Happy Friday. I would like to give the Gas Face this week to the crazies. Those who bring guns the elementary schools and want to kill children, to those who set themselves on fire in shopping malls. Those crazies who shut down the government and put hundreds of thousands of people out of work, while they still collect a check and do nothing. Those crazies who claim they are for this country but only for their own selfish reason. The nut jobs who put others at risk because they fear that talking to someone about their issues might sound crazy if they say them out loud.
People, we not only need national healthcare, we need national and obtainable therapy. We need to not be afraid to share our innermost crazy with another person who can calmly—as only an advisor can—tell us what might be wrong with our thinking.
I’m not sure that mental health is covered under the Healthcare Act, but I think it should be mandatory for all people to have the freedom—and ability—to talk to a therapist. Not a clergy, and not a friend. We all have those in our life. I am talking about a licensed professional, at least once a week for 90 minutes, who has no emotional allegiance to us who can dissect our crazy.
It is so disappointing how therapy is perceived to some. The thing I love most about going to my therapist is that no matter how much I feel like I got the answer, he can quickly give me another viewpoint to consider. I walk away from my sessions knowing that because of them I am closer to living a full life. A happy life. I might not be all the way there to that life, but I am closer than I was before the session.
We cannot control the crazy. Those who are ill will do things that we will not understand, or that we find repulsive. We can—in those moments of shock and awe—take a moment and think about who you need to help you.
Find someone, or the next line I write might be about you.
Love is love,