So I quit going to therapy. I have clinical depression and anxiety disorder, and my therapist was also trying to convince me that I have chronic pain syndrome and quite possibly an eating disorder. I am on Celexa for my problems, and I've really noticed that it's working, and on a relatively low dosage, too.

But my therapist made me nervous. She didn't talk very much, and she always wanted to hear what I thought...and I spent a great deal of my time there trying to convince her that I KNOW I'M CRAZY. I would tell her how I was afraid of the moon cracking in half, how that kept me awake at night with no sleep, and then I'd immediately follow that up with "I realize that's a stupid fear," and she wouldn't say anything. When I told her that I am constantly working to make people like me and working to make people happy, she said that I had a heart of gold. Of course, I don't believe her. She's a therapist, being paid, by me. She HAS to say I have a heart of gold. She can't say I'm a doormat twit.

My theory on therapists and doctors in general is that they are like prostitutes. If I don't have the money to pay her to care...she doesn't care. If I have a panic attack at 1:00 in the morning, will my therapist comfort me? I doubt it. If I get fired and I don't have the $130 an hour to pay her, will she care if I'm depressed or not? I doubt it.

I've come to these harsh realizations: People who are insulting you are usually being honest, and people who are complimenting you are usually being polite. If I love others enough, it really doesn't matter if I love myself. and I am not very important in the grand scheme of things. In my opinion, that is all I need to know.