I saw a therapist yesterday. His move from a cottage to the fifth floor of a building brought my fear of elevators out of hiding. He met me at the Village Inn and we sat in a booth and drank coffee during the session. I needed advice about Kenn. But somehow the talk got around to our family history and the abuse. Hal says that phobias and depression and anxiety and other symptoms are being looked at more closely. Many times they are symptoms of "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." I am familiar with that diagnosis. Many veterans suffered it long after wars had ended. I worked with some of them myself. Also, people who had gone through catastrophic events. Now, he says, many others are being diagnosed with PTSD, including people who have been abused.

Somehow, I don't know why, I feel relieved to have a diagnosis for my symptoms of depression and fear. Maybe the dx validates me, makes me realize I have good reason for feeling the way I do. I can stop criticizing myself and stop listening to the criticism of others. That doesn't mean I won't try to overcome them, just that while I am working on it, I don't need to believe that I am inferior. I have been fighting these feelings for such a long time, though, that I do wonder if I'll ever change.

well, I didn't think I'd make it back here. I'm on the tail end of a long depression. Made the trip to Connecticut and got back safely. Took Nikki. She was sick and we couldn't leave her at the Kennels. She had tonsillitis and a cough. We had to medicate her three times a day. She was very good, but still, meeting her ordinary needs in an ever changing environment was added stress.

We got through F falling twice and hitting his head both times, two strange hours with H, who seems to be doing well with her chemo, not seeing the ocean.

I found some great Italian cookies called pizzelles. we have nothing like them here. Round and very thin. After we got back home I ordered a case from the small bakery in Waterbury where they are made. Three flavors; anise, vanilla and maple.

We are looking for another place to live again. Either a lot we can build on or a house on a lot we like. Today we looked at a place five miles from the city limits. The environment is beautiful. Several acres. Lots of trees and plants, looks out over a hill. Just perfect. The house is not large enough. We would have to add on and make major changes. But the thought of moving that far from our conveniences and the hospital scares me. If I were younger, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But aging brings you to your knees. Makes you more cowardly. I DON'T WANT TO BE THAT FAR FROM THE HOSPITAL!!! I HATE hospitals! But you never know when you might need one. Especially when you get old.

It's depressing to find yourself old and come to the final realization that life is very short. And wishing you had time to do all the things you used to plan and now don't have time or energy for. Hoping you have at least enough time to do the things that seem important, even urgent.

Well, that's where I am now. Fearing. Hoping. Longing. And working on some projects. Tomorrow will be the same.

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