I still ask myself why I decided to come clean to the counselor when he asked me about my current state. He studied my results and papers before asking me the dreaded question. It’s always the same question and can I just say that I hate that frigging question? I hate it. It kills me every time.
“How are you feeling?”
Restless. Horrible. Like shit. Unhappy. Miserable. Tired. Stressed. Worthless. Confused. Indecisive. Incompetent. Never enough.
It has always been that way anyway, it’s always the same answer. I don’t understand why I keep on lying to myself about it. I’m not fine, I must admit, and I can’t remember a time when I was ever completely at peace with myself. I don’t know why I always tell people I’m fine when I’m not. Maybe because I’m just tired of explaining myself, maybe I’m fed up of trying to make them understand me when I know they can’t, maybe because it’s easier than telling them why I’m not fine in the first place. Or maybe because most of the time, I don’t even have a reason why I feel as if I’m in the bottom pit of Hell. Everyday is a struggle and every single day, I look for a reason to convince myself why staying here for another day is worth it. Looking and searching is exhausting when you don’t find anything; it makes you wonder at night and sometimes, it keeps you awake until the early hours of dawn. It makes you wonder if what you’re really looking for is the end. It doesn’t make sense to me how I can look in the mirror or at anything or anyone and just cry without a reason why.
The counselor looked at me and asked me if I ever felt depressed. It ticked me off.
Let me make my point clear. Depression is NOT a feeling. Feelings aren’t consistent, they change over time. Depression is more than that. You can’t say you feel depressed now and feel happy later. I despise how some people are so insensitive when it comes to this. When you’re depressed, you feel down all the time. You feel down when you don’t even want to feel down. You feel down even if you have no reason to feel down. You just are. It just is. It’s just the way things are. It doesn’t go away. It never does.
I sighed. “Yeah.”
He spent thirty minutes (felt like an eternity to me) lecturing me about depression and eating disorders and how I’d have to go to the therapist and get help for this. Apparently, I’m depressed AND bulimic. I don’t deny it. I know I’m bulimic, I’ve been bulimic for three years. Depressed? I don’t know. There are times when I admit to myself that I am depressed and I need to get help. Other times I tell myself that I don’t need professional help, that nothing’s wrong with me and that I fight my own battles. I don’t want to go to a therapist, but a part of me does. It’s an ongoing battle. I want to get help yet at the same time, I don’t. There’s a stigma here in this country that when you go to a therapist, you’re considered a crazy person, that you’re insane and a lunatic. I don’t want to think that I’m emotionally unstable because I don’t believe I am. I just need someone to talk to. It can be anybody as long as they listen, as long as they won’t judge me. They don’t have to say anything, I don’t need advice or comments. I won’t even mind if it’s a mute person, I just want somebody to listen to me.
I left the counselor after an hour and was told to go back in two weeks for our second session. I didn’t go. I didn’t feel like being interrogated and patronized that day, so I didn’t. I apologized and told him I wasn’t feeling well. I’m going back in two days for our second session. I don’t know how and what to feel about it. Is he finally going to refer me to a therapist? Will they call my parents? What if my parents don’t understand? Do I have to stop attending university? Will this affect my prospects of getting a job in the future?
There’s so much at stake here, there’s so much to lose. My future is at stake. I mean honestly, I’d rather put my life at stake instead. I don’t think getting better is worth it if it means losing so much more than what I’ve had before. That’ll make me a loser. I don’t want to be a loser.