Tag Archives: depression

But I Pay You to Be an Infallible Robot

Me: “I did what you suggested, but I think it made me feel worse.”
Therapist: “Ok, well. That is information.”
Me: img_1179-7
Therapist: “I apologize if it made you feel worse. Sometimes my advice is wrong.”
Me: “What?”
Therapist: “I make mistakes.”
Me: “WHAT?!”
Therapist: “I am only human.”
Me: “YOU ARE?!”

Puppy Update

A little while ago, I declared on social media that we were getting a puppy. I posted a picture of Nippie (below), our future dog’s mother, and announced that our pup would be arriving at Christmas. The internet went crazy (re: the photo got like 6 Facebook likes and 2 Wow! faces).

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Well, that is no longer happening.

The breeder told us that Nippie, a sassy little minx of a Swedish Vallhund (wtf is a Swedish Vallhund? We don’t exactly know, we just know it looks like a Corgi-wolf, which sounds like a mini version of a Direwolf, which sounds fucking awesome), would be the next dog in her batch to get preggo. The breeder had found a worthy match for Nippie (Vad, a show dog/cocky little son of a bitch), and, she assured us, the sparks would inevitably fly. 

Wrong.

Nippie has chosen not to take a lover this season.

Maybe she just wasn’t that into Vad. Maybe she prefers a more down-to-earth dude. Maybe she’s a lesbian. Maybe she just needs a little wine to get in the mood. Maybe she’s on anti depressants that sometimes totally kill her sex drive. Maybe I should stop talking about myself.

Anyway, it’s not happening.

Yet.

After Nippie decided she was too good for Vad’s lovin’, I then decided I was too much of a nuerotic, seasonal-affective hermit-weirdo to train a puppy in the winter. So we’re still getting a dog, but it’s not happening until the spring, and it might be a different breed than first announced.

Truth be told, were not even sure what we CAN get, because Eric is randomly allergic to every other kind of dog breed on Earth (and ALL cats, because cats are terrible creatures that shouldn’t exist). The only way he knows for sure is if he rubs his face vigourously into a dog’s coat, which, by the way, is exactly what happens every time he sees one on the streets of NYC. This has caused awkward moments with half the city’s pet-owners, but at least he has his method down to a science.

I make him shower 7 times a day.

The problem is that we have never actually met a Swedish Vallhund, we just hear they are “less sheddy” than corgis. But a corgi is all Eric really wants in life. The last time he rubbed his face on one (about a month ago, on the way to Mexican dinner, where he ordered fajitas and did not wash his hands), he had no allergic reaction.  But the idea of getting a dog that sheds its entire coat twice a year seems…unwise? Plus, do I really want to clean all that hair around the apartment? I don’t even clean MY hair!

That has not stopped Eric from sending me no less than 637 corgi Instagram videos a day.

So that’s where we are– wanting a puppy in the spring, but still not sure which kind or how exactly to go about it.

Suggestions welcome.

 

 

Literally The One Thing

Therapist: “I’m starting to notice this about you– you tend to start things from a place of assumed failure. You approach new things, even new conversations, or small tasks, as something you’re going to screw up. And immediately starting from this assumption puts you in a space of feeling defensive, like you constantly have to prove yourself. And that’s why it’s so hard for you to get started with things. And, quite frankly, why you’re so exhausted.”

Me: <stunned silence>

Therapist: “Big ‘Aha!’ moment for you?”

Me: “It took you 7 years to notice this about me?!”

It’s literally the one thing I was born knowing about myself

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Conditions for Eloquence

I gave a speech at a friend’s rehearsal dinner last weekend and someone came up to me after and said, “You are an extremely eloquent speaker.” And it got me thinking, you know what, yeah, person I don’t know at all but who is now my new best friend, when it comes to verbal communication, I am extremely eloquent!

….as long as I have an entire 16-size-font, double spaced script in front of me (rehearsed for a minimum of three weeks and approved by no less than five trusted individuals), have at least one glass of wine but no more than three in my system, I am not interrupted once, it’s neither too hot nor too cold in the room, there are zero weird noises, no one looks at me funny, I’m not hungry, the lighting is friendly, I am feeling good about my outfit, my acne is under control, I’m not PMSing, and I remembered to take my Prozac.

Otherwise when I talk it’s this:

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Donna Chang 

Me: “With everything going on in our country right now, I’m honestly just so horrified and saddened as a human in general– but as a Jew in particular, as I know you can relate–”

Therapist: “Oh I’m actually not Jewish.”

Me: “You’re NOT?! But your last name–”

Therapist: “I know. A common Jewish last name. People often assume I am Jewish.”

Me: “But I feel like I’ve had all these insider only-jews-would-get-this kind of exchanges with you.”

Therapist: “Hmm. I didn’t interpret them that way.”

Me: (silence)

Therapist: “What are you thinking?”

Me: “Oh, oh nothing. This obviously doesn’t change anything.”

I just have to re-think every piece of advice you’ve ever given me.

donna chang

 

The Patient/Therapist Relationship

I have been seeing my therapist every week for 7 years. She knows every single detail of my life, every single person who’s ever played a role in it, and every single innermost thought I’ve ever had.

Me: “I obviously want to have kids, and I know we should get on that soon, but I honestly can’t stomach the idea of bringing a human into a Trump-led America. Is that crazy?”

Therapist: “No, that’s not crazy. I felt the same way bringing kids into the world right after 9/11, but it’s important to–”

Me: “YOU HAVE KIDS??!?!?!”

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