Did you see what I did there, with the title of this post? Seriously, I crack myself up sometimes...
So. Things are going so swimmingly well this year (not) that Dr H is starting to talk more and more seriously about me having another stint in my favourite mental institution. I think that what scares me the most about this prospect is that, in some ways, I actually find it quite appealing...
Not in all ways, obviously, as it would, once again, severely screw up my relationship with C and L. Plus, there's the work thing and the mandataire de justice thing and plenty of other things. But I clearly can't go on much longer like this - I'm essentially not functioning at all, my arm is a mess, the muscat is calling loud and strong, I do nothing but cry and I can feel the world crumbling around me.
I'm perhaps kidding myself, but I feel as though going back there would allow me to just forget the shitstorm of crap in my "real" life and take a break from it all. Regroup, so to speak.
On the other hand, going back there is, well, going back there... And it's a scary place, a place where I've already spent waaaaay too much time.
I just don't know. I'm in two minds (how appropriate)... I can see why Dr H wants me to go back: he's worried, I freak him out. Hell, I freak me out. But it seems like such a total failure - another one, to add to the already horribly long list of failures that make up my pitiful life.
I'm seeing Dr H again on Thursday, so we'll see how that goes.
I'll keep you posted.