Strangers who aren’t strangers

Today I started therapy. I never knew how fast an hour could go when you’re talking about yourself. My therapist is good. He’s going to fix me. Let’s call him Dr. O. It was just an initial counseling meeting and I spent the whole time telling him my life story. Therapy is so weird. You go in and tell a stranger your whole life story without even knowing anything about them. But I did gather some information:

  1. He’s married.
  2. He has nice tissues.
  3. He needs a new haircut.
  4. He eats salads for lunch.

It’s not much, but I like knowing these things about him. I’m always so interested in everyone else that I never thought about anyone being interested in what I have to say. But I guess that’s his job.

Things I learned about myself:

  1. I use my positivity and selflessness as a survival skill.
  2. I appear way happier on the outside than I actually feel.
  3. Apparently I’m not that good of an actor.
  4. My life is a fucking mess.

Can you diagnose yourself with depression? I feel like there’s a stigma when you say “I have depression” but have never gone to a doctor. Like maybe you’re over exaggerating about the severity of your bad mood. But if you have all the symptoms for it, why not go ahead and call it what it is.

I have depression.

I have had depression much longer than I thought I did.

Dr. O made me make some goals for myself to get through as we go through therapy. One of them was to delve into the story of my mother and how that affected me. Another was to stop being so damn depressed. I think the two are related.

One of the exercises he did was ask me how I felt about myself a few months ago. I responded: positive, outgoing, overwhelmed, anxious. Then he asked me how I felt about myself now. I responded: angry, overwhelmed, sad, tired, resentful.

I just want to know what happened to me.


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