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2001-05-07 - 9:08 p.m. I have become the ultimate single New York City girl. I’m in therapy. After months of trying to find someone to talk to in this fair city, I’ve finally found someone who I feel can help me figure out some things. So now, I’m seeing a therapist twice a week. It’s funny. I thought I would be upset and embarrassed by this. But I’m happy. I’m in therapy, and I’m happy about it. One of the things that she and I talked about was drinking, and how it may not be the best thing in the world to do if I’m not feeling particularly happy. After she suggested that – something I’ve been mulling around as an idea for a while – I realized just how much of my life revolves around black and tans. I’m thinking – it’s been hard already to find someone in this city to be in a relationship with, and I have to figure out how to go on dates and not drink. It’s very instrumental in letting that proverbial guard down that lets you and that other person get to know each other. But I’ll figure it out, I guess. She asked me a very interesting question. “How would you describe yourself as a child?” And you know what? I didn’t have an answer. I’ve forgotten what I was like as a child. I have a good memory about places and certain things happening in my life, but I can’t describe what “kind” of kid I was. It’s an odd feeling. Who was I? Was I about the same as I am now? It’s just interesting to think about – perhaps if I figure out, or remember, what made me happiest back then, I could figure out how to make my beginning adult life a bit happier. I saw “The Music Man” this weekend – an amazing show, really – very “feel good”. But in all honesty, it didn’t really make me “feel good” all that much. I realized more that I’m not doing too well in the mood department. I kept feeling bad because I wanted to be up there. I wanted to be up on that stage dancing and singing and making people laugh. This is pathetic. I’m watching a big Broadway extravaganza with big musical numbers that ends with a huge “feel good to be an American” number with “76 Trombones”, and all I can think about is how lonely I am. I see my parents holding hands during the really sweet love song, and am happy for them, but sad that I have no one to hold hands with. Again, this is pathetic. I haven’t cried in a very long time – those let loose, just sobbing, cries. I think I’m afraid to let that door open. So, here’s to starting the twice a week therapy. There’s a big Vassar alum type party tonight. I wanted to go, but the thought of getting all primped up and ready and over there to smile and laugh at people who don’t really know me just doesn’t appeal.
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