Therapy

I've been to several therapists since being diagnosed with "Clinical Depression" (which sounds totally made up right? Like there's nothing else to call it and everything else was taken so they said, meh, whatevs, that works).

There was the French-Canadian lady who was forever asking me, "Why do YOU think you're depressed?"

Really? French-Canadian lady? That's what passes as therapy in Canada? Well here in America, we're paying YOU to tell US why we're depressed.

I hated her. My dad hated her too since she cost $100 an hour, so we said, "Bye French-Canadian!"

Hello, Blonde-Shrink.

Blonde-Shrink was always always late for appointments. I mean I know that things come up and her patients are upset and junk, but my dad and me sitting in a room together for 20 minutes with nothing to talk about is almost grounds for murder. Right there. You're an accomplice to murder Blonde-Shrink. How you feel about them apples?

Blonde-Shrink gave me medicine, and I was nominally ok for awhile. Then I went to college and stopped seeing her and also stopped taking my crazy pills. (In this case the pills make me NOT crazy)

Years went on, I spiraled into a pit of depression and decided to get my head shrunk again.

I went to see Blonde-Therapist (not to be confused with Blonde-Shrink). She helped some in discovering my triggers and helping me work through my issues instead of hiding in the bathroom, but she moved.

Blonde-Therapist...moved...away...from...me...

So I said, ummm, I'll be ok!

NOT!

I found Grommet Jacket-Shrink. She's cool. She's rarely late and always has a festive new jacket encrusted with Grommets for me to stare at.

Unfortunately, crazy pills weren't enough. So I tried to find another therapist.

Enter, New Age lady.

New Age lady is awesome. She interprets dreams, she's fun, she lets me take my shoes off, she helped me to understand that when I don't want to talk about something is when I should.

Also she promised not to move for at least 3 years.

Hopefully I'll be adjusted by then.