I never finished telling who I am. I’m so afraid I won’t remember me when I’m done with this.
I don’t like walks on the beach because sand is hard to walk on. But I do like listening to the ocean and smelling its smell. I like playing in the waves.
There’s this horrible song about a loser who writes a personal ad and sings “Do you like pina coladas, and walks in the rain.” Puke.
Who the fuck likes to walk in the rain? It’s cold and slimy and you’re likely to be hit by lightning or slip on a wet spot.
I can’t speak to pina coladas because I’ve never had one. I’m not a big drinker, but I’ll have whatever Carrie Bradshaw was having. She has the life I was SUPPOSED to have. Living in New York, somehow having enough money to buy plenty of shoes, wonderful clothes, fabulous friends. She stole my life.
But I can watch it in reruns and sip my non sweet tea.
It’s obvious I have an obsession with tea. No, really it’s because I’ve been treated like crap by Georgians when I say I want non sweet tea. They really treat you shitty when you do that. They know you’re not a native, they know you’re an alien. And they know you don’t have any idea what a cotillion is unless you saw it in a movie.
I don’t have a single native friend. Only aliens like me.
So I have some friends, but it just never turns out like it does on Sex and the City. We don’t have these great regular meetings at the diner and we don’t all wear Malano Blahniks. My friends tend to fly “home” a lot to flee the southern hospitality.
Another thing about me: I’m sarcastic. I’m a native East Coaster (city unknown; god knows I could be identified if I named the city…so few of us).
I like flowers and sports, clubbing and the other normal things. I’m from a nice family and I miss them. I go home for holidays, but I miss Sunday afternoons with everyone. Maybe that caused my [tag]depression[/tag]. Or maybe it’s really some chemical fuckup. I don’t know what to believe.
I’ve tried so many medications and other psychiatrists have given me other diagnoses: depression, bipolar, schizoaffective, borderline personality and just plain FUCKED UP. I think the other “diseases” were just excuses to charge my insurance more and pump me full of more meds. It was all such crazy shit and then I found this guy who said it’s just plain old depression.
He’s got the fix.