I will never forget the first time I walked into a psychiatrist’s office. “Congrats, you’re officially a crazy person now”, I told myself.  I was 18 years old, about to embark on a series of national auditions for conservatories, after three months of obsessive ruminations had culminated to a point of pseudo-paralysis.  Despite appearing completely normal on the outside, I was operating almost entirely on auto-pilot, stuck in a thought loop I couldn’t escape.