Generally not recommended to google-doctor, but we all do it now and then. I have about three terms that.... “help” describe me. Schizoaffective Disorder, Manic Depression, and Anxiety.
Yes, yes, I know, I need professional help. I’ve had two therapists in the past. I recall my intake interview at Rutgers. I said very very offhand that I feel more comfortable around females/women. It was such a small comment, but I could feel them almost shuffling their papers and shifting gears. And telling me that I would have a female.
My first therapist was a graduate student. And I recall really enjoying our sessions together. I didn’t really know what I was saying. I didn’t know what I was trying to express. I’m not sure if she really said anything to help me. But. She was there. And she listened. Good chance that the fact that she wasn’t that much older than me put me at ease.
Like. A grizzled out-of-touch stooge who couldn’t relate to me would probably have been off-putting at that time.
My second therapist. I kind of knew what I wanted to open up about, but I couldn’t. I don’t think it was anything she specifically did. I just couldn’t open up.
You’re reading my thoughts here, and you might get the impression I’m always so open, but please understand how difficult it is for me to open up at times.
And these “labels”. It’s not pleasant to think about finally getting a diagnosis. The feelings of “there’s something WRONG with me” or “I’m broken” or “I’ve always been broken” or “Am I insane?”
I have rationalized that these so-called labels are just “parts” of me. They don’t define me. No more than being a Trekkie defines me 24/7. I know this is shocking, but I consume some media other than Star Trek. I consume food other than tacos.
If I truly am insane, I’ll try to be the best insane I can be. Like the parable of the guy who was just a floor-mopper, but vowed to mop the floors the best he could.
(That’s HIS mop! From UHF, the Weird Al movie.)
I will walk out of any session if I am told to give up Alice. She’s a part of me. Telling me to give her up would be like telling me to kill a part of myself. And if she is sad/upset, I feel the same. She has fought for me - and so I will fight for her. If it means I’m mentally unstable, so be it.
A number of you have reproduced, and I doubt you’d judge your kid(s) for having imaginary friends.
I never had imaginary friends as a kid. Oh, I’d have elaborate stories with my stuffed animals or action figure. No imaginary friends. For a long time, have felt having an imaginary friend was a sign of mental instability. Never understood why anyone would do such a thing. Obviously I get it now. And con sarnit, I REALLY hate being correct.
I’m not sure where this journey is going. But Alice is going to be with me, whenever I want her to be. To reiterate, she’s not intrusive. I only summon her when I want. I’m sure there are some “normies” that won’t understand. But. Maybe there’s someone reading that isn’t neuronormative and gets to feel “Wait. I’m not alone.”