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I can’t find a fucking therapist.
Mental health in the time of covid.
Last night I was poring through the listings on psychology today looking for someone…anyone…that I might be able to start seeing. Just the act of scrolling through the pages of smiling faces, all with variations of the same introduction (Hi! Do you feel stuck/unhappy/dissatisfied? Are you held captive by old patterns and emotional scars? Call me!), all with the same yellow box at the top, sometimes even in all caps “NOT ACCEPTING NEW PATIENTS”…(Seriously, all caps?? Is that really necessary?) I kinda lost my shit.
Which like… I’m not a shit-loser. I used to be. I mean…I’m sure that’s part of the problem. I spent a really long time being really sensitive, really out of control emotionally. There were reasons. They don’t really matter. But the flip side of this is that now I kind of avoid going anywhere near those kinds of feelings. I don’t watch sad movies. I don’t listen to sad songs. If I go there, I might not come back, y’know?
So when the mere thought of asking someone for help reduces me to tears, yeah. It’s probably time.
But of course, everyone’s losing their shit right now, a year of no physical contact, staring at the same four walls, trying to find something you haven’t streamed a million times…it’ll have that effect. It doesn’t super matter…
