Therapy is just weird.

Today was my second session of therapy. I still can’t fall asleep before 4am. Dr. O gave me some home remedies that might help. If that doesn’t work I’ll have to take drugs.

I had to take a trip somewhere by myself after the session. All the feelings were just too raw and intense. I couldn’t just go back to my room.

We talked about what’s keeping me up at night. I’m a little worry wart. I have a whole layer of anxiety that comes alive at night.

I have no one to talk to about my anxiety. I don’t have someone to express all of my fears to. I explained to him my friends and their natural tendencies. He thinks I don’t have anyone I can count on, but that’s not entirely true. If you put together all of my friends, you get one whole, solid person. Each friend is good for a different kind of thing. I would go to my friend; let’s call her Stacy, for a good night out or a lot of laughs. She’s not the kind of person who wants to know the personal and horrible details of my life. There are really only a few people I can turn to when the depression starts to take over my life. Dr. O thinks I should start opening up to my other friends and family and tell them what’s really going on. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, though. He tells me that if they really cared about me, they would listen and endure it. I’m torn between thinking, “If they were really my friend they would want to listen,” and, “It’s not everyone’s job to care about me.”

There’s another topic of discussion. I worry I am a burden. I fear being an inconvenience. It’s in my nature and something I can’t change. I feel like a burden because my mother made me believe I was. It’s not someone else’s job to take care of me, yet I am completely incapable of being the sole caretaker. It’s a catch-22. If you grow up trying to be completely self-reliant, you end up missing out on a lot of opportunities. Dr. O told me that in order to gain a level of intimacy, I need to allow myself to be vulnerable. Otherwise I will never find someone to be there and care for me 100% of the time.

I miss my ex-boyfriend. Let’s call him Zach. I don’t miss him in the way that most people miss their exes. I miss him because he was my caretaker at an extremely vulnerable time in my life. I took it for granted. In some ways, I used him. Zach stood by my side for 2 long years. When my mother tried to kill me, he drove outside my house for an hour hoping I could sneak outside. He opened his home to me, gave me his family, and loved me unconditionally…until the very end at least. I miss his companionship. I never had a person like that in my life. His warmness literally started to chip away at my solid effort of keeping a stone wall. Zach knew I was depressed, but he made me live. It sounds really gushy and honestly it’s starting to even make me sick, but he was a strong constant in my life and I miss him. I don’t know if I’m still in love with him anymore. It’s been a year since we broke up. It’s been a very hard year. I think I broke up with him because I thought I didn’t deserve him. I was punishing myself. I think about him almost every day. He really held me together. But it’s not his job to do that anymore.

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