“I’ve never done any hard work.” This is what I told my therapist this morning, and I believe it. She said I have a delusion. I remember when we first started talking about this delusion, nearly two years ago now. It started with the belief that I didn’t earn my bachelor’s degree. I want to report that I no longer believe that. I want to, but that would be a lie. I don’t know who earned it for me, but it wasn’t myself. I would have retained some knowledge from four years (and $30k of debt) of classes, wouldn’t I? I think about college, and I feel guilt and regret and shame. What did I do those four years? How is it that I ended up with this piece of paper saying I did all these things when there’s nothing in my brain to show for it? I didn’t earn my degree; I slipped through the cracks of the system, somehow.

This blog brings me a little bit of comfort. Even though I haven’t touched it in three years, it’s still here, waiting for me, and serving as tangible evidence that I did in fact do something, once. Somehow, a few months of writing and photos feels more real and substantial and important and effective than four years in school. College was supposed to be the start of my life, but I hardly remember it. I just remember the friends I made but didn’t keep, and the friends I didn’t make at all, and the opportunities I had but never took.

I’ve learned a lot of things in therapy. With my current therapist; not the one I saw for three years who was a nice, kind person to talk to, but who ultimately wasn’t what I needed for untangling my mental health stuff. I can thank her, though, for helping me with my ADHD diagnosis, and for encouraging me (as I dragged my feet) to seek accommodations in school. With my current therapist, I’ve learned about attachment disorders, anxiety, brain parts, OCD tendencies, agency, boundaries, and that Fault, Blame, Shame, and Guilt are toxins. I’m learning to get my shit together before I have kids. I’m learning about options. There’s always options. Somehow, she always has a magic option in her back pocket that I’ve never heard of, that she pulls out like it’s the most natural thing in the world. How does she know all these things? How does she retain all these things? I wish I could also retain these things, instead of her having to remind me what I was supposed to be doing all week in each session. She’s like magic, even if parts of my brain feel like they’re under attack every week. Today I learned about Independent Schools. Who’s ever heard of Independent Schools? They’re private schools, but they aren’t centered on religion. It’s the best of both worlds. How have I never heard of such a thing? I learned that the Montessori schools I went to weren’t very Montessori-y at all. Too structured, she said.

I don’t know what I want. I told her this and she said she believes I do know what I want, I’m just scared to want it, because I’m still at a point where the fear of failure is stronger than the belief that I could just acknowledge something didn’t work and try again, or try something else. I can’t deny this. She listed off several things I’ve done in my life: finished high school, finished college, got a job, got a house, etc. But as she was listing them, my brain kept repeating, “Not my choice, not my choice, not my choice.” Which is a silly ridiculous thing, because obviously those things were my choice; I did them myself, right? Even though I did those things – that’s my name on my diploma, and my degree, and my student debt, and my mortgage – but they didn’t necessarily feel like my own choices to do, if that makes sense? It’s the expected thing, it’s just what you do.

Oops, I forgot to talk about agency. It’s the next morning now and I don’t want this post to get lost in drafts, gosh darn it, so I’m posting it now as-is. Until next time.

-Amy