So because of that, I spend two hours every two weeks with a psychotherapist to make sure I'm not depressed and if I am, then I get the care I need. And I don't care what anyone says, there's still huge stigma attached to mental illness and treatment and I find it way harder to tell people that I'm in therapy - especially psychotherapy - because I think there's very few of us who haven't had fucked up childhoods and until recently, I put zero credit in the whole thing.
(Because it was easier to take a pill and I thought all therapists were flakes and yes this has all been duly noted in my file because there's nothing like telling your therapist you think he's a quack to start the patient/doctor relationship off on the right foot).
But I digress. Besides, I need to tell you about the manatee.
Yesterday my doctor told me that he'd been waterskiing in Florida and hit a manatee. The manatee was fine, but his knee was not. For a year and a half he walked around with a knee that he knew needed surgery, but was told by surgeons that he was perfectly fine, saying the problem with his knee was all in his head. He finally found a doctor that believed him and his knee was fixed and the manatees all lived happily ever after.
The point of the story, of course, is not to talk about how dangerous it is to waterski in Florida but sometimes you have to ask difficult questions of the people you trust to take care of you. I don't know how common stories like mine are and I'd never suggest doing stupid stuff like quitting Effexor cold turkey because, well, it's stupid. And maybe it's not mental illness you're grappling with. But what if you asked that uncomfortable question today? What's the worst that could happen?