Crying to a Stranger

Today I cried in front of my counselor for the first time. It’s only the second time talking to her, or to anybody, about my anxiety. But after the last panic attack, I knew it was time and if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure my mom was going to drive 3 hours down to my school to make me. She had told me that I was too old to be made to do anything anymore, but she wished she could make me go. So I went.

I’ve always done everything my mom wants me to do. It’s not because I’m afraid of getting in trouble or because I can’t think for myself. I don’t know why I do it, I just always have. Except for moving away to school. Granted, she never outwardly asked me not to. But with the depression and her starting smoking, I almost considered it. I figured if I could save her the grief, I could live with not going to an animal science school. I couldn’t though.

I had always had an interest in going to see a counselor, so her comment was just the final push. I was a little nervous to go because I couldn’t see how she could tell me anything that I hadn’t already been told by friends and family, or that I had read in a book or an article. She is helping, though. Not necessarily with the things that she tells me, but with the way she doesn’t judge me or have any connection to what I’m saying. She’s a naturally comforting person and I never realized how much I need to be comforted.

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