I'm sick. I demand a therapist right now. I know this is more than you want to know about me, but exercise and healthy eating has NOT helped my illness (and perhaps that's because I neither exercise nor eat right), and I'm slipping into a depression again. I must express how I feel or explode.

I need a therapist because my friends don't realize I need serious help. I talk to them about my problems, and they say (and this is a paraphrase), "That's too bad. Let's talk about me now." Nobody knows how to listen anymore.

I admit, I'm just as guilty of it. I like talking about me. We all do. (Like to talk about ourselves, that is. Not everyone likes talking about me.) But my point is, I need a therapist because no one else has the patience to listen to me.

Since I have no therapist, diary, you're it. So. This is the moment where I list my pathetic sadness, point by point:

1. The world makes me sad. Where have all the flowers gone? Seriously. I haven't yet felt anger about any part of the tragedy. Only grief and a sadness that has moved beyond the events of september 11.

2. I've given up on meeting a cool guy. How about meeting 'a' guy? I'm so damn tired of wondering why everyone is in a relationship but me. I know people who have married, divorced, then found another true love--and all the while I've been twiddling my thumbs, lonely as ever. It gets old.

3. All I want is a hug right now, and there's no one to give it to me. Where's my mom when I need her? She's really the one person in the world who listens to me without bringing the conversation back to her. Unfortunately, she cannot even fathom the idea of depression, let alone offer viable solutions. She is a comfort, and yet, not.

4. Can I go lay (or 'lie' for the more gramatically correct among us) on my bed for a few days? I have so much to do that there's no time for a mental breakdown. I have to sneak tears when nobody's looking at work. I need a good, old-fashioned cry; a snot-filled, mascara-faced one. Alas, so far, it is not to be.

I know I'm being really self-centered right now. That's what depression is, though--a demented journey into oneself. You retreat so far into yourself that you can't see to get out. It's frightening, and lonely, and I want my mommy.

 

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