Streets of Suspicion

I'm past the two month marker on the no smoking and I found out today that there's an anti-depressant called Zyband(?) that is prescribed for the quitting. Why have I been suffering?

I went in for my last visit to Psych Services this year. With my summer job coming up it looks like there will be no time for the self-healing. At the end of this (non-drugged) mystical, introspective journey the tally stands thus far:

Possibles
Obsessive Compulsive
Depressed
ADD
ADHD
Severe Procrastination
Unknown Learning Disability caused by Grief
Unknown Learning Disability caused by Stress
Nervous Breakdown

Guarantees
Social Anxiety Disorder

And I only went in to see why I couldn't concentrate. It seems the drug of choice for me would be something that sounds like WELL-BEAUT-TRIN. It would keep my awake and help with the sadness. It kind of disturbs but I seem to be dealing with the daily dose of down time. I know what time of day to attempt something critical and I've become much more comfortable with letting others help me or drag me to things. Now I just have to follow up on the endless amount of referrals that I've been given. It seems that everybody wants to help....by sending me to someone else. Drive to Barrie, go upstairs, get downtown, call this person. It's all fine and good that these people want me to see the best but it was only until today that the Doc finally realized that it took me a few months to visit an office inside of a building I've lived in since childhood. He's not a sharp guy but I can't really blame him. He's working in a dysfunctional office. I mean, he has a blind that covers where a window would be, if it wasn't a large piece of drywall from the office next door. Why put up the blind, I ask. Why?

As of now the journey is off to some doctor at Sunnybrook which I feel is the place to go. I've got some leads on some ADD testing, but I'll admit I think I'm doing this just because I really enjoy bizarre testing. Two months later, no questions are answered, numerous have been raised and I now freak out even more in public. Walking down the street has become a test of willpower. How long can I stare at the sidewalk? If I don't I seem to make eye contact with EVERY person I pass. I know this might be a shared curiosity between travellers but I get a eeby Geeby vibe. Perhaps I can make some sort of minute film on my paranoia with pedestrians.