On seeing a counselor

So I suppose a normal person would sweep this under the rug, but I don’t have a rug. That means it will be as out in the open as anything else I do.

What? I know I have a rug. It was a figure of speech.

Anyway, I’ve started seeing a counselor because the stress at work and at home is driving me a little nuts and I need some help figuring out the best way to handle it.

Of course, after seeing her for two weeks, I have realized that I am probably  going to have to get a different one because this one makes me feel all stabby inside. That isn’t the effect I was hoping for. What’s wrong with her? Well, for one thing she has no idea what to do with someone who has an issue with food. For another, she is absolutely insistent that I have a soul and that working on doing things to feed my soul and get me in touch with my spirituality will help me a lot.

Those of you who have had discussions with me about my soul and spirituality are ducking right now. For those of you who are not in the loop about my soul, here’s the very high level summary: I don’t believe I have a soul in the traditional sense of the word, and I do not define myself as having  any sort of spirituality. I think that people are who they are and how they are because of the chemical makeup of their physical bodies.

And I sure as FUCK don’t want my spirituality to be the focus of any sort of therapeutic plan.

Stephen, Paddy and Robin: you  just be quiet right now. We are not going to discuss how spiritual I am. I’m not spiritual, I’m observant and grateful for being alive. It has nothing to do with a  soul. I notice things that are cool in the world and point them out, in much the same way that I notice things that are wrong.

Ahem.

In addition to those issues, she seems very focused on finding a diagnosis instead of working with me on concrete ideas that I can use to get a handle on the issues I’m struggling with. Like figuring out why I have trouble letting go of people, or why I have been working for the same company for 27 years. Or why I eat instead of dealing with my feelings. She did agree with my observation that it’s probably all for the same reason, then wondered what diagnosis she should put down for me.

She suggested that she put down mild depression but, well, I’m not depressed. I’m overwhelmed and having trouble coping. Apparently being overwhelmed and having a coping deficit isn’t something that she can write down on her piece of paper. Maybe I should look it up online and let her know what it is. Should she really be asking the patient anyway?

Maybe this is normal procedure for counseling sessions, but so far I am finding her even less helpful than the  friend who suggested that I  “try being happy for a change.”

She gets one more week.

Aren’t  these all first world problems anyway? Very much so, and I have no doubt that there will be a future post about my issues with entitlement and privilege and how fucking lucky I am  to have the amazingly good life that I have had. This is about me confessing that I am such a loser that I got a counselor.

OK, OK, OK. I know. Getting a counselor doesn’t make me a loser, it makes me someone who recognizes that I need help. It means that I was  smart enough to get help instead of continuing to struggle on my own like I usually do. It means I am actually capable of learning from my past mistakes.

It also means that someone  is getting paid to encourage me to talk about my problems, so none of you have to listen for free anymore!

(It doesn’t mean that, if you love me you still have to listen.)

It’s not like I am even  unhappy once you get me out of the cesspool of despair called work. I still laugh a lot. There’s usually a genuine smile on my face. I still think I know all of the best people in the world. I still notice things like the nifty turtle cloud I saw in the sunrise this morning. I still life. I don’t even mind being single, except for the lack of affection.  But my focus is shot, I’m sleeping badly, and I can’t even read a fucking book. I need a little boost. So I am getting it.

You know it’s bad if I can’t read. I always read.

Still.

Maybe I should try just being happy for a change….Counseling isn’t cheap, and I may be unemployed soon!

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