What my bones know5/25/2023 ![]() ![]() I’ve suffered from anxiety and depression since I was 12. ![]() I loved her so much that I kept seeing her via Skype after I moved across the country to New York when I was 26. My sessions with her quickly moved beyond boy talk, and we began discussing my months-long bouts of depression and my constant anxiety around friendships, work and family. My sessions began when I was 22, when I lived in San Francisco and needed help with a very San Francisco problem: an INTJ tech-nerd boyfriend. The reason I know about the poem in her office is the same reason I can’t believe she’s only telling me my diagnosis now: I’ve been her client for eight years. My therapist’s warm office is in San Francisco, and I am in my dark, freezing, six-by-six-foot office in New York City, talking to her through a small window on my computer. In the back of the room is a framed copy of the poem Desiderata.īut I’m not really here. She gazes at me from her serene office, where sunshine glows through her gauzy curtains, birdsong bursts through the windows, and one of those little fountains with a giant marble on it burbles, which I guess is supposed to be relaxing. “Do you want to know your diagnosis?” I blink and stare at my therapist. ![]() This story is part of the May 21 edition of Good Weekend. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply.AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |