i'm alone in the apartment, something i'm not all that comfortable with at night. no real reason, i just stress the fuck out. i wish there was a tv working in my room because i would just lock myself in there and feel safer. but i can't spend the next three and a half hours without the tv. sad, but true, it is my best most constant companion.
i talked to doc about what i've been feeling and how things are spinning out of control. he had no response, except that he knew i was keeping something from him. no reassurances, just a roll of the eyes. i even told him i'd been hiding symptoms so i could convince him i'm recovering and not sick anymore. so he would love me again. because in my mind that's how things work. but not in the real world and i felt i owed him some kind of warning. it was before work so there's not a lot i could expect from him in the way of big reactions, he had just woken up.