![]() ![]() You have a brain chemistry imbalance, he said, but I didn’t fully believe that. In the hunch of my shoulders and the lack of intonation in my voice. Roger told me it was depression he detected it on my face right away. It was weird to be in therapy, or so I thought back then, but I was worried about me, too. The appointment had been scheduled by my parents, who were worried about me, but I hadn’t put up a fight. I remember the first day I walked into his office, an ashamed and afraid 21-year-old, so thin my pants kept slipping. Roger is my psychiatrist, the same one I’ve had for 13 years. My dad sent another text, as if reading my mind. It was only the lead-up, short days becoming shorter and shorter, a slow descent into lightlessness. In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.īut it wasn’t even winter yet. He sent a quote from Albert Camus, a screenshot of an old poem. ![]() My father, who has depression, too, texted back. How long had I been taking for granted the fact that my parents were there, that I could tell them anything and know they would rush to my aid? All at once I was hit with the inevitability of losing them, a non-negotiable fact that sat heavy on my chest, a sickening weight. The feelings of dread continued to brew as I waited for a reply. I haven’t been sleeping and I feel so anxious and low. I crafted a text to my parents, hit send without thinking about it. ![]()
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