When I rescued her, Jamie, I did so because we both needed saving. I was her 3rd strike; after me, came the needle. No one’s gonna save me; my depression does NOTHING but get worse and worse. I’m so tired of being sad ALL THE EFFING TIME. Butch keeps making comments that my mental faculties are slipping. He’s begun to insist on apologies from me ALL THE EFFING TIME. Am I really that bad a person? Now, he has matthewwhiteheadpsyd@gmail.com, my psychiatrist, and judysiderer@aol.com, my case manager interface, advocating his point of view for him. Maybe I really am that obtuse & SELFISH. Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.
a blog that is also meant to serve as a recovery journal, for this gay, Quaker, writer dealing with t.b.i., from surviving a hate crime in Sligo, Ireland, on 1.31.99.