Sunday, June 14, 2009


So my mum saw the scars on my hand and freaked out.. infront of the entire neighborhood at the neighborhood annual potluck. I told her it was acid, alluding to it being a work accident, but I'm pretty sure at least some of the women in the group caught on past that. That was lovely.

She made a fuss about it today over lunch and my dad asked what it was--this time I told the truth. They want me to go to therapy, and offered to pay whatever the cost, and I think its a good idea to at least try. So I am currently hunting for a therapist/psychiatrist (is there a difference?)