07.01.2004 // 10:29 am
I had my first therapy session yesterday. I hated it. I'm never going back to that woman again. She started by calling me by someone else's name. Um... bad sign.
Then, she had me fill out some kind of psychological evaluation. I was very honest on the evaluation, so much so that I wanted to cry by the time I was done, but I refused to... not in front of her. Especially since while I was completing it, she sat directly in front of me and read New York Magazine. As far as I was concerned she didn't deserve to see that part of me.
Once I was done, I handed it back to her, she read it over without scoring it and diagnosed me as being depressed. She then answered her cell phone in the middle of the fuckin conversation. And after several "yeahs" and "uh huhs", she told her boyfriend to "be outside in 10 minutes".
Needless to say, I was in a real bad way at that point, so I decide to no longer being honest with her. My only objective was to just get through the session... and get through it with out crying. So, I'm pulling every trick in the book: blinking alot, avoiding eye contact, nothing would work. The longer I sat there the more I grew certain that this wench was gonna witness me shedding tears. Finally I found something that did the trick. I pictured her wearin a black suit, a red tie and coke bottle glasses dancin around like the old dude in the Six Flags commercial. Odd? Yes. But, at least it worked.
Unfortunately, I now have to start lookin for a new therapist... again. Man, this is so much harder than it should be.
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