Last week I gave up the ghost and went to therapy. I know talking it out, taking care of oneself, healthy to ask for help, all that. But last week, I was a middle aged woman, ugly-crying in a stranger’s office at 9:00 in the am. On the balance, I
Last time we spoke, I was in a bad place. I could feel myself getting crushed under this psychic weight, like swimming deep underwater — unpleasant unrelenting pressure prevented me from breathing easy. I began to notice shadows out of the corner of my eye, as if something dark were
My brain turned off a few weeks ago. A surge protector switch flipped, or vestigial hibernation happened, or something. The part that thinks is now in the dark, inaccessible. I can’t seem to kick it back on. I’m eating healthy, not drinking, getting exercise, changing clothes, smiling at children, etc.
I’m either A) slipping into depression, B) out to set the world record in feeling sorry for oneself, or C) in an exceptionally bad mood these days. As differential diagnosis, let me offer this: If you tell me to seek help, I’ll invite you to mind your own fucking business,
Well, it has been a weird few months. Let me put on my Inigo Montoya voice: There is no attention span long enough (yours nor mine) to explain, so let me sum up. The Cool Thing (TCT) has been a slow earthquake over here – all at once No Big