Ta Da

I feel as though ta da is not a proper form of introductions. What is the slightly defeated version of jazz hands?

I always vowed I wouldn't begin this blogging thing. I never thought I had anything pithy or clever to say, who would even want to read this?

However, today and my (once monthly CBT therapy session) my doc thought it was wise to increase to two days a month. And trust me, it's not because she enjoys my presence. Although, she is a riot.

Nope, we decided to see each other mutually exclusive to each other for twice a month. All due to the fact that I have at least 8 years worth of mental trauma shoved into the equivalent of a oatmeal canister. My doc thinks it's time to take a pick axe to my anguish hid well underground.

This is a hard introduction and I'm not sure how this could ever be good reading, but I'm going to give it the old college try. I have to attempt to stop storing up my angst as though I'm preparing for a long lonely remainder of my life.

I'm going to at least try to make this something other that the thoughts spewing forth from my nose and maybe some one will read it and maybe somehow it will help.