rests was pushed through in the eighties just after The Maggon shot the Parker-Morris guidelines in the head.  Parker-Morris set a standard for how much space should be allowed per person in a house.  Ever wondered why dwellings from pre 1980 cost much more than new ones and are so much larger?  That's why. When they went you got what we have now, hutches.  our 3 bed semi is actually a 2 small room and a cupboard semi.  The largest bedroom gives you a choice: double bed, or the ability to walk around.

The houses on our development, and there are way smaller ones with 3 beds, are sold mainly to young aspirationals. Not blue colour but pastel white.  It is quiet and ha a green for them to play on.
I am the only one with a front rose garden, of course, because I love roses.  Typical really, it just matures and I have to sell it.  Albertine reached 12 ft by 20 ft this year.

In the mornings at 8.30 everyone, me included, gets into their car for the school run.  the doors click in unison.  On alternate Thursdays we put the bins out.  It is the picture of ordered neighbourlyness.

It drives me potty.

Foal has now got used to me singing Malvina Reynolds greatest hit as we drive to school.  It is irresistible. I just cannot stand the conformity at the same time as being drawn to its sickly addictive grasp.

Structure and system rule my life and mind.  I struggle when I do not understand where I fit in.  Or what the people round me are for, what they want.  People lack purity of intention, due to woolly-mindedness.  So this kind of conformism seems attractive.  but at the same time it is all structure without benefit.  they all suffer in these hobbit sized houses with their giant sized mortgages because they think they should.  Something went very wrong here.

My daily shrink visits continue.  Yesterday I met a trainee who I  shall call Eric.  Eric sat in the meeting where I was pouring out my bitterness and hurt and was clearly moved by it.  I spoilt it by asking, at the end, what the hell switch flipped in his head and said "I want to be a Social Worker" but then I suppose there is no answer to that.  Unless they are all on community service, or Lizard Men in deep cover.

Anyway on to last nights recipe, which was a kindacassoulet.  The idea was a stovetop stew to do while foal and I were out.  I included chicken breasts for foal and mrsinky but any tender meat will do, rabbit quarters or pork loin being good ones.

1 onion
3 duck legs (in suffolk even the ducks are inbred)
2 chicken breasts
4 rashers bacon
A smoked sausage of some sort, skinned.
olive oil
1 large can white beans
a good handful fresh green beans
a tray of button mushrooms
a tray of baby corn (optional)
a bouquet garni heavy on the sage

You need a heavy based pan.  this is an old fashioned layered stew so respect the order.  First bone your duck legs.  It isnt hard, just cut down the inner thigh and circle the leg.  Remove tendon but keep the bone.  Tie the legs up with string into parcels.
Chop the onion and cube the bacon.  fry in olive oil until the onion is dark.  Add in the duck legs and brown top and bottom, then fish em out.  brown the leg bowns on both sides then leave them in the pan as a lattice to form a layer at the bottom.  the bottom of your pan should be dark brown here.
lay the duck legs on top of the bones.  then the chicken breasts on top of that.  then the white beans.  then the green beans.  then the mushrooms, then the bouquet garni, then the baby corn, then lastly the sausage.  Pour enough weak stock or water over to just cover the duck leg layer.  put a tight lid on.  bring to the boil then turn right down.  leave it for 2-3 hrs.
Thicken with beurre manie or cornflour, making sure to incorporate the fat which holds the flavour.  traditionally this is topped with breadcrumbs then toasted.  Serve with new bread or rice.  It is VERY filling due to the fat.  You should serve with a spoon and dig down through all layers.  at 2 hrs the duck will still be parcels.  at 3 it will be duckpaste, which is actually nicer.

Safe in my own words, learning from my own words Cruel joke,

Reason notwithstanding, the universe continues unabated.

I am running out of bottom.  Actually I have a bottom the size of Brazil but I mean emotionally and lifewise.

Avid readers will remember that my wife of 11 years asked for a divorce.  That was on a Saturday IIRC.  I spent a few days pleading, and then another mourning.  And then I thought "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again"  so I rang my boss to find out about a back to work plan.

Things at work had been strained for a very long time.  He has no idea of how much shit I tidy up for him without him having to deal.  Much of that shit is generated by his lack of organisation.  And this is me saying it.  All he sees is me not there at 9 am. I have a medical note for flexitime and I also always put in more hours than on the contract. The 9am thing matters to him because he wants to be able to pop in first thing and dump surprise work on people.  For me that is very disruptive.

Anyway the upshot of the phonecall was stay off sick because you will not have a job to come back to.

So, no wife, no job.

Still living in the same house as wife, and generally things are amicable.  But I am dying inside.  Last night she was upset with me for reasons I didn't really understand (remember I don't do social cues so I may be in the wrong and not know it.) She has made it plain that a marriage is not going to work, not in the normal sense. I am not going into details but what she said has made me hate me so much.

Before xmas I had a job, a wife, we were trying for a baby.

Now I have...a tattoo. This process is like someone taking a knife and cutting away everything I valued or self identified as and making me loathe what remains and the mess the process makes. Every night I pray I will not wake up, that I can just die in my sleep. That undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns would be most welcome.

I go through the motions.  I sent out a cv.  I am thinking of getting a dog.  In my idle moments I think of getting  a bivvi tent and some second hand kit and just walking somewhere.  anywhere.

A lifetime ago I did intensive group therapy at a place called the Red House.  I then finished my PhD, got a variety of jobs, found a girl, settled down, I wanted to so I married, and I thought I was going to grow old and be happy.  But it turns out that who I was was incompatible with that.  So 20 years later I find myself in the same place, suicidal, alone, hurting, no job, no partner, no soul-mate, pretty soon no family.  the last time this happened I was still fairly young. Rebuilding a life from nothing didn't seem such a fools errand.  This time I feel like life has just finished with me.  I cannot go through all that again.  Back then I had friends.  My marriage got rid of all of them, they are strangers to me now, with lives of their own.  Here I have mrsinkys friends. And I cannot ask them to choose.  It is clear when I talk to them she feels hurt so I shall stop doing that soon.

I can either accept the mixed metaphor and do a caligula against the sea of troubles, or oppose.

The psychiatrist has me on daily visits to make sure I am still breathing.

In other news last night I fainted in the bathroom.  This follows a day of joint hell and a serious sublux in the swimming pool.

How many more hints do I need?

I got speed, I got everything I need

So today  was round 2 with the shrink. Or with shrink 2.
This one is pretty intent on labelling me with Aspergers. Im a bit ambivalent there. I do show many of the aspie traits but dont show lots of others. It is also a  useless diagnosis as there is no treatment as such. On the other hand such a diagnosis may be useful with HR.
She was not on my wavelength at all. Kept saying the label would help me understand myself. Nonsense. I have the phenomenon so the name is meaningless. A cat remains a cat whether i have a name for it or not. I do wonder if the shrinks ever really listen to themselves. And if so how they keep a straight face.
I dont deny aspergers or another asd may be part of the story but its only controbutory imho.
Ho hum. Normal for the territory.