My father repeatedly tells me and my mother that I need to be stronger…psychologically. That I suffer from depression and associated bundles of joy because I am not strong enough. Oh and the cherry on that cake? He is a physician himself.
Strength is a duplicitous word. Most people think it is to be this impenetrable wall that is going to stand tall through everything. Well a wall might be that, but a person and their psyche is a lot more complex than bricks. So when I am told that I am not strong enough, at first it stings. And then I realize I have been pretty strong for the last 21 years, taking pretty much all kinds of things the universe could throw at me. But I need help now and that doesn’t make me neither strong nor weak. It makes me a person who needs help. And I have made my peace with it.
[I have an appointment with a psychiatrist this Saturday. Here’s to hoping he won’t turn out to be horrible. I have a ‘when is the other shoe going to drop’ kind of a fear about life. Hence, the hope about the doc.]