Friday, July 29, 2011

My New Shrink, The Fortune Teller

If you thought the search for a hairdresser was trying, then let's all be glad I didn't decide to share my seemingly neverending quest for a shrink so I could refill my meds in Texas. It involves lots of BUT I NEED TO SEE A PSYCHIATRIST BEFORE OCTOBER WHY DO YOU HATE ME stories.

And really, they're just embarrassing and I wish you hadn't brought them up in the first place.

So, long story short, I found a new guy! And after the first visit, I'm...confident-ish about our interactions. He's a little young, which is weird. Because if you recall with my previous psychiatrist, there were often awkward moments involving fabricated and nonexistent sexual tension. And for some reason, the young factor seems like it could make things worse in that department. Then again, the fact that he doesn't look like a has-been Hollywood sex offender might steady that boat just a bit.

(Though, if we're really going to look at it, he does have these bright green eyes that are hard not to look at. And I can only imagine that any time I DO look at them, he'll read it as something like HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THAT MOVIE THE SECRETARY? HOT RIGHT!?, which is why I plan on spending our sessions staring at his desk. DESK.)

(Perhaps I'll also make an effort to never discuss my daily shower stall panic attacks. And maybe keep my left hand raised during all our visits so my wedding ring remains in clear view.)


He brought me into his office and glanced briefly at my 16-page medical history form, wherein I was basically asked if I had ever suffered a head injury, did I have enough money to pay for my appointments, and whether I'd sell my medications on the street corner.

Standard stuff, I'm sure.

The next few moments were filled with some smalltalk about my recent move to Texas, before he abruptly paused and stared at me with a probing, contemplative expression. Naturally, I looked for a place to hide, but I think it was too late. DESK DESK DESK.

Him: So, Kristine...are you happy---

Me: [Overzealously.] Happy?! Well, I mean, YEAH! I certainly don't think about offing mys--

Him: --with your current medication?

Me: Oh. [Labored laugh.] Well, um...yeah, I think so. I mean, it seems to be worki---

Him: Are you anxious, Kristine?

Me: Well, since you mentio--

Him: Because you SEEM anxious, Kristine.

Me: REALLY?! I mean, is this coming from my history or do I just give off the vibe?! Because I gotta tell you, this is kind of coming as a---

Him: I understand, Kristine. [Eyes falling momentarily.]

Me: [Biting at my nails, pulling at my hair, wondering if the window is locked and how far of a jump it'd be to the parking lot] ...I uh...[voice creak, clearing throat]...yeah...

The conversation continued, and it became steadily more clear to me that this man was more like reading my fucking aura and not necessarily my fucking I'M CRAZY chart.

Him: [Gaze unchanging.]...I'm guessing you're pretty hard on yourself, too, Kristine...


Me: [Glancing behind me, and around the room.] How did you...I mean... [Frantically trying to place his face, OMG HE KNOWS ABOUT THE BLOG.]

Him: [Smiling. Slightly. Hard to tell because I'm staring at his desk.] You're funny, too, Kristine. [Now, eyebrows furrowed, concerned expression.] Do you use humor a lot?

Me: [NERVOUS HIVES. ABORT ABORT ABORT.]...ah, well...I mean...[Shifting uncomfortably in my chair.]... is this going in my file?

Him: [Making notations in my file.]

The conversation came to a close before he could read my palm, but I expect he saves that type of thing for the third visit.

Standard stuff.