A few weeks ago my therapist sat across from me and asked about my homework (it's homework. And I get to pay �50 an hour for the privilege of doign homework. I'm finally in a form of private school, albeit sans ties and tacky knee socks). I'd had homework to do and done it I had, only I wasn't sure that it was correct. It was like math homework-I needed a key in the back with the answers to every other question. Luckily, mental illness is not something that comes with a little red pen so it was clear he wouldn't be able to mark points off for punctuation errors.
I was to come up with how I felt about addressing some of my issues. The past 8 months have been fact-finding only, to get a view of the mountains before determining where to start the mining operation. Now that the view's been had, the earth-moving equipment is being brought in.
I had decided how I wanted to address my issues-I was going to see if we could find a way to handle it scientifically-identify problem. Examine. Theorize as to nature of problem. Hypothesize about treatment. Apply treatment. Mark issue off on checklist. Move on. These formulas I am familiar with, and like a true punnet square addict I was prepared to get my number 2 pencil out and give it a go. Once upon a time I was a crunchy-granola anthropology student, but all these years as an engineer have taken their toll on me and the Scientific Method is as critical to making choices as my Benefit Brow Zings are to my eyebrows-I don't leave home without either one of them.
Helen is the contributing editor for Depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. She also covers Postpartum Depression. She writes daily at Everyday Stranger where she also chronicles life with her twins, Nick and Nora.