Therapy Is Fucking Weird

I saw a therapist today, as part of the new plan to be somewhat sane.

She’s a gigantic woman, in wideness, not height. It makes me sad because that was my first impression of her, and weight really shouldn’t be one’s first impression of another human being, but that’s kinda how extreme obesity works. From a selfish standpoint, her weight issues actually made her easier for me to talk to, because she’s got her own things she’s dealing with. I mean I assume she’s dealing with the obesity. I really have no idea. Maybe she’s comfortable with higher risks of heart disease, diabetes, and general disability.

Anyway.

So here’s the deal with me and therapists: we’re like oil and water. Toothpaste and orange juice. Whiskey and decision making. It’s just not a good combination, because I do not talk about emotions, and therefore I leave the therapist kind of stunned and needing to fill the empty space with their own chatter, which is exactly the opposite of what a therapy session is supposed to entail. They ask me about my feelings, I say two words and start crying, and then they are either left with awkward silence (I will fucking out-stubborn anyone as far as long, awkward silences go) or their own endless drivel until the 50 or 60 minutes is up.

This lady did okay though. She filled the space easily, to the point where I actually found myself not listening because she was talking so much, and I didn’t feel wholly uncomfortable telling her that I’m a goddamn mess.

She did say things like, “So, I sense that verbal communication isn’t your favorite?”

Nope.

It’s just such a strange concept, to pay a stranger to listen to my feelings. Like I realize it’s probably good for me. And I noted extreme progress from my last psych appointment to this one–the last time I saw a shrink was in college, specifically to get diagnosed for an anxiety disorder so I wouldn’t have to give a physics seminar to my peers because omfg I would have flipped the fuck out. Anyway, he diagnosed me with anxiety after approximately thirty seconds of me bawling in his office, after which he attempted to talk to me, and I failed at responses, and he sent me on my way.

Now I can at least say the minimum things. Yeses and noes and even some elaborations on the yeses and noes. Zoom! I feel like I’ve accomplished the first of a series of hurdles, and the first one is usually the most difficult. Yay, me.

And yay for friends who pushed me.

Therapist lady thinks I should get drugged for a bit, which in the past I’ve been meh about, but now I am like yeah, give me something. For a while. And I’ll figure out the things.

Zoom forward goes the Sadey.

xoxo
Sadey

 

 

1 Comment

Filed under Musings and Reflections

One response to “Therapy Is Fucking Weird

  1. mikey2ct

    Please be careful (when and how long, etc.) on taking meds.

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