Therapist: “You’ve been saying for a while now that you might want a career change. It seems you haven’t felt very fulfilled at your current job.”
Me: “Right.”
Therapist: “And you said you were going to take some time, explore some options, talk to a few people, do some research, and come up with a plan.”
Me: “Right.”
Therapist: “So, you did that?”
Me: “Yes I did!”
Therapist: “And you have a plan?”
Me: “Yes, in fact I do!
Therapist: “I mean besides ‘get pregnant and quit.'”
Me: “Oh. Then no.”
Eric says I read too many heavy, serious books about mental illness, and that maybe this contributes to my anxiety and hypochondria. So this time I chose one where, yes, the main character DOES have bipolar disorder– BUT he lives a super full, productive life, has a job he loves, is married to the love of his life, has a baby on the way, and takes really good care of himself. While it’s tough for him and his family to grapple with his bipolar disorder, and he often gets knocked down, he always finds his way back, and it’s actually a really inspiring take on living with mental illness.
His wife dies, though.
Of cancer.
BECAUSE WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE OF CANCER.
When I think about the most joyous moments of my life, from childhood to present, I realize that there is an underlying, common theme.
They were all naps.
Eric: “Oh god….what IS that?”
Me: “The reason I had to make you fall in love with me before winter.”
I slathered half a jar of vaseline on my face.
I always thought I was really prone to serious headaches, as I seem to have them all the time, but it has just occurred to me that I might be confusing “serious headache” with “being awake.”
If you are someone who is prone to anxiety, do yourself a favor and do NOT purchase scarlet red body wash. I promise that if you do, you will look down at the bottom of the shower while soaping yourself and be CERTAIN that you are bleeding from at least one organ. EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. TIME.
It does wake me up, though.
A few months ago a girl moved into my building– young, a teacher, seemingly normal and cool. Someone I would actually hang out with. We spoke in the lobby for a bit, exchanged apartment numbers, and said we’d see each other soon. I haven’t run into her since– until just now, in the elevator.
Girl: “Hey! How have you been?!”
Me: “Not much!”
And then our friendship ended.
Guess I’ll put away my puffy coat and grab my spring trench for the next 10 hours because NOTHING MAKES SENSE ANYMORE.
To be clear, the seasonal affective part of me is thrilled with this randomly warm, if only for half a day, weather. But the anxious part of me worries that The Walking Dead is happening for real.
I understand that The Walking Dead has nothing to do with weather. But, like, you get it. The apocalypse. Death to mankind. Widespread chaos and destruction.
I’m not saying I actually believe any of this, I’m just saying that I bought some guns.
Because better safe than sorry and besides, it was SO EASY.
I just walked into the store screaming THE APOCALYPSE IS COMING and the guy behind the counter shrugged his shoulders and sold me 11 semi automatics.
I forgot why I started writing this.
Sitting here in the dermatologist waiting room, there is a teenage boy with severe acne, looking pretty sad.
I wanted to lean over to him and whisper, “Don’t worry, it gets better,” but then I remembered that I’m here to get my moles checked for cancer.
So it doesn’t really get better…it just gets…deadlier?
I’m going to stay quiet.
“See you next Tuesday!”– my therapist, to me, every single time I leave her office.
I’ve got to switch my therapy day.
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