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an encounter with a deranged feline. really. |
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| Written by Diana, on 08-09-2002 20:49 |
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September 8, 2002 (7:49pm)
I have to see my medical doctor tomorrow. I'm feeling this unbelievable amount of dread. Do I tell him everything I've done to my body? or do I tell him what I think he needs to know, maybe avoiding yet another painful lecture? Last time we sat in a room together, he was silently glaring at me in disapproval of the self-inflicted scars he found. Panicked, I scrambled for the first excuse I could "I've stopped and I'm seeing a therapist," which, unfortunately, wasn't enough for him. He just stood there, with his arms folded, waiting for me to prove him wrong, that the scars were quite literally...from an intensely painful encounter with a deranged feline. Tomorrow, I have to either allow for an even greater scene than that one, or take the risk of not telling him something important. Since making a scene sounds as bad as not knowing what's wrong, I'm kind of between a rock and a hard place here. I'm sure I'll end up doing the smart thing rather than the comfortable thing, but for now it's too stressful to think about. I know they're gonna weigh me, make a fuss about the weight I've lost, two years worth of scars, the things I've done that they don't even know about yet. I'm really not looking forward to this. This is why I hate doctors, the shock, the lectures, the disappointment. Well, that and the fact that to do the most harmless exam, even the smallest amount of physical contact is usually required. Shall I freak out now or after it's over? I don't want to go tomorrow, I hate that my mother asked if I wanted her to go with me like I'm an invalid, incompetent. I'd much prefer to let this body suffer, die away painfully than go through all this fear, I'm shaking. But then this is why I don't think about these things. I hardly find it productive.
Last update: 08-09-2002 20:49
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