I've been feeling crummy lately.
So I finally decided to go see a doctor.
Not just any run of the mill doctor (is that an actual saying?),
but a licensed clinical psychologist.
I know what you're thinking,
"Crazy!"
(I know, right! I'm literally mentally ill)
It's funny how nobody needed to ask me why I decided to go.
Maybe my friends and family realized something was wrong when I stopped answering my phone calls (for the past five years).
Also, I guess I'm more open about my feelings than I realized.
Which must be a bummer for everyone following me on Twitter.
Anyways, I decided to go to the Chicago Depression and Anxiety Clinic (for obvious reasons). I called the clinic about a month ago, but they never returned my calls--I guess business is just that good in non-summer Chicago. I found it surprisingly hard to set up an appointment. With all of these out-of-work psychology majors, you'd think you'd see at least a couple people on each corner, soliciting advice for a nickel, Lucy (from the Peanut's gang) style. Good grief!
Looking for a psychologist made me feel like I was a creepy single guy looking for an online date. I even started getting picky about who I called. I didn't want a therapist that was too young and textbook, but I also didn't want a therapist that was too old and dusty. But every time I would make a call, I'd either get no response at all, or the psychologist would tell me that his or her schedule was booked. I started losing confidence that I was even going to find a therapist. Then I would see some psychologists online who had degrees from Harvard and specialties in trauma, and I started thinking that they were just way out of my league. But my friends would remind me that there aren't any leagues, and it's all about my personality...disorder.
I went through a phase where I tried to help myself using self help books. That didn't work because I'm not much of a "reader" (and SparkNotes couldn't help me this time). Finally one psychologist, who was booked, set me up for a blind therapy session with one of her friends, Dr. Peppermint (Note: Dr. Peppermint is not her real name, I just don't know if the doctor-patient confidentiality is a two way road.)
Last Wednesday was my first session. The building was cold, dimly lit, and made of 93% linoleum. It was an environment that ensured repeat customers.
In contrast, Dr. Peppermint's office was cozy. She had a nice leather couch, some baby-sized Milky Ways, and the essential cold AND hot water cooler. Our first session was nice and painless. She asked me questions for about 45 minutes:
Why are you here?
I have a lot of anxiety and I'm depressed.
Are you manic?
No.
Schizophrenic?
No.
PTSD?
No.
An alcoholic?
Define alcoholic...
Do you need alcohol to wake up in the morning?
No, but by that definition I'm a coffee-holic. (Fake laugh)
Do you want to hurt anyone?
No. (Hmm...)
Have you ever planned how to kill yourself?
I'm not much of a "planner."
Do you like your family?
Yes.
Do you have a good relationship with your mother?
Yes, we don't talk much.
Does anyone in your family have a history of anxiety?
My dad's a Dallas Cowboys fan.
Do you like your job?
Oh, it's terrible. (Tangent...)
I actually want to be a comedian... (Suddenly, she has a lot to write down.)
How do you feel at malls?
I get uncomfortable.
Why?
Because, for some reason, I think other people worry that I'm going to steal or do something bad.
So you think other people are judging you?
Yes, people suck! Good call, Doctor Pep!
45 minutes later...
"Well, it seems that you're depressed and have anxiety."
Oh, maybe that's why I'm here... at the anxiety and depression clinic. Another good call!
Dr. Peppermint went on to explain Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and I went on to pretend as if I haven't read about it in my collection of failed self-help books. My next session is Monday. I'll keep you updated unless it gets too personal (in that case, I'll save it for the stage).
In all seriousness (good paragraph opener), I have a lot of hope for these therapy sessions. Depression and anxiety are issues that have reoccurred throughout my life and it's time for me to address them properly. I realized how selfish it is that I haven't before. I'm terrified of these sessions and I'm not sure why. I hope I can stay as patient with myself as my friends and family have been with me. Maybe I'll even start answering my phone! :)
