Not really feeling hope per se, but feeling a bit of NOT DREAD about the future as i got the ball rolling with our Mobile Mental Health Crisis Team. I did a preliminary intake over the phone and the young woman was a really good listener, tho her English was flawed and she made a mistake one time but maybe my passionate frustration scared her and not everyone has been to university and read David Foster Wallace, so i just let it go.

They're going to call me tomorrow and set up a visit here in my home with their staff. They can also be a liaison with my doctor, who i detest, but maybe he will be less of a ddiippsshhiitt if they step in and say i actually DO need some help and to stop being an aasssshhoollee.

Not that thrilled about having strangers in my home, but i will try and overcome my resistance for the sake of getting some help. It sort of annoys me that i have to give up control, but i guess if i stay in control i might end up doing something permanent, so i will try and suspend my own drive to be independent and handle everything myself.

It was funny with R this morning, the friend who just got out of detox. I noticed him being anti-social the past few days and that's not like him, so i knew he was struggling. I put a bag with a pack of cigarettes (he's chain-smoking ~ a lot of people do in alcohol recovery ~ now is not the time for nicotine withdrawal ~ that can come later ~ one thing at a time) and a copy of the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated on his doorknob.

I guess he's feeling better today because he thanked me for the gift even tho i didn't leave my name, he knew it was me, and enquired about the magazine, why did i do that. "Because you're a man!" i said. He said, well, yes, he'd looked at the pictures. Funny, why would he question why i had given him a magazine full of pictures of sexy women? I know he's het and red-blooded! What man wouldn't like that? Silly!