The good news is my doctor doesn’t want to go over my journal entries. These are just for me to sort things out. I said I’d continue writing. I admit, it’s somewhat liberating. The bad news is the meds are going to be cut back with the next refill which is coming soon. I’ve gone cold turkey before and that bit of genius cost me a trip to the emergency room. Between the heart palpitations and the panic attacks I scared the hell out of Warren. Lowering the dosage over time is safer and I’m okay with that. The doctor says I’m dependent physically but can get past that and the psychological part too if we stay on schedule and give it all time. She gave me hell for drinking. I know I shouldn’t have gone out to the bar and vowed to do better.
It’s a cloudy, windy day and I need to go the cemetery. I haven’t been there in awhile. I hate to go and hate to leave. I just want to be near Loren for a little while. It’s a revolving door of pain and if one more person tells me it’ll all get better with time I swear I’ll forgo a response and will deliver a throat punch.
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