I imagine that the title of this post is making some of you wary of me, so before I continue, let me assure you: I am, by all accounts, a fairly normal person. I’m very outgoing. I have a lot of friends. I’m usually happy. I have a great family. I have no shortage of quirks, but I’m not a weirdo. (Though most weirdos don’t think they’re weirdos, so that’s probably not the most reassuring statement. But for what it’s worth.)
So why on earth was I in therapy?