Atalanta Pendragonne

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The therapists at the clinic are happy with me. They're pleased that I've been able to make it in for six weeks in a row, impressed by my comfort box, glad to hear I am actively writing. I could feel myself slipping into putting-up-a-good-front mode, which is really not helpful. Social pressure interfering with treatment, yay. So much pressure to be "normal", to be "fine", and I can fake it for a few hours but it's taxing. And it's so ingrained that I can't always control it.

And I can even relax after getting through Thanksgiving; in addition to Monday morning at the clinic, I have to go to my Section 8 renewal meeting on Wednesday, and I have to go in for a meds check early on Friday. Ugh.
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