Perhaps it was because I didn’t really like the last psychiatrist I saw, or perhaps it was because I just got really busy and too cool for school—I don’t really know, but long story short: I hadn’t followed up with a psychiatrist for quite a few months up until last week.
Recently, I’ve found myself spitting out words that sound like clichés, not because they’re clichés, but because I’m slowly figuring out that they’re true.
My awesome friend Caroline Hoenemeyer wrote, produced, and starred in this original web series, entitled Dating Myself.
Not to be lame and start this whole thing off with disclaimers, but 1) you should know that this post is absolutely not didactic at all and 2) that despite any speculation, I ultimately respect doctors and, for the purposes of this post, my psychiatrist.
I woke up this morning and, as I do every morning, I hit the snooze button too many times while groggily considering (and hating) how horrendous and unnecessary it is to wake up every morning to an alarm, hastily get ready, and then go out into the world to do a bunch of things that I don’t really want to do.