My psychologist Scribbled down on Wednesday, 14 September 2005 21:54:44 PM
Dearest diary, I am refered to a female psychologist because of my past. When I went to the appointment last week Friday, I met up with a nice man who was there for the introduction. He has this very funny smile, I think even his neutral face expression is smilingly. He asked me a lot of questions and I tried to be as professional as I could be. But when I was asked about my life at home and the past, he made me remember something pretty bad. I thought it no longer hurt me. Al used to help me to feel comfortable about myself due such experiences, yet as I narrated I got teary eyed and cried, for no comprehensible reason. He offered me some tissues and a glass of water to calm myself down. We talked a bit and he said it was best for me to talk to a female psychologist instead of him. After things go better and I feel comfortable I may be able to return and we'd look further. My temporal psychologist is an old lady who is rather firm, yet sweet. She won't be around by next year anymore. She made space for me for a short period. I came out as a hopeless, helpless, 'exceptional' case. I told him if I had to rate my suicidial urges, it would be 8. He doesn't know I'm always on 10. I daily seek ways to step out. I didn't want to sound severe but decided to be honest about it. I asked him as well that I wanted to be hospitalized as I am sick of being home and he said he could put me somewhere for four weeks but then I'd have to go home anyway, it would serve no purpose. I sighed sadly. This is just a hasty tale of what happened last week. I came out of the office with red eyes and my mum thought they were forcing me to go back to school. I just nodded to give her something to talk about. If I say no, she will want to know what made my eyes so red. She ranted the whole way home how she was praying for me for things to go better, trying to console me. Rather kind. If she only knew what I was really doing. She would be upset as she thought the past was a closed case. No one should touch or talk about it. I also remember another experience I couldn't remember during the conversation. I will never know what some people had in mind with the (weird, unusual) things they do and I question myself if I didn't have a voice, in what kind of state I'd be in today. I don't want to know. Next week Friday I will have to go again. I like the area where it's situated, rather quiet and I like long busrides. Tomorrow another appointment with 'authorities'. *sighs sadly* My brother bought a scooter today and he's rather happy, so happy he demanded me to come and take a test ride with him. It's nice to see him in a good mood, at least he's not mad at me. The ride was awesome. Except my bum got numb and my knees sore and my thighs like they've been kept spread up with some ropes for a long period. I thought I was going to colapse. My legs can't bear my weight sometimes for being so skinny. They really are. L. knows I self-injure. I had to tell him. Imagine if we meet up and he sees my arms accidentally, I don't want him to bounce back or find me disgusting but then, he hadn't seen the rest of my body yet, especially my thighs. Will we ever come so far to meet each other? How much does he like me to say he wants to share the same cup of chocomilk with me? Will we ever come so far to be... inseparable? One day we talked, I woke up the next day with an urge to clean everything, so I sat and tear up all papers I had saved up creating mess. What's wrong with me? Now I keep staring at his pictures as they leave me so.... *fill in* He is so beautiful. So so beautiful. It's like admiring a nice piece of art, it's not mine... Maybe if I can afford it or am worth it, it can be mine. Maybe. There's always a maybe. *shivers of cold* I do miss him...

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