Saturday, January 23rd. It is the dead of night and I dread the upcoming days.
|23 January 2021
I decided to finally reach out to a psychologist, or psychiatrist. I can never keep straight which is which. At some point I'll figure it out. I've decided that I need to have someone real to talk with about this, someone I can let into my personal life.
My headaches are making work harder again, and my visions have become more intense. This should die down in a few weeks, but it's never pleasant and the aftermath of these turns are never fun to fix. The episodes fortunatly haven't gotten longer and don't seem highly associated with stress, but their lack of cause always worries me.
It has been 73 days since the end of the last time, 11 days less than last time around. With any luck, the most severe point will take place in 3-4 days. They usually do.Maybe I can fake an illness Monday morning and ride it out through the worst of it. Maybe I won't have to this time around.I don't think it's too noticable to most people. Even when seeing things, I can usually try to ignore them and focus on something else without affecting my mood and behaviours. I think my roomate knows, but I can never tell with him. I hope he doesn't.
He is a unique person, one of those people you meet only a few times in your life. He has a child-like innocence to him, always getting overexicted at giant monster movies, or old sci-fi movies. I live for the little moments where I can see a flash of this happiness. It gives off such a distracting positivity, that lights up wherever he is. I'm better for having met him and crushed inside that of all people he now has to burden himself with my friendship.
Regardless, I've put my keys away and stocked up my groceries. I'll get as much work done as possible for Monday, but I dread it. If I stay in my appartment, I can teather myself to something real and avoid falling into my own mind, even if it is the boring beige paint of this cheap appartment. At the very least, I know this is real.