Put on a Happy Face

Therapist: "What do you want to talk about the least?"

Me: Stares into space for 7 minutes. 

Therapist: "How did your journaling go this week?"

Me: Fine. 

Therapist: Did you write down names of people who you feel most supported by on those dark days?

Me: No. I didn't. I want to get shock therapy. Google says it can help with depression and my medication doesn't work.

Therapist: Have you spoken with the nurse about adjusting your dosage or trying something different?

Me: Yeah, I'm tired.  I don't want to do a session today.  Let's try again next week.


I'm tired of talk therapy. I don't want to be asked anymore questions and I'm finding the process really invasive. It feels like being around family that wants to help but also wants to ask really nosey questions. 

It's an odd feeling when you figure out your place in the world. What you mean to people and what you don't. I'm almost 40 and I've run away from some very "obvious to everyone but me" truths in the past few months and it feels strange to admit things. Like a cough stuck in my throat.

I wish depression was something that had a physical, visible look. Like crutches or a cast. Instead, it looks like me. With lip gloss and a teeny bit of mascara. Slight smile, no teeth showing. 

It's hard to discern genuine care. So, I just assume everyone would be just be better off in the dark. I'm tired of the telling the same stories over and over. Who am I even trying to convince anymore?

I'm tired. I say it every day. But today I feel more tired than yesterday.

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