My nails are gigantic. See above. People think they are fake. No! They are shellac. 2 Months of shellac discount vouchers.Not feeling "heard"...
So, after going to the doctor -- who gave me an emergency Valium prescription (just in case I'm stuck in an elevator or train or something and I start clawing at the walls like a dog in a crate) -- "You have been diagnosed, no?" And I said "yes" and told him the odd story of the therapist.
He told me I should blog about this therapist -- hard of hearing and obsessed with sex. He was MUCH more interested in my personal life than he was in my medical health, which was fine.
I walked to his office shaky, still overly anxious, still afraid of even being confined in a small room. I told them I had an 8:30 appointment, "oops, I mean 12:30," I said.
So I was relieved by his Oprah-like presence, as he assured me I'd be remarried in no time. "It's good you didn't have kids," he said. Half of his daughters friends were divorced with kids. Half the people on the subway are having panic attacks just like you, he said.
He flipped through my medical file, "Ah yes. This is when you two were dating...and here must have been when you got married, and..."
I'm apparently now 5'6" and a half. I thought I was 5.6" on the dot. So at least I grew a half inch. And I lost some weight.
"You really should gain 1 pound," he said. I ignored this mysterious magical half inch, and took it as the truth. Music to my ears. I've never heard that one before!!
I took that advice to heart, and today I had oatmeal, chicken fingers, fries, a cheeseburger, sushi, a salad, a piece of carrot cake, some chips, and several cookies...mission accomplished? Yes.
But I walked out of there with hope though. Which may be all the medicine I needed.
So, the story of the therapist...
I walked 30 blocks uptown to this old man therapist. Older was fine...more life experience. The first problem, he was hard of hearing.
"Please speak deeper and slower," he said. "Your voice is too high pitched and you are speaking too quickly."
I leaned forward, trying to yell towards him.
"Don't slouch. You are crushing your diaphram, making it harder to hear you."
"Perhaps you should scoot forward more?" I said, but he didn't want to invade that "theraputic space distance" or whatever.
Have you any idea how difficult it is to say your problems in a deep, low, loud voice?
"I AM AFRAID. OF THE SUBWAY."
"The what?"
"THE...SUBWAY!!! PERHAPS...IT IS DUE TO..." ETC.
The next issue...he brought the conversation back to sex at every turn.
He asked me to think about if I'd ever been stuck or trapped in anything.
I told him that I was once at a foam party in college...
"A foam party?" he said "Were people having sex there?"
"No."
"Were people, making out?"
"No. It was just a night club with foam."
After a 10 minute detailed account of the foam -- he needed to know the exact texture...sudsy? Foamy? Like the stuff the explodes from a washing machine?
I don't think we ever got to the part about how we were stuck in the basement waiting to use one soaked rag to wipe off our foamy feet before we were allowed out.
After him asking me additional questions such as how attractive I'd rate myself, and whether I am anorexic (well, I'll take that as a compliment, except that I know my BMI is just fine due to this dr. apmt), and asking sex questions at every turn...
I decided to terminate this relationship after only 2 sessions. He insisted I leave him voice mail, since he doesn't understand email.
Of course, being hard of hearing, I wanted to ensure he got the correct message -- so as to avoid a very awkward phone call.
My voice mail was LOUD, CLEAR and SLOW.
"I WANT NO MORE SESSIONS. I AM CANCELLING MY SESSIONS. NO MORE SESSIONS PLEASE!! I WILL NOT BE THERE NEXT WEEK!! This means I am cancelling. "
I thought I'd repeat it, just in case he missed it one of the times I said it. I guess it probably made me sound very emphatic.
Despite this, he still left me a voice mail, "Why? I thought things were going so well."
I literally "did not feel heard" in this instance.
Random funny things...
- Someone called me "homely." And though it technically does mean BOTH "homey" and "unattractive" -- when in doubt, don't call someone a word with 2 definitions, one of which means "unattractive."
- When trying to shoo away a persistent/creepy guy at a bar who was too touchy/feely w/ my friend, I launched into a monologue about her deep love of her drug addict ex. "It's just an adrenalin rush" she said. "You just never know what he's going to do." I agreed. "Nothing compares. You can't go back to someone normal after that exciting and wonderful experience." He creeped away due to our "lack of moral character."
