Headline aside, I’m not bi-polar, but no one wrote a song about unipolar depression … and how goofy is that? I can’t even work up two poles worth of being bummed out. Just one pole here. Can’t even do that right.

I had a moment of clarity earlier while I was walking in circles thinking “what the hell is wrong with me?” and finally my inner narrator chimed in with a simple “You’re depressed, idiot.”

AH! Ah ha!

I’m fine.

Well, now that I know what the hell has been wrong the last few days, what the hell do I do about it? I honestly have no earthly idea.

Even when I’m insured, I haven’t sought out therapy for years. I had a guy for a very little while, and while I liked him, our sessions were a lot of talky talk, and not a lot of anything else. I have no idea if that’s the way this is supposed to work … or if, however much I enjoyed his company, he wasn’t the right guy for me.

Listening to podcasts, there’s a lot of noise about BetterHelp. Calling, or texting into a therapist instead of going into an office. It’s tempting, and they make it sound both effective AND affordable, even though I’m not insured. Hell, given how often I’m fighting with insurance companies to get insulin, I have to figure they’d deny a claim on mental health, too. I mean, they’re busy trying to kill me, why would they want me content?

I think I’m in danger of being whiney, when I’m shooting for wit. Baby steps.

So, where am I?

I’m fine.

I don’t have a problem with therapy. I believe in it, fully. I have tried, inside the constrictions of the American medical insurance system, to throw my kids into therapy more than a few times because I understand how beneficial it is.

When I look into therapy for myself, though … I just don’t.

I wasn’t raised in an environment of toxic masculinity, but I do believe that some of that toxic messaging has bled into my subconscious. Walk it off. Rub some dirt on it. Don’t cry. Suck it up.

I have a friend who, when we talk, we both ask if the other has found a therapist yet, and the answer is always “no,” and this has been going on for YEARS. We both know we need it, we both want to get help, and neither of us seems able to actually do anything about it. Just can’t take the next step.

Let me put it like this, in the last year, I’ve learned a new programming language, run a comic book shop with moderate success, run two podcasts a week, I’ve fought with my old insurance company to get my diabetes meds covered, built eleven new websites, and become the Art Director for an actual, physical magazine. All at the same time.

I have not, however, spent more than 20 minutes over the last year looking for a therapist. I sit down to do it, and … nothing happens. I do other shit, making the excuse that everything else – anything else – is more important.

I’m insured again next month (thanks, Obama!) and I’m sitting here, promising myself that I’m going to actually make the change I want to see. I actually believe me, in spite of the hundreds of times I’ve promised myself this exact thing. I’m in an abusive relationship with myself, and the self-gaslighting is extreme.

Why?

I’m fine.

BUT: I’m not fine. I’m a train wreck. I’m a total fucking mess of a human being and if history is any indicator, I’ll continue to do nothing about it. Idiot.