I'm So Not Ready for This

I've been walking around for two weeks with a list of noggin doctors in my purse. I just couldn't get up the nerve to call and ask for an appointment. Calling would mean sitting in a room with a complete stranger and reliving shit that happened 30 years ago. It would mean facing everything I've worked so hard to avoid my entire life and it would mean he won. In my head, it would mean giving up and admitting I'm one screwed up individual.

But yesterday, I called. I left a message and half hoped no one would call me back.

This morning, the noggin doc specializing in my specific flavor of childhood trauma returned my call. My appointment is next Wednesday.

I am scared beyond shitless.

After I hung up the phone, a severe case of the herky jerks set in, tears started flowing and I had to take the "extra" pill. You know, the one for when the daily pill isn't enough and I start to lose my noodle right here in front of God and everybody.

I've become my Aunt Gail. I can still remember her sitting at her kitchen table, her forehead supported by one hand, a Bloody Mary in the other and a Salem burning in the ashtray as she yelled to my cousin, "Honeee.. bring me a Valium.. Mama needs a pill!"

I guess the nut job doesn't fall far from the tree.

Anywho.. ya'll have a good one. I'm trying not to think about the perspiration that's forming in the various nooks and crannies of my body.

At least I'll spend the day medicated.

Later Taters!