It was a beautiful day in the bay area. The perfect day to goto the beach, get some sun, relax, and people watch. But I didn’t because I was afraid that I would see Suzanne.
O.K., how about a drive down to Santa Cruz? Go down to the pier; get some food, walk along the Boardwalk, ride some rides, play some games. Nope, I might run into Suzanne.
Well, how about the Renaisannce Festival at Golden Gate Park. I could go, rent a costume, have some turkey legs and maybe finally buy a cloak. Except that Suzanne could be there…
Dave Matthews in Golden Gate Park…Yeah, right. I will never be able to see Suzanne.
So what’s a psycho like me suppose to do. Goto work. Yep, spend another weekend at work, cleaning up the place and doing alot of unnecessary stuff for hours on end.
God when did I get so pitiful? Have I always been like this? How did I ever have any friends? Did they all just take pity on me?
I think the wierdest part is that I really don’t care at this point. I care enough not to go out anywhere because of an unrealistic fear of seeing Suzanne. Like she would even give me a second look or thought (Or a first one for that matter).
The prozac has gotten me to the point where I am numb and don’t really care. I’m forcing myself to type this for some reason. I’m not sad and depressed, just numb. Is this really better? Am I really getting well or worse?
A 40-something rediscovering life in California