After the car accident I was required to see a neuropsychologist.
I dont care.
Send me to a goat herder if it means I'll get better.
The problem was that he insisted I was depressed and that was my problem.
I kept saying I wasn't depressed.
He kept saying I was, I just didn't know it.
I got very confused.
He needed me to be depressed otherwise what I was going through didnt make sense---- to him.
It was really triggering.
So.
Since then I have continued to do what I do.
The last party was perfect. A full house - poc, trans, non bin, alt sex.
All marginalized.
It was awesome.
This Saturday I co teach a play party 101 class.
And continue to co organize the SNOWBALL, the the cosplay bdsm buffet.
Fuck him and the diagnosis he rode in on.
I'm not depressed.
I am fighting.
