No thank you

I ask my therapist what he thinks. I had been detailing my life since our last session, beginning with my uncle dying. He didn't probe anything, so I kept talking until he found a thread worth exploring.

The only topic he is remotely interested in is my disinclination to have children, which undisguisedly baffles him. I did not bring this up this session--though it is among the reasons I returned to therapy. My goal was to reduce my anxiety in general and with the topic in specific, but not change my mind about it. I do not want to have to take a sick day because I am shivering from how much I have been triggered.

My reasons for being child-free are sensible: I have vanishingly rarely wanted to raise a child despite ample exposure, personally and professionally; it is unconscionable to have children for selfish reasons ("Who will take care of you when you're old? What about your legacy?" Tell me who your great, great grandparents are); I feel this is a poor ecological and political time to make more people in an overcrowded world; it is more responsibility than I want--I would not have cats if possible, though I love mine. I don't dislike children--and I spend forty hours a week around kids whom even the pro-natalists wish dead. I do not attach "normally" to children. I work with them and educate them, but I do not usually care about them beyond that--this was even the case when I worked with mainstream, learning-disabled, and gifted students. I like children in small doses and even love a few kids--who are not my charges. (Incidentally, the children who connected with me were above the age of ten; I have no use for babies and toddlers.)

I acknowledge that a baby Amber and I created would probably be cool enough to balance out our potentially negative combined traits and that we aim for emotional expressiveness. I just don't want one. I also don't want a dog or to work in China, which is not a perfect analogy, but it will suffice.

Amber went to a pre-conception meeting with their doctor, who basically said, "Yeah, any prenatal vitamin would be fine. Oh, you are already taking one? That's good. If you decide to try, you should have sex every other day while you are ovulating. I do not know the effect of Adderall on pregnancy, so find someone else to figure that out. You can take as many and whatever painkillers you need for your migraines (kept reigned in by birth control). Get off birth control a month before you want to start trying. Otherwise, you are good."

When we married, Amber assumed I was a fence-sitter--as were they--though stated they would have hesitated in marrying me if they knew I was on either side of the spectrum: wanting to impregnate them immediately or never. They affirmed I was their priority and that we would have a beautiful life no matter what. Still, they added they thought a baby could be good for us, as they would be more portable than cats--the latter point which I consider dubious.

They said a decision like this has to be a "yes" from both parties. I expressed that this just feels like the world wears me down until I stop saying no, which they do not want. They also said that if we try, they are going to be depressed every time they get their period.

They agreed that if they had gotten into Cornell, we would have Cornell conversations, but this issue would still be in them. I want them to be satisfied. I do not want them to resent me because I did not give them a baby, though they say they would not resent me.

The issue of babies isn't going to have a point at which it abates. Amber is thirty-six. I'm forty-three. Fertility might be a problem if we wanted to do this. I feel shame that I do not want this procreative choice.

When children scrape their knees, they weep because they do not know the longevity of the pain. Adults have the experience that we know pain abates. But for kids, a scraped knee is as good as forever. They feel this intensity and are unaware that it ends. Sometimes, when this issue reappears, my knee touches the pavement. I watch the fall in super-slow motion, every frame crystal pure.

I took a picture of Amber on vacation years ago when they were drunk and weeping over a hermit crab we bought. They told me later that they were looking at this stupid crustacean and thinking how it wasn't a baby and how they would never have a baby. That gutted me. There was another time--which they do not remember--when we were walking around New Paltz. I asked something like, "Where do you think you would be if we hadn't met?" They said, "I would have so many babies." It was three days before I could feel like myself again. I was utterly drained. (When I recollected this days ago, they said, "Where would I even get so many babies?" Pregnancy is the traditional way.)

I don't feel I can talk to anybody about this because everyone has their agenda, including my therapist. I'm not going to get unbiased advice, only people who hate children or who think everyone should be a parent.

The therapist says he is glad I asked him, as he thinks I am avoidant because I communicate more in writing (which, obviously. I can write a few paragraphs when I am acute, which will not be when I am in a session). I respond that he did not ask for direction so I did not know where to go.

He is horrified every time I refer to myself as mentally ill, though it is not his place to be horrified. I am in therapy and on psych meds. I express that "mentally ill" is not pejorative to me as it is to him, but a diagnosis that means I can understand why I think and behave the way I do on occasion. It is like saying one is "queer." He wants me to give the fullness of the diagnosis, which I do not consider necessary, any more than a queer person would. Both labels set a baseline. If someone else has a mental illness, I can get more specific. Otherwise, I am not going to introduce myself with "Oh, I have a mood imbalance that occasionally represents itself as monopolarity--I am never manic--which can especially occur when something is physically affecting me, like sickness, sleep deprivation, a lack of sunlight, and seasonal changes. Comorbid with this is anxiety, which sometimes leads to disordered thinking--possibly lasting days after an acute attack or something tripping a trigger. Recently, I have added a faint but long-lasting dissociation, which seems harmless to everyone else, as my mask is so fleshed out that it seems like a cheerful, if glib, person. This accords with my ability to mask in general, especially in social situations where I fear I might be judged, such that most people would not realize I was miserable."

Better just to stick with "mentally ill" and save time among laypeople.

No one would look askance if someone said they had asthma. They are not able to run as well without help. If they assumed everyone had the same struggle and somehow did it better, it might push them to the point they did something dangerous. Understanding there is something that needs addressing allows them to find remedies.

The therapist likes this no better. This is apparently not a term people should be allowed to reappropriate or use for self-identification. Too bad. I am not abandoning something that gives me relief because he finds it icky and insulting. Entirely mentally healthy people don't indulge in regular therapy. For much of my life, I did not understand I was mentally ill. I assumed my snits were more objective. I also thought my hyper-vigilance toward microexpressions made me borderline psychic, bringing misery when I tried to "mind read" what people really meant. I've stopped doing that or tried my hardest.

I need a therapist who is roughly as smart as I am to walk the labyrinth of my mind with me and help slay the Minotaur. I do not need to have cognitive behavioral therapy reiterated at me. I want someone who can unravel me.

last watched: Futurama
reading: Absolution