If you don’t already know about The Bloggess, well, you should. And here’s your chance. I especially like the advice about seeing a shrink. Remember: You are hiring the therapist. You can look for another one if needed. I had one that said I had PTSD because of some non-standard sexual experiences. And a couples therapist who shredded me and left me worse than when I came in. I learned to interview therapists before I made the first appointment. Do you deal with women’s issues, mood disorders, grief counseling? (Good.) Are you a Freudian, a cognitive behavioral therapist, a religious counselor, easily offended? (For me, at least, not so good.) And do you have a sense of humor? Then I give it a couple of visits to do the Reader’s Digest condensed version of my screwed-up life. By then I can usually tell if we are right for each other. And if we’re not, I MOVE ON. And keep looking. I need a professional therapist in my support system, but not just anyone will do.
I don’t know if it’s the planets or the meds or the darkness of winter, but this week I’ve been a bit down in the hole and I suspect I’m not the only one. Then I heard this song that I’ve loved and forgotten and it saved me a little bit. Little things save me from myself all the time. Sometimes it’s music, and sometimes it’s words from writers who’ve been dead for years, and sometimes it’s you.
If you’re sad or lonely or feeling like you’re one of the misfit toys, know that you are part of us. And remember that those misfit toys were always far more interesting than the normal ones.
Tell someone that you love them, or that they’re important. And tell yourself. Because it’s true.
PS. I wrote this last night but I was too mentally exhausted to publish it, and this morning I looked…
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