Does my mental illness make you laugh? Good.

Question: Am I allowed to invite my therapist to my wedding or is that frowned upon?

Okay, so I know I mentioned in my previous post that my therapist is trying to kill me, but I still want to invite her to my wedding because she is the most important person in my life (sorry parents, boyfriend, cat). I’m just not sure whether or not it’s allowed.

We all know how completely stressful planning a wedding is (well, maybe not everyone), but have you ever wondered how stressful it is when you’re mentally ill?

No? Neither have I. Which is why I’m so indignant I’m being put through this entire ordeal by my mother, who is actually asking me to make decisions about things. 

As an obsessive compulsive, I am simply incapable of doing this. It takes me 30 minutes to decide what I’m going to order when I’m out to eat — at a restaurant I’ve gone to for years and where I order the same goddamn thing every single time. 

As soon as I make even the most inconsequential of decisions, I’m immediately terrified I’ve made a horrible, irreversible mistake. So why my mother (who, as far as I know, has known me my entire life) expects I’ll be able to choose what dress to wear or what food to eat or what music to play on the most important day of my life (allegedly) is baffling to me.

I’m sitting here staring at the guest list she’s asked me to edit and I am at my wit’s end. How the fuck am I going to decide who gets to attend and who gets snubbed? Do I really need my father’s second cousin’s husband’s aunt to attend? Can I just leave out my boyfriend’s vaguely racist relatives? Will my father’s accountant have to be invited?

I’ve noticed my (fledgling) readership is mostly US-based, so, obviously, this list is preposterous to you, but I’m Indian and my boyfriend is Danish, and I’m now seriously considering taking us of our own list.

I mean, everyone knows weddings aren’t even about the couple. They’re about family and tradition and the crushing weight of centuries of patriarchal oppression. People may not even notice our absence.

In any case, I’m freaking out about it all and stockpiling Xanax like it’s going out of fashion. Which is precisely why the only face I want to see when I’m sitting on stage (no one told me there was going to be a stage!) and looking out over the crowd is my therapist’s.

She’s the only one who knows how to help me make a decision, and I’m going to need that when I’m asked to decide whether I do or I don’t. I think I do, but how do I know I do? Perhaps I can arrange for her to be up on stage next to me so she can whisper the right answer in my ear.

Which is why I really need advice on whether or not I should invite her. I can’t decide.

 

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