It's much easier to get a haircut than pay for a therapist.

Have you ever noticed that talking to a complete stranger is often easier than talking to your friends? I start a conversation with a person I've never met before, and suddenly I'm telling them my entire life story. Just one traumatic experience after another until it ends up being an emotional purge session, and at least one of us is crying. Maybe not actually crying, but the top of your throat, burning behind your eyelids sensation that is ten times worse than actually crying in front of a stranger.
I used to think it was just me, but I've got "one of those faces". You know the face. Big(ish) brown eyes and squishy physique that reminds you of your mom/nanny/overstuffed teddy bear you won at the carnival, and I apparently give off this distinct aura of safety and warmth. I don't know why people get this vibe from me, but I've been told the same thing so many times that I just have to take their word for it. People just trust me immediately and just say the WEIRDEST shit because of it.
One time, this girl told me she made out with her dog, legitimately made out, just to see what it was like.
Spoiler- she was kind of into it.
Bestiality is a thing I guess, they wouldn't have a word for it if it wasn't at least a semi-common occurrence.
But in the realm of non-fetishes, let's take today as an example: I got my hair cut today at a beauty school near my mom's studio, and I knew that the inevitable was coming. When you have hellaciously thick hair like I do, any given salon appointment is guaranteed to last at least three hours minimum, and avoiding conversation isn't really an option. Being the not-so-social person that I am, I prepared myself for the onslaught of small talk. Ugh. Small talk has to be one of mankind's worst creations. Manners be damned, I don't care about the weather or whoever T-Swift is banging right now, it's just not pertinent, and I would rather find out on BuzzFeed.
So I prepared- I checked my weather app, saw what was trending, informed myself of the mundane for conversation material and then checked in.
Almost immediately we burned through everything I had prepared, and I was at a loss for words.
Cue emotional vomit.
Without any warning or segue, she told me all about her drug addicted alcoholic mother and abusive ex, told me about her son Maddox and her boyfriend Kyle, talked about her dreams, her fears, her universal questions, her desires, what she had for lunch, and her resulting gastrointestinal status. Spoiler-She's gassy.
It was a three hour monologue spare a few minutes for my interjections and grunts, then just as suddenly as it had started, it ended and she bid me adieu. She knew that I'd never come back, and most likely never see her again, and it didn't bother her one bit.
And why should it bother her?
There's a sense of comfort in anonymity isn't there? She knew that I would never be able to tell her secrets to anyone she knew, because I wouldn't even know where to go with the information, let alone be emotionally invested enough to fuel the rumor mill. I don't care about her life outside of this moment, and she knew that. She could tell me what she really thought about her mom and her friends without any fear of backlash, no consequences. Pure emotional freedom for three whole hours.
I really don't mind. I don't think most people mind this kind of encounter, it's really refreshing in a way. After spending so much time watching your mouth and minding your reputation, it can be really cathartic to just bitch for a bit, or even better, be really truly vulnerable with another person for just a second.
It's easier to air your fears and shortcomings with someone who can't put them into context. It's almost like telling your secrets to a living, breathing diary that no one will ever find. This is my daily entry, and now that I've gotten it on paper, I can burn it, feeling a little bit less burdened. And that's kind of beautiful.
It's certainly cheaper than going to a therapist.