A couple of nights ago Mr. M and my mom (and me, sort of) had this long talk about how my diet was so important. I agreed to a sugar free, white flour free regime. I know it makes me feel better, but for the past couple of weeks I just ate and ate and ate sugar – candy bars, ice cream, all the good stuff. I shocked everyone by eating a pound of See’s one day in about 12 hours and a box of Drumsticks in about two hours. They were good, too.
After Mr M went upstairs I was treated to a State of the Union speech on how much my wedding cost, how much it cost them to keep me at Berkeley for almost three years, how muchthe house cost and how they can’t give us any more money. Of course they can’t! We didn’t ask. And now I’m carrying around this weight.
Money talk always screws up my mood. In fact, the last time I went to the hospital, I believe, there was a direct correlation regarding having one of those chats with my dad. I just can’t deal with it. At all.
Trust God, right? Who says I’m not? But we cannot ever pay them back for all they’ve done for us. Should we have to consider it? I wish I didn’t. I wish I could change rolls with Mr. M and let him handle all the finances, things would probably get better, but he can’t do a good job. Like I can. Whatever.
I called the doctor and she called me back. She asked me how suicidal am I. I have a plan, a fantasy, of the way I would do it, but I don’t have the materials to carry out this plan. She wants me to go to the ER to get evaluated and I am not going to do that because that will put me in the hospital for six days. I don’t have the energy for that. If I’m going to get my butt to school I have to learn to manage my moods better. I’m not adverse to drugs or hospital stays, but really, it’s too much of a pain in the butt right now.
I want to go to sleep.