|image courtesy of nipitphand at freedigitalphotos.net|
So, I'm going to go. I have considered pretending I went and telling my family that I did, but decided against it (tempting as it is.) In the end, the person who'll get hurt by that is me, and I've had plenty enough of hurt to last me for a while thank you very much. But it doesn't help that I know I'll have to wait at least half an hour past my appointment time - maybe as much as an hour, with the off-chance of more - just to see the doctor. Because by the afternoon they are behind and running late. Hell, by the third appointment of the morning they are behind and running late, and it just gets worse from there. So I have a plan. I'm going to take my book.
What's so different about that? I hear you ask. Nothing - and that's the point. I'll look perfectly normal, just passing time away before a regular, routine appointment. But inside it'll be different, because I'll have the book. I can sink into it - wash away my fears and hurt, if only for a while - and find myself totally immersed in the world of the book. I can steal the strength of the characters, feel myself wandering through the streets of their world, watch them and feel with them through the good and the bad - but I won't be thinking about the appointment. I won't be sinking into the darkness of my illness, dropped away into the spirals of my own thoughts. I won't be letting the anxiety - I get a touch of it with the depression - wind me up like a clockwork toy until my heart is beating so fast I can't speak. It'll keep me calm. It'll keep my mind off things until the time of my appointment.
Reading is my crutch. It's got me through plenty, and it'll get me through this. I'm a reading addict, and I never want to stop.