I saw a therapist earlier today. I was absolutely terrified to go in the building. I walked up to it, went back out to my car, drove out of the parking lot, turned around and went back, left again, came back, and sat in my car for almost ten minutes staring at the door before deciding to just go in there and face it. I told myself it was time to grow up. So, with that on my mind, I put on my big-girl face, took a deep breath, and promptly high-tailed it out of the parking lot.
Eventually, I forced myself to go into the building, where I was greeted by some friendly looking receptionists. I felt pretty good, until I noticed the lobby was FILLED with other teenagers (okay, maybe there were really only about six people there). I started to panic again as the crowd seemed to multiply itself by a million in my head, and I was on the verge of running back out to my car and driving off, maybe treating myself to a smoke and a Frappe, when some kid with a mohawk was called and he left. His suddenly missing mass spelled out FREEDOM to me, and I sat where he had once been, with about five gloriously empty chairs on either side of me. The next half hour went by slowly. I mostly stared at the floor, but if I even so much as thought that someone was going to breech my five-chair bubble, I glared at them until they turned and went in the opposite direction.
So, yeah, I was called back to talk to this really well-dressed, put-together lady, you know, the kind who looks like she spends her free time shushing children in a library.
I was told I suffer from something she called "manic episodes" even though I don't really understand what that entails. A Google search bought up nothing useful. Among that, I was informed I have bipolar disorder, major depressive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (which I was kind of aware of, since I, you know, was there for the traumatic incident and everything), panic/anxiety disorder, and social phobia (again, the fact that I hyperventilate and almost pass out whenever I walk out into public areas tipped me off to this useful little tidbit of information).
I don't know, I really enjoyed talking to the lady, she was extremely nice and listened to all of my dumb stories and stupid "feelings" but I guess I don't feel like I learned that much. I had pretty much assumed most of the stuff she told me, it was probably the most general diagnosis I could have received. I guess I can't expect much from a clinic, but still. I went in there hoping to figure out WHY I feel the way I do, WHY I act like this. I didn't want to be told what I already knew. I KNOW I'm depressed, that's why I went in there.
I guess I just feel pretty irritated, like I wasted my time. Mind you, this was at a small local clinic. I don't know if that makes a huge difference, but I definitely can't afford a $100/hour therapist, so this is what's at my disposal. I left the building with a slight scowl on my face, and I made sure to give those space-breechers in the lobby one final glare, just because they were there and I felt like it.
She could have just told me I was a bad person, because that apparently seems to sum it up really well. Anyhow, that was my tale of visiting a therapist. I hope those of you out there who seek help have a better time of it than I did.
Good luck to all of you,