This coping thing, it is like a dance sometimes and not the graceful, choreographed, art type of dance. I'm talking free form at its worst...best. Something. The plan of attach to get well is mostly just words; spoken and written. The script is there, but the actors are not playing their parts. Except for me and I'm kind've improvising to stay on top... Well, not on top. Can't be on top if I'm actually rock bottom... but top of the bottom... or at least; looking up. I'm looking, trying to push things to also be looking up in the reality sense. But the treatment, the plan, the things that were supposed to happen, aren't. If I did that, they would do this and then that would happen and I'd have to do some other stuff and the hey presto and chain reaction would begin...knock those dominoes down... Theory. I'm now maneuvering as best I can, dodging and distracting the bad stuff, and shifting my energy around trying to keep my balance. Ha! I ran out of medication today. Can't afford new til next week. Out of favours... well, I could ask, but would like to hold on to that last ounce of dignity. The system sucks and bites and I'm suitably unimpressed. Oops, time to start the record again.
