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Therapy is expensive!


That’s the opening line of my life story right now.

I don’t have many close friends. Very few people. Can count on one hand and still have fingers left for snacks. Only they have seen the real me. The unfiltered version. The one with mood swings, random jokes, deep thoughts at midnight. Somehow, they never judged me. Either they are angels or they are too tired to react anymore.

Problems are many. Full buffet. Each problem asking for its own dramatic story. But funny thing is, my solutions are always the same. A cat. A trip. A movie. Or one quiet night with my closest bunch. Drinks optional. Overthinking compulsory. These four things are like my emotional first aid kit. Apply wherever pain is happening.

I didn’t include my wife and my son in that solution list. Not because they are not important. They are default settings. Factory-installed. They come with every update of my life. They are part of me. Rest all is add-ons. But weirdly, my wife is not where the cat is. My son is not where movies are. Don’t ask logic. Even I am confused. Life seems to be running on a strange operating system.

I have already vented many stories about how I slowly turned into this emotional circus. My wife has heard everything. Some stories she knows better than me. Still, I never went to therapy. First reason is simple. It is goddamn expensive. Second reason, I am too busy to be depressed properly. Whenever I get time to be sad, I watch a movie. Or sleep. Or sleep while watching a movie. Now with OTT on my phone, I don’t even watch. I just scroll through things I wish to watch till my eyes shut down.

Therapy is a different sport altogether. I have to sit in front of a stranger and open my entire emotional suitcase. Strip myself naked, not literally, but figuratively, which is worse, honestly. Society is not ready for that trauma. 

I know the therapist won’t judge me. That is their job. But they will analyse me, diagnose me, maybe even write a dangerous thesis on me. I wouldn’t mind all that. I just don’t have the energy to start from episode one and give a full recap of my tragic series. I would rather send them links to my blogs and say, "Boss, syllabus is here. Please study and come."

Still, some nights I laugh at my own mess. Some nights, I look at my wife and son and think maybe I am doing okay. 

So for now, I survive with my small toolkit. A cat, wherever I find it. Trips, whoever plans them. Movies, always a yes (depending on which side of the salary cycle it is planned)! Few real people. Little humour. Little damage. Somehow, working till the next breakdown arrives. Let’s see. One day at a time. One weird story at a time.

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