If I don't die peacefully in my sleep after one hundred years of piracy, then I would like to die in some way that makes for a kick-ass obituary. Getting mauled by a tiger at a zoo would do just fine. I love tigers, and what kid wouldn't be impressed to hear that Aunt Rachel met her end whilst struggling to escape from the jaws of a ferocious kitty cat? As a bonus, that would make for a really cool blog post for all you lovely people who know me online.

In case Heaven has internet access, though, I'd prefer the whole "dying peacefully in my sleep" routine.

With the winds gusting at 45 mph today, Chicago is certainly living up to its nickname. (Yes, I know the title of "The Windy City" actually has nothing to do with the weather. Shut up already.) On my way to the car earlier, I literally could not inhale any air because the wind was whipping past my face and sucking all the oxygen from my nose and mouth. Not being able to breathe is scarier than I thought. Fortunately, I turned to face the wind and was nearly bowled over on my back by all the beautiful oxygen that came gushing my way.

Enough about the weather, though. I need to wrap up this whole therapy thing before I try to repress the memories of this whole month.

Although the people of the world have unanimously voted that I give therapy another try, I am still not planning to schedule any future appointments. I'd love to get practical advice about time management and related topics from one of the school counselors when I return to college, but that's the only help I want to seek out at this point in time.

I really, truly appreciate all the input people have sent my way, though. You've kept me open-minded enough to realize that my first experience with therapy shouldn't taint my view of the practice as a whole. As I've said to many friends already, I will be keeping my counselor's business card in my wallet. I promise to call her when I feel like I'm unusually burdened or confused or miserable.

Until then, I remain flawed but authentic. And that's totally okay with me because I get to wear an awesome shirt now.

Wednesday night, I went for my first session of therapy. I spent the days leading up to that discussing the issue pretty thoroughly with some of you lovely readers, researching the experiences of others at RealMental.org (which, by the way, is a fantastic site), and convincing myself that I could benefit from talking to a real person instead of a text box on Movable Type.

My counselor is a lovely lady. She has that perfectly soft voice that is both warm and comforting, which, when coupled with a comfortable setting (and a cozy couch), has the tendency to make me want to cry. And cry I did. Pools of snot collected all around me, and Noah was preparing to build a second ark to save himself and Nick Pitera from the flood of tears gushing forth from my eye sockets.

(Obviously, Nick tops the list of people who should be spared in the event of a major disaster.)

Anyway, all these tears were unfortunately not indicative of any real progress being made. For a full hour, I shared my frustrations with my life as it is, my goals for the future, and my plans for how to achieve those goals. My counselor would repeat back to me all of these things, pausing to ask, "How long have you felt that way?" or "How does that make you feel?" She did bring something new to the table when she suggested that diet and exercise (as well as my physical health in general) can take a toll on sleep patterns and overall mood. Otherwise, I was a smidge disappointed with her recommendations, as they mainly consisted of repeating back to me what I had already said I was doing.

In fact, my one major assignment for the next session was to write a list of what I like about my life now, what I don't like, what I want, what my dream life would be, etc. She knew of my love of blogging, so giving me a writing assignment was logical. Sadly, however, I had just done this the day before my session. Of my own accord. I told her this, saying, "I thought it would be good to clarify for myself what things were sources of frustration and what things I needed to be pursuing to minimize those frustrations."

She stared for a moment and paused. "Exactly."

Five minutes later, I walked out of the office feeling like I had been ten steps ahead of her the entire time. Now, maybe that's typical of a first session. Maybe I didn't connect well with my counselor. Maybe I just had a really bad week last week and have since recovered from my emotional breakdown through my "home remedy" of watching Lord of the Ringsall day and night.

I'm not sure. Until I know, though, I am not going to return for any more therapy. I will stash this woman's card in my wallet and schedule another appointment if I find myself having another bad week. Otherwise, I will stick to the tried and true recipe for happiness—pirates, hobbits, pizza, and chocolate. (It's Rachtastic!)