I think far too much. I know that last week, during the time I was at university I said less than 10 words to people. Nothing beyond meaningless greetings and empty thanks. I’ve fallen back into old habits in some ways, I listen through doors to make my getaway while no-one is around to stop me and enter into the awkwardness of a corridor conversation. I still have no friends in any of my classes and I move further from that with every passing day. I’ve spoken to someone on facebook but they don’t even acknowledge my existence in real life, probably to ashamed to let it be known they ever associated with me. I miss meals, hoard glasses and rubbish for days before daring to emerge from my hideaway.
I’m stuck. Apparently they don’t want to take me on for CBT until the suicidal thoughts stop. I don’t know how I can stop them if I can’t make any progress with these problems, assuming it’s all (or at least a major part) in my head like people keep telling me. I’m not so sure about that, I think people are just reluctant (or contractually bound not to) tell me that I’m a hideous looking screw up who is far too damaged to ever have a chance at being acceptable to people. Now I am in a dilemma, either I lie to my psychiatrist and hope CBT comes through soon, or I tell the truth and get nowhere. They can’t help me except by cramming pills down my throat but that doesn’t fix anything. I can’t call the crisis team, I’m not having a crisis. I don’t think there’s a line for people that slowly but surely fucked their lives up completely and are beginning to realise that it is far too late and a life of solitary misery is all that awaits them.