Hello my peeps of the ghosttown formerly known as LJ!
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 can’t decide if it’s more depressing that I have become New Yorker Magazine style cartoon caricature. I hate therapy. It skins away all those protective coping mechanisms, leaving me feeling both naked, and like an onion - as though every whiff of myself waters my eyes. It’s no way to be.*
In other news, we moved. It’s been five years, so that last house was the longest I’ve lived under one roof since I was six years old. Milestone!
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 can’t decide if it’s more depressing that I have become New Yorker Magazine style cartoon caricature. I hate therapy. It skins away all those protective coping mechanisms, leaving me feeling both naked, and like an onion - as though every whiff of myself waters my eyes. It’s no way to be.*
In other news, we moved. It’s been five years, so that last house was the longest I’ve lived under one roof since I was six years old. Milestone!