Twenty-Something Year Old Journalist

Looking for advice. Of any kind. 

Will pay any amount of money (as long as you take my Dad’s insurance) and am open to any age, race, sexuality, or extraterrestrial being—just as long as you’re not a man.

To think I was so proud of myself, after years of preaching about the positiveness of therapy yet taking none of that advice myself, going as far as letting my psychiatrist try and convince me for seven months to give therapy another try, I had finally done it. I had made a therapy appointment. (What can I say, the psychiatrist’s persistence was charming). 

Although the only therapist whose schedule aligned with mine, I decided to take a leap of faith and book with a man. 

It didn’t start out this way, but it ended up being a terrible mistake. 

And now I am therapist-less and in urgent need to dump all the thoughts I have swarming around my head on someone (or something) more relevant than a blog. 

Not to mention, this is a horrible time to be without a dedicated and college-educated sounding board. I have just started dating again and have no idea what to make of that. I am constantly reminded how my parent’s divorce still affects me, my job is… exactly what you would expect from an entry level advertising job, and the cherry on top is I am still living at home as a twenty-something year old. (Like every other twenty-something year old). 

How is one supposed to deal with the plight of existing on top of all the reasons I must be medicated, all while trying to just make it through one day at a time? 

My poor journal can only take so much more agonizingly depressing think pieces and entries. 

It even got to the point where I disregarded all my ethics and morals and turned to the enemy in my time of need: ChatGPT. 

Although I absolutely love the validation I receive from my robotic counterpart, (this is “such a smart and self-aware reflection,” isn’t it?), I prefer real, human empathy and insight to guide me through life. (Needy, I know). 

This is why I urgently need a therapist—a human therapist who is not a man. 

I prioritize this whole not-a-man-thing due to past experience. Although the longest therapist relationship I’ve had, (admittedly an easy feat), this particular male therapist just did not get it. 

He’d only believe in my woes if they were followed by threats of death, he accused me of being a player when it came to dating (if you know me, this is incredibly wrong), everything always led back to my parents as the genesis of all issues, which I agree with, but he was unable to provide any further detail other than “usually things tie back to your parents,” and worst of all, he was a man defender. 

As mentioned, I have recently reentered the dating scene, and the only advice this male could provide was reminding me how much harder and discouraging dating is for men and how I should be nice to them because of it. 

No. 

On to the next therapist—preferably a woman to help me navigate a world built by men, for men and the complicated thoughts and feelings that comes with being a woman and having to exist on a perpetual, whiplashing cycle of hormones. 

I’m desperate at this point. My stuffed animals won’t cut it anymore, and my pencils are now dull. 

If you know someone (who is not a man) who can offer some discounted advice to yet another lost and confused Gen-Zer, let me know. 

You know where you can find me.