Trigger warning- feelings and discussion self loathing and worthlessness. 

I am constantly living with this ball of anxiety in the center of my chest. That is the best way I can describe it. I thought I was fine this morning. Well, not fine… But able to function. Everything was going wrong on top of all my preconceived situation. I am in the middle of a major depressive episode which was made worse by a “retreat“ that was supposed to be beneficial that I had to go on a week ago, compounded by my out-of-control OCD, it’s at the point where I can’t even think about a minor possible inconvenience without immediately jumping to the wildest conclusions of how it could completely destroy or alter my life or the lives of others. I am exhausted in the afternoons. I’m wide awake at night, usually battling my own destructive thoughts. I fall asleep at some ungodly time, after berating myself for it because “I told myself I wouldn’t do this again,“ and then I set all these major goals for myself and the next morning, how “I’m going to get up super early and do ABC and D and it’s going to make my life so much better and fix my problems and make me actually worth some thing,“ and instead I am woken by a frustrated and also likely depressed parent Who I just want to make happy by showing them that I’m not literally dying every day, and then I’m in and out of sleep for the next hour, constantly popping in and out of dreaming and reality, only to accidentally glance at the clock and realize that I did do it it again I’m fact; I didn’t do anything right. I am stupid, i’m self-destructive, I did this to myself, I am my own worst enemy, I am at fault, I’m pathetic for thinking otherwise. And then I’m miserable, and disappointed in myself once again. I struggle to will myself out of bed, because I know what’s coming already. I’m already late. I’m already a disappointment. I get in the car with the woman I used to trust with everything. And now some mornings I don’t know who she is. My body is aching. My head is down. I think I’m breaking her heart. We pull up to the building. I mumble that I love her, and I pull my stuff out, spilling out of the car.  I walk to the front of the building, I’m desperately trying to prepare myself for The inevitable. I walk in. I look at the people. I whispered to myself, “no“, and I walk right back out.

I’m standing outside the building, The skin of my legs are numb. My toes are numb. My fingers are numb. My nose is numb. My ears are burning. My eyes are stinging. I hear banging on glass. I looked behind me. It’s my counselor. “Hey Lyn” she calls. “Are you all right?“ I stare at her. I shake my head slightly. “I don’t know“ I say. Because if I say that I’m fine, I know she won’t believe me. “Do you want to come in my office?“ I shake my head. I can’t. “Do you want me to come out there? I’ll come out there.“ “ok.” I whisper, hoping or maybe not hoping that she’ll hear me. She walks outside, her normal peppy demeanor. She stands in front of me, boring holes into my eyes. “Hey. What’s going on?“ 
What do I say to that? What do I say to her? That my life has been a complete fever dream for the past four years but I haven’t been able to tell her because I know that she just doesn’t understand mental illness? 

“A lot of stuff. Things… Aren’t good. Like, at all.“ Here I go. Why am I doing this? What will this do for me?

“ is someone dying?” She immediately spits out. 

“No…no one’s dying.”

“Then Tell me.“ she says, like she’ll get it all.  “well, the treatment really isn’t going that well. It’s really inconsistent, it’s-“ 
“ you don’t feel like it’s 
helping?“ 
“ I haven’t been having it. We had to drop the last one, we had to start looking again.“
She just stares at me, with that “oh poor thing“ look. I hate when she does that.
“You’re pissed because you didn’t dress down for dress down aren’t you.” “Oh… I mean yeah, but that’s not why I walked out.” silence. And hear comes some actual truth. “ The retreat really messed me up. Like, really really messed me up.“ “oh no. Did it just dig up too many things for you?” “Yeah that’s some of it-“ “do they know?????” * yeah, because I’m just gonna Waltz in and tell the super religious directors of this religious, dangerously unregulated, trauma dumping fest and tell them that their little field trip that every former, brainwashed attendee raves about completely f*cked with me. What’s it gonna do? They’re still gonna have it. It’s been 20 years and counting.*
“The OCD is out of control. I have a lot of anxiety. I don’t know what happened… I just walked in and I freaked out. And then I walked back out. It’s never happened before, I just… I don’t know.“ i’m on the verge of tears. “Do you think you’re 
depressed???“ she asks with this super alarmed look. this is what I mean.
“Um, I mean-“
“Do you feel depressed?????”
*do I feeeeeel depressed????*
“I mean, yeah. That’s been an ongoing diagnosis for a while now.” And then she kind of has this “oh wow” look. “Are your brothers OK?“ *what?!* I almost chuckled. “Yeah, they’re fine…They’re not 
depressed.“ what kind of answer was that?
“I mean I see you with your friends in the hallways, you’re always smiling and everything. So I kind of just assumed that everything was good with you.“
And this is why I can’t talk to her about these things. This woman is supposed to be a certified psychologist, and yet she has absolutely no idea how any of these things work. She doesn’t know how depression works, she kind of knows how anxiety works, and don’t even get me started on her theory of OCD. That was a really painful conversation. *” just go on a run with earbuds in and play music,” she suggested for my intrusive thoughts.* 
“Yeah, I don’t know. That stuff is fine but-“
“It’s all a façade.” She fills in. But I don’t really like that word because it makes me sound like an imposter or something.
“Yeah………kind of”
“Is mom or dad getting you?” She’s one of those people who like to call your parents “mom or dad” when referring to them right to your face. I’m an adult, you can say “your parents,” or *your* mom or dad or something. 
“Yes, my aunt. She just dropped me off. I didn’t know if I should but I guess I can’t really just go back in now.“

“Ohhhhhh, this is the answer that drives you everywhere?” 
“Yeah.” yes. My auntie. The one who I grew up so close to. The one who I don’t recognize some days. The one who breaks my heart to see some mornings because I know that so much has happened. So much has changed. That she has changed. But I can’t tell her everything anymore. And this woman knows that. But seems to have completely forgotten that we ever had any major issues.

She pulls up to the curb a few minutes later. 

“Is that her?” 
“Yeah.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Shit. The walk of shame just got a little worse. 
“What’s her last name?”
“Doyle.”
We walk over. My aunt looks confused as all hell. 
As soon as I open the door, “what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Hi Mrs. Doyle, I’m one of Lyn’s counselors from school.”

The bewilderment on her face. It’s killing me. 

“I don’t really know what’s going on, but Lyn’s having a bad morning and she did t go in.”

That’s one way to explain it. 

“Will you stay with her for a while? Or bring her to your place?” 
I whipped my head around to look at her. Is she kidding me????? That would be a sure fire way to make this automatically worse. She *knows* we have tension lately. Making me stay with her now, when I feel mortified and worried and pathetic at myself for not sucking it up and going in, especially when my she seems to understand mental illness even *less* somehow than my counselor, and often will say something like “I was depressed one time, and I got over it,” or “your cousin had that OCD and she had to change her sheets 3 times a day and was scared of dirt, she was so bad.” *this* is what she thinks would be good for me?
“I’ll call your brother or sister in law and let them know what’s going on.” She tells her. 

The car ride is deafeningly silent. I’m a block away when my dad calls. I tell him will call him once im alone in the house. I told my aunt I’ll call her later so she knows im alright, but that I need to be alone right now. “Im here if you want me.” She says. And for some reason, that makes the crack in my heart just a little bit deeper. 

I call my dad and im not two words in before I start crying. “Im not upset, im just worried.” He tells me he’s coming home. I hug my dog. Im getting texts from people asking where I am. I have to figure out how to say that even though I texted and said “im a few blocks away” or “aalking in now” a half hour ago, I won’t  be there all day. I’ll be asked questions tomorrow. Why I can’t just be like the other girl who has gone through just as much as I have and yet does it all somehow? She succeeds. She doesn’t disappoint. She looks happy even if she doesn’t feel it. She emits a positive energy for others to feed off if. She has a passion. She has a life bigger than the one inside of her own head. I want to be that. I want to be that for other people. I want to be that for myself.