I remember that line the night he learned I cut myself, the same night he did too. It's true, he may have a bachelor's in Psychology but we can't do much more than know what it's like.

I saw my new psychiatrist today, my 3rd in 3 years, and he really put things in perspective for me, but not to what I liked. All my diagnosis' may be wrong, I need a slow overhaul of my medication, all of it, and when we were done he heaved a sigh, looked at me, and said, "there's a lot of work to be done." I didn't want to hear that, I wanted to hear something like "okay we'll just take this out and give you this, you'll be fine." But no, I've made no progress, it seems, since I began going to professionals for help in 08.

The reason this bothers me so much is I planned to be gone from here by this time next year, moved in with Hattie and doing the college thing. Knowing I have a lot of work to do on myself and that it will take a long time, it throws a wrench in everything and I could be stuck where I don't belong because I'm mentally sick. I don't want to subject him to the way I am now, he'd murder me and I'd be scared constantly he'd leave because I'm up at 4 am whining like a cat that I'm hungry or bored or whatnot.

Honestly I'm not sure what to think. On one hand it could mean this is finally the help I've BEEN needing, but on the other I'm lost again because if all they've told me over the years is wrong, what's wrong with me? Is it fixable? Will it tear apart my newfound dreams of being with someone? Not to mention tomorrow I still have that vaginal ultrasound to see about the cyst they found on my left ovary 3 months ago. I'm not even sure I ever told him about that, seem moot to now.

One step forward, a mile back.