“Daddy, why won’t he text me back? It’s been 5 whole days!!” I wailed to my father over Skype last month. I had worn out all my friends’ patience with my incessant boy problems, so I had turned to the very last person who wanted to hear about who I was sleeping with at the moment—my dad. This was a fairly common occurrence too, because I always have guy issues. After this last call though, my dad had had enough. “We’re getting you an appointment with a therapist,” he said before he logged off.
Two weeks later I found myself sitting in front of my computer screen, anxiously waiting for the psychiatrist to call me from her office in the United States. I was hesitant to speak with her. I had seen several psychiatrists before, throughout my angst ridden high school and college years, but they just had just thrown a few pill prescriptions at me and sent me on my way.