I just got back from the walk-in clinic. Apparently I have "some type of pneumonia." I like how doctors are real specific. I had to drag that out of him, too. He was just like, well there is definitly something going on in there, I'm going to take some blood and get a chest x-ray. Then he comes back and says nevermind those things, I'm just going to put you on antibiotics. Apparently the tests were just to document what he was doing & wouldn't change his decision. Fucking liquid lungs is what I have. Every time I cough (which is often) I hack up some green shit. Nasty. I can't fuckin breath half the time, I feel like I just ran a mile but I didn't do anything. I wheeze at night and for hours after I get up in the morning. I haven't smoked for three days, and believe me it's not for lack of desire. Ick.
You know it's hard to ball my eyes out when I can't breath. I spent a good deal of time switching from crying to being full of anger to both last night. I mostly just laid in bed listening to NPR and thinking and occasionally crying. I shut the door to close off the TV from the living room. Ponge made some food around nine. I came out to eat. He said, I know you hate me. I said, What gives you that idea? (I know he read my diary entry as soon as I left the room, I wish he would just admit to it). He said, just the way you lookin at me. I said, I don't hate you. I'm just extremely disappointed by some of your actions. He said, yeah, me too, but there is nothing I can do - it is what it is. I didn't say anything, though I thought plenty.
How convenient, to take no responsibility for the situation. What utter horseshit. If you don't want it to work, if you aren't willing to try then at least do us both the favor of being honest about it rather then just blaming nature or whatever the fuck. If we both try really hard and it ain't happenin then it ain't happenin. But don't just let me make actual changes in my behavior and you get to do nothing and say it just is how it is you fucking lazy...nevermind.
But I didn't want to get into it. I thanked him for the snack and crawled back in bed, cursing him for not coming to talk to me. I thought when he crawled in bed I'd have to deal with urges to just hold him and forget all this shit. But I was pissed. You're breaking my heart, you jackass. I thought, over and over. I found myself wanting to slap him, throttle him. Of course I didn't. I don't have words for him beyond what I've already expressed. Maybe I will later.
This is completely ridiculous.