Then the hour long bus ride down Tropicana and across the Strip. The highlight was seeing the High Roller for the first time. The people weren't so bad on that ride.
We spent two hours at the Doctor's office getting things cleared up and getting me in to see him and get my scripts. I complained vociferously about Robin being gone and the stress it had put on Doc and I, not being able to get a hold of anyone and finally having to come down there when Doc should be sleeping for work. Then we talked about other things. Like how I was trying to get features of my delusions and hallucinations down on canvas. And how I was constantly doing research about my illness online. He thinks this is very good. He feels that the more I know about schizophrenia, it's causes, treatments, and other such things, the more able to manage my symptoms, and help Doc to help me, I will become.
Now, about almost blowing up the house. Doc got home very soon after I posted about it in here. So the house still reeked of gas when he came in. I had to tell him what happened. That was strike one. I don't know how many strikes I get before we have to seriously consider in-home care for me. I don't even want to talk about it.
I didn't have nightmares last night. And I didn't have any during my nap, either. I'm still a little fucked up about the ride home yesterday. It was really fucked up. I had to make eye contact with a bunch of people to communicate with them on the bus, and there were a lot of weird people on there that scared me, and I was trapped on the moving bus with them. It was horrifying. The whole thing was traumatizing. Yes, I'm a big ol' pussy in person, when I haven't had my Xanax.
Once we got to our neighborhood, Doc told me I could take off my boots and walk barefoot, if I wanted. I tried to sit down, but the curb started coming up to me, and I grabbed Doc, and told him that was ok, I'd wait until I got home. Stupid vertigo. Don't ever want to feel that again.
My Doc Martens used to be so comfortable for walking, but in the last three years or so, they feel like they have wee fists at the toe that grab my three smallest toes while I'm walking and just go, "scrunch, crunch, squish, squeeze" the whole time I am walking. And I don't get why. I may have to switch from my blue Docs to my green Docs. I think they are a bit bigger. And I found my Vans in a box out in the garage last week. Time to go out and fetch those. They're ugly but comfortable.
The good news is, I think I remember how to get out of this neighborhood to get to the street that leads to Tropicana. There are several corner stores at either end of it, and I come out smack dab in the middle. I had five dollars for snacks and drinks yesterday, but I spent it on drinks for me and Doc. I'm not accustomed to having cash, and try to rid myself of it as soon as I get it. But I know that Doc would give me $5 to hold on to for a corner store run, if I asked him. Then I could try to find it on my own.
Ok, my typing is waking him up. This is going to be a very slow two and a half hours until I can wake him up. The sliding glass door wakes him up, so I can't go outside. The TV will definitely wake him up. The pain from his shoulder is what really wakes him up, but he blames it on whatever noise he can think of me making. I should just put my headphones on and read twitter until 5 when he gets up.