Therapy was an all around waste of time, and I quickly disliked going. It was the normal ‘Why are you depressed. Here’s what you can do to make it better.’ which was what I’d already done in the post above. I often came out thinking ‘I just spent an hour easily refuting advice from a therapist in the business for 20 years.’

In short, it didn’t work.

I’m well aware my childhood was a mess. Who has a good one?  I’m sure the seeds of the mental state I’m attached to now were born from there. Short of having a time machine, it’s going to remain as it was. It’s not difficult to see what was bad, and what was good, and how one outweighed the other.

Point being, I’m at the point where staying in bed is preferable to getting up. Especially on weekends. Just detaching from everything and trying to sleep to the point of oversleeping and staring at the wall, is preferable to do anything remotely close to productive. Why would I? It’s like living in the Land of No.