Searching for my Happily Ever After.

That meeting with the doctor proved nerve-wraking. But he was very calm and professional and told me that it would probably be best to refer me to a psychologist. I gave him the note I wrote and he's sending it onto the psychologist. So now I'm waiting for a letter from her. Shit, a psychologist.

I've temporarily stopped sessions with Tim, even though I still feel really bad. I'm just not sure how he can help any more than he has. I was wrong when I was thinking about it way back when. He can help, and he has. If it were not for him then I will probably have been stuck in the same situation forever. True, I'm stuck in the same situation right now, but at least I'm stuck in a vaguely mobile sort of manner, if you get my meaning. No? Oh.. sorry. I'm not too clear these days. Tiredness, lack of motivation, desire to withold some information, and volatile moods have something to do with my lack of entries these days, I guess.

Wil blinking well told me the end to the Prisoner, half-wit. I am mad at him. But only when I remember that I'm supposed to be. I will eat his brains for supper.

Good night and I really really hope that Mum or Dad don't open the letter if it ever comes.

--Oh, before I go, I have a new diary now. I bought her from Past Times and I've named her a suitably (in my eyes) old-fasioned name: Edith. Thus inspired by my College friend Edith.

Fare thee well (Those Shakespeare adaptations are very very good. If you're English and watch TV, try BBC1 at half 8 on a Monday if you haven't yet. They are doing modern adaptations of Shakespeare and they're very cool. They've shown Much Ado About Nothing and Macbeth so far. Terrific.)

And fare thee well again.