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Back before the New Year, RL suggested her doctor to me.

Of the mental kind. And I thought about it, almost made an appointment. I chickened out quickly though. Another blogger here by the name of Artful Anxiety wrote a post called What Did I Expect detailing an attempt to express their difficulties.

I always felt the need to explain what I was feeling, what I was thinking, what was wrong with me and make them understand. But no one can, really. Especially if you barely do so yourself and a degree probably wouldn’t change that fact.

I was always such a supporter of the invisible disabilities of our guests at Disney because I could empathize. Many of my fellow cast members would become frustrated. Why should this guest get this privilege? What are they in a scooter? There’s nothing wrong with them!

How do you know? Just because it isn’t visibly obvious, you have no idea what they are going through or what their reasons are for any damn thing they do.

Since then I have started simply not telling anyone about my problems. Personally anyways. Y’all don’t count, no offense.

Anxiety, depression, ADD and ADHD are a game of quick draw nowadays. Everyone whips these out as excuses for whatever and what have you and they have lost their, “oh yeah, that explains it” factor.

Does this make any sense?

When I was telling people and trying so hard to find anyone, anyone at all, that understood, I was called a hypochondriac and straight out liar more times than I can count.

I guess maybe I am afraid that if I go to a “professional” I will hear that again and have it prescribed in writing.

When I woke up this morning on the little marker board my mother and I use for messages to each other was what she hoped to be an uplifting message.

“Go to work and prove them all wrong!”

It just made me angry.

Very angry.

“At the risk of diving into teenage angst – you cannot even begin to understand”.

We’re passive aggressive like that.

But I asked RL before I started writing this post for the contact information and will be making an appointment come Monday hopefully. And multiple schools.

I dunno. I’m just sick of trying to hold my head above the water simply because I won’t teach myself to swim. And you won’t catch me wear floaties.

This post was drafted from mobile device and is more than likely riddled with typos and grammatical errors. Please forgive and forget folks. If it is not too much of a bother, that is.

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