Sometimes, the most valuable things come out of the shortest conversations. About two weeks ago, I found a new therapist and went, to discuss some things that were bothering me.
I’ve been accused of depression and attention deficit disorder. I don’t believe I have either of them. Depression is nixed for a lot of reasons, mainly because I don’t have very many symptoms and the ones I do have could be attributed to a lot of other things. ADD/ADHD are nixed because, well, I may not always be in-the-moment, and I might be a bit scatterbrained, but I can certainly sit still and focus on a singular task for long periods (see: reading, movies, writing, programming, work at the office).
Thus, I’ve always been a bit confused by the whole state of affairs. As you can imagine.
So two weeks ago, with new therapist, she threw out the diagnosis of “anxiety.” At first, I laughed, because anxiety? Really? Do I seem anxious? She then countered with everything I’d been recounting with regards to my life to that point, and then pointed out that I’m not in-the-moment because I have a million things in my head at any given time, all that I’m worried about or trying to gear up to tackle.
And it made sense. Holy crap, did it ever. Worry about too much shit, and everything starts coming unglued.
So yeah, next appointment is tonight at 5 p.m. This should be interesting.