In typical form, my desire to write is peaking even as my ability to type due to my damaged wrist is at its worst. I don�t even feel as though I have anything to say really I am merely bored to death with my temporary disability and itching to return to the life I am building.

This injury isn�t timely either, not that injuries are ever timely but this is a particularly bad time. I am on the verge of completing the final logistics of my transition from married to single. The legalities of my name change are tied to my signature and because of my untimely fall I am currently unable to finish the task of name change. The paperwork must be accomplished in a specific order and I am stuck in the middle, not legally a stark but not yet officially a miller. I can�t finish business with my ex either. Since I am currently unable to sign my name I can�t sign my income tax check to split with him and so I must delay the final meeting until I can write again.

There is no Peace for the wicked.

The concept of closure which possessed the psychotherapy industry for so long is a slippery concept. I don�t kid myself into believing that when this last bit of business is accomplished that I will be truly done with it all but I also feel the act of having to see him for this business like an axe hanging over my head. Even with the knowledge that it will not fall I am still aware of it and it wears me down.

I developed a rash from the pain medication I was given after my surgery (humor me on this I�m going somewhere) so the doctor prescribed Darvocet instead. This is a particularly harsh pain killer. The main trouble is along with controlling pain it causes depression. How a Doctor comes to prescribe Darvocet to a bipolar individual is beyond me but the Vicodin causes a rash so I tried it. I got so depressed. I forgot how that feels. I was thrown back to the depression I used to experience before the medication that final leveled me out and showed me how other people experience the world. I was already almost in tears at the restaurant having coffee with my friend when she told me that her ex-boyfriend (with whom she is still maintains a friendship) had been �hanging out� with my ex for a month or so now (see I told you I was going somewhere with this). I experienced a rush of emotional crap. She told me he wasn�t drinking anymore, and complaining about how difficult that was, and all I could think was why couldn�t he have done anything like that with me, quit I mean, then I got to thinking I was the cause of his misery, That is when it occurred to me that the medication had put me right back to square one. All the growth I thought I had made was gone and I was in that same sinkhole.

He is not the future for me, I don�t know if my sweet, attentive (not perfect, though) young Beau is my future. I only know what is not:

Smoking
Drinking
Un-medicated bipolar
Over-medicated pain

The rest is unknown to me. I can�t see where I am going, only where I have been. Even the past is foggy to me due to both my condition at the time and time passed since the events. Now is so mercurial. By the time I remember to pay attention it is gone.

I wish you Peace

~alison~

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