It’s pretty obvious that when I got paid to write, it wasn’t for a daily newspaper. I’m terrible at managing my time these days and writing has, sadly, taken a backseat.
In light of my mom’s accident and an incredible work schedule (go 60 hour work week!) it feels like everything else in my life has taken a backseat. Which is not a good or healthy thing.
So today I did something I swore to god and everybody I would never, ever do again. Not cigarettes, not Wild Turkey, not even drugs.
Therapy. I went to fucking therapy.
As I’ve written about before, I have strong opinions (and reservations) about depression, mental health and treatment options.
Since you’re not getting paid to listen to my thoughts, and because this isn’t Live Journal, I’ll spare you the deep, dark details, but I will say that I have to revise my previous stance: sometimes therapy is good.
Providing you can find a therapist who doesn’t insist you have daddy issues or Bipolar disorder when you don’t and won’t ask about the way you were potty trained.
1 Comment
October 5, 2008 at 3:45 pm
There are a million kinds of therapy, like there are a million kinds of issues we deal with. And sometimes, you can find a match, a match that makes a huge difference in your life. I’m glad you did.