Useless!
Okay, this therapy business is bothering me, for the simple reason that it accomplishes approximately nothing.
The Problem: I don't understand what is supposed to be happening. Why am I there? Well, because the Deans mandate it. But what am I supposed to be doing? How long do these people think it takes to get over one depressive episode? And when will they let me go?
Everything is predicated on two sketchily-based assumptions: one, that there's some sort of flaw in my head and two, that only therapy can fix it. So. I will readily concede the screwed-up head, because, yeah, it's kind of odd in here. BUT the current weirdness is not the same weirdness that got me locked up; that bit of crazy, amazingly enough, WENT AWAY once my drugs got figured out. Is that unusual? Is it hard to believe? I can't tell. But seriously, I am not making this up. I was pretty shocked to wake up one day and be unshy and unworried and unmiserable. Neurochemistry to the rescue.
But no, thinks the Dear Doctor, there must be something deeper, some failing of character or weakness of personality, to explain this poor child. So she proposes various potential problems:
Dr: You're unsociable & misanthropic. That seems sad. You must be lonely.
Me: Introversion is not a crime; people get annoying after a while; I LIKE being alone a good portion of the time; I do have friends, but I like them better when I don't have to see them every day.
Dr: You're so logical.
Me: You were expecting irrational histrionics? I like things to make sense.
Dr: You don't trust people.
Me: I don't have any need to trust people, and plenty of reason not to. Most people are both well-intentioned and uninsightful, and that is a noxious combination if there ever was one.
And so it goes. I can tell she's getting frustrated -- her huffs and puffs are actually almost comical -- but I really don't know what she wants. Should I invent some minor psychological distress? Should I continue to fill time with asinine & inconsequential narratives of My Life? I think she might dump me on someone else once the Deans make a decision. Because, really, we're going nowhere in a big damn hurry.
So here's what I need, if this thing's gonna be of any use:
1. Some incentive to invest in therapy at all.
2. Some coherent goal or direction to aim for.
But I haven't yet figured out either. Goddammit.
The Problem: I don't understand what is supposed to be happening. Why am I there? Well, because the Deans mandate it. But what am I supposed to be doing? How long do these people think it takes to get over one depressive episode? And when will they let me go?
Everything is predicated on two sketchily-based assumptions: one, that there's some sort of flaw in my head and two, that only therapy can fix it. So. I will readily concede the screwed-up head, because, yeah, it's kind of odd in here. BUT the current weirdness is not the same weirdness that got me locked up; that bit of crazy, amazingly enough, WENT AWAY once my drugs got figured out. Is that unusual? Is it hard to believe? I can't tell. But seriously, I am not making this up. I was pretty shocked to wake up one day and be unshy and unworried and unmiserable. Neurochemistry to the rescue.
But no, thinks the Dear Doctor, there must be something deeper, some failing of character or weakness of personality, to explain this poor child. So she proposes various potential problems:
Dr: You're unsociable & misanthropic. That seems sad. You must be lonely.
Me: Introversion is not a crime; people get annoying after a while; I LIKE being alone a good portion of the time; I do have friends, but I like them better when I don't have to see them every day.
Dr: You're so logical.
Me: You were expecting irrational histrionics? I like things to make sense.
Dr: You don't trust people.
Me: I don't have any need to trust people, and plenty of reason not to. Most people are both well-intentioned and uninsightful, and that is a noxious combination if there ever was one.
And so it goes. I can tell she's getting frustrated -- her huffs and puffs are actually almost comical -- but I really don't know what she wants. Should I invent some minor psychological distress? Should I continue to fill time with asinine & inconsequential narratives of My Life? I think she might dump me on someone else once the Deans make a decision. Because, really, we're going nowhere in a big damn hurry.
So here's what I need, if this thing's gonna be of any use:
1. Some incentive to invest in therapy at all.
2. Some coherent goal or direction to aim for.
But I haven't yet figured out either. Goddammit.