by Neesa Suncheuri
I’ve always been a guy with a temper. As a kid, I proved my worth by beating up kids on the playground. Even older kids who tried to mess with me…they all learned to run like hell when I came around. I never cared about what teachers and adults thought about me either, and as soon as I could see behind their lies, I started talking back. Real young. I got in trouble a lot, and was pegged as a “bad kid.” And I was.
Time: 2001, the year of eleventh grade.
Place: Office of my mental health therapist.
Purpose: ???
I’ve made a little gorilla for you.
You can place him here by the tissues.
He’s made of beeswax shaded ecru.
He’ll listen as I talk of my issues.
I
The therapist is nondescript. She sits in front of Lily, nondescript brown hair hanging limply around her nondescript eyes and cheeks. The ambivalent half-whisper that emerges from her exceedingly ordinary lips is monotone. Her figure is thoroughly average, as are her dress and shoes. The pad of paper in her hands is appropriately stock, and the handwriting upon it is perfectly indistinguishable from that of every other person in the universe.
I’ve had a number of therapists over the years—counsellors, social workers, psychologists, family doctors, and psychiatrists. Some were good, some were not so good. What makes a good therapist? The answer to that question is probably different for everyone. I think the ideal therapist is someone who takes the time to know you. To understand you. They are someone you can trust and open up to with your inner-most thoughts and feelings. For me, a good therapist also has to have knowledge of bipolar disorder and what that means for me.
Continue reading When Your Mom is Better Than Your Therapist
Mental illness comes with a nasty stigma attached. It sucks, it’s awful, wrong, and ignorant.
ig·no·rant
ˈiɡnərənt/
adjective
Continue reading Coffee Makes Everything Better by Guest Blogger @frankenbabyx3
