Apologies for not having posted in a few days and for not having visited your blogs too. I'm not sure what my excuse is, but the following factors probably played into it: fatigue, insomnia, inability to make myself do the things I should be doing, confusion, depression, and fear.
No, not fear of writing, but fear of catastrophe. Fear isn't really the right adjective, but I will explain. Over the past several days at random points I will suddenly feel like I am going to die that day. Not that I will kill myself, but that there's an overwhelming sense of doom and my time is up. At first this was somewhat distressing, so I tried to reach out to my friend SS but she didn't respond (and when she did respond the next day we talked about her life, not mine). So I haven't really spoken about it to anyone.
Today I had an appointment with my surgeon from two weeks ago. He said everything looked great. Then he said I had an assignment: to read The Beauty Myth by Naomi Watts, a book that argues that as women have made strides in gaining rights society has devised a new tactic of keeping women from living to their potentials: honoring a very narrow definition of beauty to which all women want to strive, and because women become preoccupied by this concept by buying makeup, getting plastic surgery, and developing eating disorders they can't achieve anything significant. Then he said that he wished he had brought me a cheeseburger. Then he left. (The appointment lasted all of two minutes.)
I left the office on the verge of tears. It's difficult to articulate why, but I'll give it a shot. For one thing, I don't believe I look underweight, so hearing that kind of thing from my doctor confuses me and produces a lot of cognitive dissonance. And the cheeseburger thing-- he made it sound like my life will be solved if I just get fat. Then he left, never really expressing concern directly, but instead making these covert statements and suggestions. The appointment was supposed to last for twenty minutes, so he had the opportunity to express genuine concern and offer genuine help. But he was running an hour behind, which I guess was more important than my life, so I got two minutes of his time and odd doctoring strategy.
I want this thing to kill me.