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It's been a long time coming. My boyfriend has suggested it for years. And even before I ever met him, therapy could have been a major tool in my past. Maybe.

Most of last year (2021), I would have brushed off the suggestion - and I did every time my partner brought it up. I didn't think he was wrong. I knew I probably needed to see someone to handle a lifetime of issues. But I was afraid.

In high school, a bad day in class turned into a dark, unsettling poem, turned into a school counselor asking me questions about home - which turned into my mother yelling at me that social services could have taken my brother and I away. You know, and that she almost wished that they had. That anything might happen to my brother if I reached out on my own accord has held great staying power over me for years.

Then came 2021. Things had been building up over decades, but until 2021, everything seemed like some work, but nothing I couldn't navigate through on my own. Sure, there was the public groping incident and likely anxiety and depression symptoms, but by this point I'd become used to all but the worst of them. And once you've had to talk yourself out of thoughts of suicide for over two decades, you're not even that worried when you start to feel that way; you've always talked yourself back down in the past and you know you can live through this unbearable agony because you've done it so many times in the past. It's still so terribly painful, but all you can do - all you know to do - is endure. And after so long encompassed by these things, they become your "normal". You forget that most folks don't seem to have such thoughts. You realize that many of the habits and thinking patterns you've used for years were the results of coping with everything.

When my 30th birthday came up in 2021, suddenly, there was so much more that I hadn't even realized was wired up wrong. If my problems were akin to car problems, I thought I was only dealing with the large, mechanical parts. Turns out, the wiring under the hood was done all wrong and burnt up and not working properly too. I was fine tampering with the mechanical parts, but once the screwed up wiring was revealed, I knew I couldn't keep at this on my own. This requires a higher skillset.

I spent September largely in solitude. Though my partner and I are basically a pair of hermits and happy about it, once the hood was popped open on my issues, I really, really withdrew. I pace for several hours in my office basically every day; I drink my coffee and listen to music and think about what I want to get done that day - it's how I wake up and get going. But September 2021, I started making double and triple my daily goal of 10,000 steps. I'd turn down my boyfriend's offers to go watch television shows together, and what little I had been managing to do around the house also came to a halt. All I did was sleep and pace and think.

October saw me realizing that I needed to seek help. I was resistant and wary, but conceded that I was too weary to continue with such small amounts of progress on my own. I didn't want to still feel how I have felt for another 30 years. I'm tired. Even if no one else thinks I have any reason to be tired. Which is why I haven't been speaking with my parents since August 2021; to them, I have no reason to be so tired. And I am too tired to explain to them just why they are so wrong about that.

I have helped take care of my younger brother with a list of special needs since I was 7. I was expected to take on many tasks that our parents should have been dealing with, and because I was too busy being a third parent for my brother, I missed out on being a kid myself. My sibling situation left me with no idea how regular siblings behave, and that meant that I also had issues with relationships with peers. Because I had issues connecting with peers, I never felt I fit in anywhere or had a group I felt safe with, and I was left defensive and angry.

I generally wasn't asked about my day. Or my thoughts. And I rarely shared with my parents; I always felt defensive, like I had to defend any decision I ever made to them. And it was never the "right one". My parents forgot to ask me some basic things. They'd ask what could make me happy. Certainly not what did make me happy, though. And since they didn't ask me...

...well, I didn't ask me.

It was always important to make smart decisions. "Get more for your money. Take advantage of deals and sales and coupons." Forgo the playful and fun for the practical and useful.

Yet, I was surprised last year when I started to struggle with my identity. What was really me, and what was years and years of attempts to be "good enough" for others? Particularly my parents?

I gave myself three months to adjust to the idea of therapy. Partly because I had been so resistant for so long that I needed time to change course or I'd give myself mental whiplash and partly because I thought that, in preparation for therapy, I should cease my use of cannabis and allow the dreams my usage usually blocked start up again. This was because I had finally started to think about my past sleeping issues, and I wondered if I was having nightmares, as I had never considered that to be what these were. But now, I wasn't so sure - on paper, they sure sound like nightmares.

I followed through with a few hiccups. Set the date. I was so terribly nervous. I thought I'd stay up all night the night before my first video call with the psychologist. While I did stay up late, anxiously pacing, it turned out that I was not worked up enough to stay up all that time. Rather, I was so worked up that I wore myself out. Knowing that I would wind up with insomnia if I didn't, I took melatonin to make sure my brain would be out as well as my body. I figured even if I looked like death warmed over, at least it would be an honest, accurate representation of my life.

After going over basics of what she does and talking over what I had submitted on the forms I filled out prior to our video call, we delved into a little more detail. There's quite a bit going in many directions; I'm left wondering how many sessions it will take to sort through things. The hour is up quickly, and we schedule my first true session. I felt better than I had in some time, and was surprised to find it lasting for longer than a few minutes. I think part of it was the release of some of the tension; I had dreaded it and it had been this big, bad thing before I did it, but afterwards I was left relieved. I had made it through the intro.

I was nervous again before the first actual session, but much less so than previously.

We touched on the issues I'm having with my identity, and the question that stuck out to me was, "who do you want to be?". When I struggled with it, she instead asked, "or who do you not want to be?".

That turned out to be easier to answer, but when she read back the things to me in my latest session, it sounded so... Goodie-goodie. Like last week me and this week me were not quite having the same vibes. This week me was feeling more...

...something I haven't pinned down yet.

This latest session, I was pretty relaxed getting into the video call. She seems to be getting where I'm coming from so far, I think. This time, Catfish decided she wanted to see me in the middle of the call, and I was stopped and directed to my office door, slightly ajar. It was a good laugh; all the psychologist saw was my door slowly being pushed open. I couldn't hear the box I put behind it to help keep this exact thing from happening sliding because I had headphones on for the call for privacy. Not that I care if my boyfriend overhears or not; unlike with my parents, I don't hide things from him. I scooped Catfish up to show her to the psychologist, called the cat a rotten little shit, gave her a kiss on the head and scooted her out into the hallway. Brat.

This time I brought up my job situation a bit. While I am the secondary caregiver for my younger brother, I get the few "slack hours" that my dad can't claim, despite caring for my brother being a 24/7 job. As such, I usually get $70-120 a month for this. And I haven't minded too much: my boyfriend takes care of the finances and has no issue with me staying home the way I do and running out to help whoever in the family. I don't drive, so have no car, so the only bill I really have is my phone bill through Ting, which is typically only around $20 most months. I've included a sign up link at the bottom for anyone interested. I have used Ting for years and the most I ever paid was $35, with most months coming it at around $20 personally.

I still pay for other things that I want for the house or for myself - my latest splurge saw me buying soap and shampoo bars with some of my stimulus money in part to celebrate starting therapy. But they were also practical things.

I explained that I didn't feel like I am a good person. This struck her as something heavy; I explained that it was something I frequently brought up with my partner, and something he wished I didn't do. What she considered heavy, I considered just part of my average day. To my partner, I'm, "sweet" and "wonderful". His Punky. He doesn't understand why I am so hard on myself or why I care about what my family thinks so much. He just wants me to be happy, and has been supportive of many things I've tried in the last 7 years together.

I described to my therapist that a "good" person to me is kind, obviously, but also useful. My parents urged smart choices. They also urged me to be useful. So be smart and be useful; be practical.

Yet, here I am, 30 years, still fully capable of working (okay, debatable), unmarried, no children - with no intention of ever having any! - no job, no income really... Is it any wonder I never tell them how tired I am? They'd want to know how I could be so tired when I seem to have nothing going on.

I have to keep thinking for the next week on this, to delve a little more into it. I feel guilty. I'm not providing anything on paper, but I'm constantly dropping things to help my parents and family for little more than pantry goods. I've helped with my brother my entire life and will have to do so for the remainder of it, and that in and of itself has felt like a lifelong job I never asked for and was thrown into from a very young age. While I am not opposed to working, I have to admit; if I don't have to, I'm not looking to. This is the closest I get right now to having time to do what I want to do.

Except, I don't really know what I want to do....

It's sad to say, but it's been nearly 6 months since I last spoke to or heard from my parents. This is the longest I have ever gone without helping my parents out - or without seeing my brother. I feel pretty lost, though these months apart have seen me trying to ground myself. I think that's why I gravitated back to stuffed animals and coloring; not only are they comforting and reminiscent of the few peaceful moments of childhood I had, but these are things that can and do still bring me some joy, and I am so happy to have found them useful.

I was instructed to check out this specific TED Talk. I intend to watch it and think more about the sessions I have had. I'm hoping to have some more concise points to cover next session. I feel like I'm all over the place and have no idea what I am trying to accomplish, and I need to narrow it down. A lot of what she says is in line with things I have already thought about or considered, so I am eager to move to something I've had more resistance to, but there's so much tangled up and I tell myself she's still adjusting to my pace too. It is helpful to have that affirmation that what I have been feeling and thinking for years has largely, so far, been understandable. But I've also been clawing away at these things for years, so the prospect that maybe, finally, something will be resolved and take some of this pressure off is getting me chomping at the bit.

There's a lot of work to be done. But I'm so tired of being this way.

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