Well I had my first ever appointment with a shrink yesterday and boy was I nervous.
Nervous about the possibility of being diagnosed with schizophrenia or bi-polar or some other mental health issue that scares me stupid. And even though growing up I always joked how I’d need to see a therapist or shrink one day over my upbringing the fact that it was real, here and now did not make it any easy. Regardless of said nerves I walked into my GP head held high, poker face on and sat down and irritably awaited for my name to be called out. When I did hear my name I got up straight and tall and followed her down the corridor into the room. A room that surprised me considerably. It wasn’t like I thought it would be. I envisioned a vast room filled with natural light, an Eames style recliner for the shrink to seat herself in and some chic designer couch or daybed for me to lounge in. But as this is my usual practice I should have expected a windowless room with white-painted brick work, a desk with computer and dull vinyl upholstered dining chair.
It was hardly cozy and inviting yet somehow and incredibly enough I opened up like a book to her and spoke my truth. And with that honesty let all emotions pour forth in an uncontrollable bout of verbal diarrhoea. I guess it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise though, I had been yearning for a sympathetic and willing ear for my worriments after accessing that room a while ago now.
We seemed to focus a lot on my childhood as opposed to what I presumed to be the cause of my anxiety; my health. And an anxiety level that was assessed at very sever at that. Then again, perhaps the anxiety has stemmed from repressed memories of my younger years. A pressure cooker of sorts that has violently erupted, shaking me to my core and being masked by an irrational thought that I am going to have a heart attack and die at any moment.
I was pretty emotional in no time at all and cried and cried while answering her questions and meekly trying to avoid her questioning eyes during long pauses. And I guess I got confirmation that yes my childhood was bad. That I shouldn’t have been left to fend for myself nor isolated in such a drastic way. I also should not have made plans following that appointment since I came out of the room dazed while looking like a wild raccoon. Next time I know to wear less make up. Thankfully there was a bathroom next door to the room. Unfortunately for me there was no mirror. But hooray for forgotten compact mirrors in cosmetic cases at the bottom of handbags.
Potential crazy lady with red, leaking black panda eyes somewhat avoided.
Another thing was that she wanted to see me again immediately, which is a scary thought. Going as far as making an effort to move appointments around so I could come in as early as the end of this week rather than in a fortnight which happened to be the next available day. I actually just happened to get a phone call this moment asking me to come in next Wednesday. I’m not quite sure if this is standard, that we made a lot of progress and she wants to keep the momentum going. I don’t know if I should be concerned over her rush to see me again, like maybe something is wrong or that I really am that dreaded basket case I fear, you know.
I guess time will tell. And the next session may or may not have further insight.