Typical Anxious Depressed Girl

I’m a millennial, I’m a girl, I’m neurotic, and I probably think way too much, and I go to a therapist. The typical anxious depressed girl, who was blessed with caring and thoughtful parents but is still maladjusted.

My therapist is in New York City, in a building, with pillars, with a doorman, with two elevators on the fourth floor, in a room, with way too many books, one couch, and a chair. We talk about things that I usually never want to talk about. Like sex, like boys, like my future, like money, like my parents, like my friends.

I hate the way she dresses, very subtle high-class as to say I’m rich but I can also relate to you. I hate that I don’t know anything about her, at first you’d like to think it would be great to talk about yourself, the center of attention. You don’t have to listen to anyone, to anyone’s less interesting bullshit, but then you begin to realize how much you crave interaction and reciprocation. I hate the fact that she has workout clothes hidden in the corner of her office but peeking out just enough so that you can see her bright pink sneakers. She’s told me that working out can help with anxiety.

Now do I sit on the couch or the chair? I chose the chair and the chair is where I will remain. There are tissues next to it. Am I supposed to cry? My legs tap, as I pry into my brain to pick something to talk about with this random lady who went to Harvard, had to do some LinkedIn research to find that out. She calls me smart is that because I chose the chair or is it because I over think. Are over thinkers’ smart or just wasting time?

It is not easy to become your best self. You ever work out with a trainer and begin to really hate your trainer because she makes you get up early, she makes you do things you don’t want to do, she makes you workout to the point of no return, she makes you put in all this work all under the impression that she’s “helping you.” That’s my analogy, my therapist is my mind trainer and I’m way too lazy and tired to work out.

My anxiety attacks went away but my issues didn’t. Why me? I say it but it shouldn’t be said. Why not me? Why her or him? Why not her or him? The brain is an organ and sometimes that organ has malfunctions. We go to therapy to be malfunctional-functional people-humans.

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