They tell me that I should continue writing, that it’s a therapeutic outlet. They say that it may help me heal. I’ve thought more and more about the term healing. What exactly am I healing from? I can flip through the DSM (diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders) and diagnose myself with a plethora of things.
Depressive disorder. Check.
Anxiety Disorder. Check.
PTSD. Check. Double check.
Personality disorder. Probably.
Multiple personality disorder. Most likely.
What got me on this strange thought path, you ask. Well all it takes is an adventure to a new counselor to bring out every insecure and random thought. They like to hide from me but put me in a room with a diagnosing professional and oh there they are. I diligently began to try and filter what I said and how I said it… although the only lesson I truly retained is an anxious mind a filter does break. Yes, I was raped. Yes, I have childhood trauma. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me,” she asked with five minutes remaining. No, I think that about covers it. We are out of time. I wonder what diagnosis box she is going to check. How does one make an argument for sanity? Did I speak eloquently enough? Was my story coherent? How does a normal person sit? Did I cross my legs or were they jittery? Did I pass the test?
After much thinking, I realized that everyone who walks into a counselors/psychologist/psychiatrist office will be diagnosed with something. So if everyone on this earth walked into a mental health professional’s office, because let’s face it everyone is struggling with something, then we would ALL be diagnosed with something. We would all fit nice and neatly in a box. Yeah, right. Let’s just be real for a second. We are all unique. We are all individuals and don’t fit in a box or on a check list wrapped nicely in a bow. We are all a special blend of unique individuals with a side of crazy. What if our crazy makes us who we are? It’s how we survive in an ever changing world. It’s a strange paradox that those who embrace their crazy finally become sane. They say that freedom comes with a price…
I’ll take my dash of PTSD and a pinch of depression
My Compassionate Heart
Resilient Spirit and never ending Hope – Don’t forget my Smidgen of crazy.