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Life of the mind

It gets worse before it gets better

By Anna Blundy   207

It was about a year into my five times a week psychoanalysis (yup, on the couch Monday to Friday at 7.30am) that I stopped knowing what to wear. I couldn’t decide if I liked whoever I’d arranged to see and wasn’t sure what I wanted to eat, or if I was even hungry at all. I remember getting ready to have lunch with a friend and pulling some high-heeled boots on. “What?” I wondered. “Am I trying to seduce him? To intimidate him? Castrate him?” I looked at my face in the mirror. “Lipstick? Why?” My grip on the trappings…

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