7/17

That was the day I decided to stop beating around the bush and booked a therapy session. 

(this is a follow-up on the last post, read that before you read this)

It's been a while since that first post and I've gone through a flurry of emotions, completely out of shape from the DABDA formula I've gone through with previous instances of grieving. Rather, every emotion was blended together in a strange chunky smoothie of "what now?", with small bursts of each emotion at any given time. Sometimes I felt more upset than I felt angry or motivated. Sometimes I felt more irritable. It's never one emotion, just a plurality victory in indecisiveness. 

Dealing with depression is hard enough, let alone losing someone so close to you, and a solution to the feelings I harbor does not exist. There is no correct way to grieve, only a bunch of varyingly healthy ways. After all, if there was, nobody would be depressed and you'd see ads for that magical cure from companies trying to ruin it with capitalism like they did with insulin. I talked to a lot of people trusted to me on what to do. I was thinking about taking drugs to numb the pain. Others recommended getting a prescription instead of just getting them from people I know. Others recommended therapy. Nicole recommended therapy, a year ago when she saw that I was going through hard times and needed to change before life would swing too hard for me to bounce back. So I'm getting therapy.

I've always wanted therapy and I've always had a fascination with therapy, to be honest. Ever since I was a child I've struggled with suicidal thoughts and fears that I would never be seen as the same type of human being as everyone else. I struggled under everything under the sun and could've taken any vice I was offered, be it the drugs or alcohol or falling in and out of loose relationships to try and pretend that there was never a void in my life. I always recommended therapy to my friends going through hard times, but I always felt hypocritical deep down saying that as I had never gone myself. I longed for it and recommended it because it always felt like a mystical place where white folks got to go to become normal instead of ending up weird or mentally ill where you had to make a mockery out of themselves doing dumb gags to make any friends like I did.

So why did I wait so long? I could offer a million answers regarding having a stigma regarding talking to a shrink from my parents or a lack of money -- all ultimately false. The truth is that I'm a bad person. But, that's gonna change - I'm going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.