So we've established I'm not going to attempt again. The combined efforts of my husband and the therapist I saw yesterday assured that I will be too overcome by guilt to get up the stones to try it again, so I'm here whether I want to be or not. Now what? Visiting the therapist was pretty damn useless, because the only "helpful" things she could suggest were that I should go on depression meds, stop fighting for awhile, and go to AA. I agreed to go to one AA meeting just so I wouldn't seem like I was rejecting everything out of the gate, but I'm NOT taking meds and I'm sure and hell not quitting fighting. Training and fighting are the only two things that make all this bearable, not to mention potentially being my new career, and I told her that, but she thinks it "exacerbates my aggressive tendencies". So what? I'm not hitting anyone off the mat or yelling at anyone. My anger is directed at myself, not other people, and yes, I could probably deal with that better, but stopping fighting is only going to make me angrier and actually take away one of the few things that is an acceptable channel for my aggression. But, I have to go back and see her once a week anyway, hopefully next week's session won't be as big a fuckinig joke as this week's. My husband suggested that maybe I should get out more and talk to people instead of being by myself most of the time, but he says that because he doesn't realize how freaking hard it is. It makes me nervous just thinking about hanging out with anyone, because I can never think of anything to say and everything I do say usually results in those long uncomfortable pauses and a change of subject. I won't even go into the other reasons, but let's just say I feel like I should be up in a belltower somewhere where decent people don't have to deal with me. But he doesn't understand that, so we're supposed to have dinner with some of his friends from work tonight. *headdesk* *headdesk* *headdesk* I didn't used to be this way. I've always had an undercurrent of social anxiety and aggression, but it was manageable. Now, since T died, I always feel like I'm standing on the edge of a really high cliff and I can't decide whether I want to jump or run away. I told the therapist that, but that just lead to a discussion of my (apparently) deviant sexual behavior. God damn it.