Identity and the diagnosis of mental illness

Back to writing, back to Paris, back to yet another temp home…

If I could just live the moment I ask myself, shouldn’t I be happy? My answer often is that am sad in this moment, am far away from me. I don’t know who I really am.

These words don’t make any sense, I know. If you are not depressed, you won’t understand- lucky you!

I looked up my symptoms the other day. Big mistake according to both my psychotherapist and my psychiatrist. They are probably right. Yet, I need a label.

Funny to say so, I have lived all my life wanting to banish all labels putting people into boxes. Yet, I find I need a box, a small one… Maybe I can hide in it, or maybe I will be able to define myself. I would then be able to say this is what I like, this is what I don’t like… Maybe then I will know if I will ever have dreams, passions, ambition, hobbies… I will know my horizon, I will know my boundaries…

I even might take an adventure. I might make a ladder and climb out and discover what is outside of this realm, knowing that I can get back to it whenever I want.

Maybe I will furnish it with books, movies, maybe I will learn to play an instrument…

I need my box… do you feel the same?

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