Well, it finally happened.
I went to a therapist yesterday.
Well, kind of. I started the therapish process. I think yesterday was mostly just to make sure I wasn’t in danger of jumping into traffic or anything.
Which apparently I am not. Good news.
I’ve been pretty quick to take medication in the past (which we’ve discussed), but never once have I sat down and actually really talked to anyone about my weird crisscrossy brain.
I think the closest I’ve come is, like, confession. And I don’t think that counts. Since I’m not Catholic.
But I took the first steps. That’s something. And now I’m officially a mental patient, right? Surely that earns me some sort of street cred.
I do all this in the hopes that one day soon I won’t have to put up with crazy nervous fits/waves of hopelessness/rumbly sick nervous feelings from leaving the house/are you realizing how wacked I sound cause I am.
I don’t know what normal feels like, but maybe I’m a step closer.