There was a setting of friends together, making fun of each other and casually yet critically analyzing one another. Comments like, “Oh, you seem easy to take advantage of,” were thrown around as jokes. Being quite analytical myself, most friends were observed closely, and ideas were formed about who they really were.
What stayed unspoken was the analysis of myself. Looking at friends felt simple. They appeared normal, without any obvious underlying condition.
To take this further, the group visited a counseling center at the university, where everyone was examined more seriously. Those who seemed like they might have ADHD or something similar were found to be quite normal. One friend, who seemed the most empathetic and easiest to talk to, was evaluated for about two weeks and remains in prolonged therapy.
The assessment came quickly for me, followed by a recommendation for counseling. The concerns were framed as misdirected obsessions and the root causes connected to them.
After completing university counseling, the desire for deeper self exploration grew, especially around understanding why certain behaviors repeat. Private clinics were explored, but the cost felt excessive. If there had been a clear medical or chronic condition, the expense might have made sense, but for exploration alone, it felt too much.
Eventually, an affordable psychologist was found. The experience, however, felt unsettling. Laughter came at moments that did not feel appropriate, and conversations were often cut short to make room for the psychologist’s own experiences. Whether this was confusion, poor fit, or simply a mediocre experience due to cost is still unclear.
In the end, it felt simple. That was not my shrink. The idea of trying another never really returned.
Books took that place instead, though they often leave behind a quiet existential crisis.
P.S: The image is Ai generated.
