Cleaning Up My Messy Mind
Taking control of my mental health
“Are you seeing anyone?” asked Deirdre, as we sipped wine and dipped fresh-baked bread into a paste of crushed tomato and olive oil. The band was between songs and, for the moment, she didn’t need to raise her voice to be heard.
“Nah,” I said, with a shrug and a faint smile, dismissing the very idea. I knocked back the last of my sauvignon blanc and stared ahead at nothing.
My friend would be moving out of state that weekend, and we had managed to find an evening when we were both free, so that we could meet for dinner and say our goodbyes. We’d been there for half an hour at that point, and I’ll be damned if I can remember a single thing she’d said up to that point. It seems I’d been doing most of the talking.
“You must be so busy,” I said, changing the subject. “Are you just cramming in all the packing and visits and work prep and everything?”
She nodded. “Yeah, it’ll be pretty much nonstop until I leave. I had dinner with my friend, Ellie, last night,” she began, and then paused, straightening up. “You know, come to think of it, Ellie’s a therapist,” she said. “I think you two might mesh together well.” A meaningful look and a pause.
“Yeah?” I shrugged. “Well, talk to her, if you want. See what she thinks. I’m…
