That moment when your therapist can’t fit you in tomorrow because she’s received too many calls for Trump-related emergency appointments.
Tag Archives: mental illness
Oh Hello, Seasonal Affective Disorder
“No. No. It’s too early for this.”
— my doorman, to Eric, pointing at me wearing my Canada Goose knee-length puffy coat, Uggs, ear warmers, and gloves.
I’m fucking cold.
Not Weird At All
Friend: “So is it weird not having co-workers now that you are out of the classroom and tutoring full time?”
Me: “No, why?”
Friend: “Well, you know…just like…not having people to talk to all day. You don’t feel like you’re going crazy?”
Me: “No, not at all!”
Friend: “Oh ok, well that’s great! I could just see how it might be a little isolating and you might start getting weird.”
Me (laughing): “I know what you mean but honestly that’s not what’s happening at all!”
*Friend = my reflection in the mirror.
But yeah I’m doing great.
Modern Sacrifice
Discussing fasting on Yom Kippur with a Jewish friend…
Brainstorm
Teaching a writing lesson…
Me: “Ok, so we’re going to start with something called a ‘brainstorm.’ Have you heard that word before?”
Kid: “Yes! A brainstorm is when you have like a storm in your brain. Like when all your thoughts are bad and they just keep crashing around in your brain and it’s hard to stop them, even when you try to think of good things.”
No.
But you are my spirit animal.
Bitch Knows Me
Therapist (the second she opens her office door): “Unfortunately, I’m out of tissues, so I went and grabbed this. Hopefully it will suffice.” (hands me a roll of toilet paper)
Me (laughing): “I won’t need this! Everything is good!”
Therapist (cheerfully doubtful): “Well, you know. You’re going through a lot of transitions right now so…just in case.”
Me: “I know, but they’re all good transitions! Trust me, I’m doing GREAT!”
I used over half the roll.
A mega roll.
She let me keep the rest for the ride home.
Therapist Update
(Continuation of It Should Be Illegal For a Therapist to do This )
As it turns out, she had an unexpected medical emergency that required her to be rushed to the hospital. She did not have her schedule book or contact information with her. She is, thankfully, fine now.
In related news, I am going to hell.
It Should Be Illegal For a Therapist to Do This
**Warning: This is a rant. I am fully aware that there are MUCH larger problems in the world than the one I am experiencing right now, like hunger and poverty and sex slavery and Donald Trump and teachers getting through their first day of school today, which is inevitably a giant shitshow (good luck, teacher friends! You got this!) But this is my blog where I get to complain about shit. So I’m going to. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.**
—–
Not to be dramatic, but I feel the need to be dramatic right now. PROBABLY BECAUSE I DIDN’T GET TO HAVE MY THERAPY SESSION TODAY AND NOW MY EMOTIONS ARE BATSHIT.
I barely slept last night. No acute reason, just a typical bout of wide-awake anxiety that I couldn’t calm, no matter how much of Amy Schumer’s The Girl With The Lower Back Tattoo I tried to consume to distract myself. No big deal, it happens. I’m used to it. I ended up going out to the couch at 5am just to get a change of scenery from the toss-and-turn of the bed. I managed to finally fall asleep at 6am. Then my alarm jarred me to life at 9am.
I know, I know. No one feels sorry for me. I got to wake up at 9am! But I’m simply providing the context for my current state of VENOM SPEWING ANNOYANCE. I was already in an anxious state of mind, and then got only 3 hours of sleep. NOT A GOOD PLACE TO START. YES THESE CAPS ARE NECESSARY. I CONSIDERED TYPING THIS ENTIRE POST IN CAPS BUT THEN I REINED MYSELF THE FUCK IN. YOU’RE WELCOME.
The reason the alarm went off at all was because I had an early therapy session all the way downtown. I have tutoring clients uptown later in the day, so it was not exactly ideal to trek downtown for this session, especially on no sleep, but I figured that I probably needed it right now. When I don’t want to go to therapy, I take that as a sign that I need it the most. That’s called being a responsible crazy person (“The More You Know” sidenote: Sometimes people get confused about my cavalier use of non-PC terms such as “crazy person” in reference to my mental illness. So to clarify– I’m allowed to call myself crazy. You’re not. Unless you’re also crazy. It’s like with any other minority group. People within the group can call themselves and each other whatever they want in order to make it through the day, lighten the gravity of a situation, and cope with the daily challenges of their existence. These are the rules, as they have been inscribed in the book of life. Seriously, kids chant about this in Hebrew at their bar mitzvahs. I’m sure of it.)
So instead of calling my therapist and begging for a phone session, I hauled my tired, anxious ass off the couch, packed a suitcase (literally– my doorman yelled, “Have a great trip!” as I walked out the door) with all the assessment materials I’d need for my afternoon clients, and decided I’d show face at the session, park myself downtown at a coffee shop for the rest of the day to get some work done, and then see my clients from there. Not ideal, as I felt like garbage, and even less ideal because I would have to skip my morning workout (somewhat important for my sanity), but I prioritized the therapy because I know it’s most important for my well being. Oh, and it’s fucking expensive.
So imagine my surprise when I arrived at my therapist’s office, after a 45 minute public transportation journey, carrying a SUITCASE, in the 90 degree heat, to see this on the outside of her office door.
No text. No call. No email. Instead she decided it would be best for me to travel all the way to her office in order to find out I came for absolutely nothing. COOL DECISION, person responsible for my sanity!
I could have slept in today and caught up on the sleep I didn’t get, which certainly would have helped my mood. Or I could have gone for a run– also a guaranteed health boost. Instead, I prioritized my therapy appointment, and rearranged my entire schedule around it. Only to get rejected via POST IT NOTE.
Now I know exactly how Carrie Bradshaw felt.
The understanding part of me has to assume that something pretty bad came up very last minute, and she’s completely incapacitated. I can’t think of any other reason why she wouldn’t just shoot me a text.
But the fire breathing monster part of me is pretty pissed.
Am I nuts for thinking this is entirely unprofessional, unacceptable and possibly deserving of a free session? I literally have no idea if I am overreacting. I simply can’t be logical, because my emotions are all over the damn place. Ugh, I really need to speak to my therapi….
Oh wait.
Thanks For the Helpful Critique!
Just received this email from a stranger in my blogger inbox.
And you know, there was a time in my life when this kind of baseless, spiteful, wholly unconstructive criticism would have gotten me really riled up, and set me on a path to fire back with a similarly vicious retort.
But then I graduated Kindergarten and knew better.
Not sure what happened to this guy.
Therapy
Therapist: “And why do you think you had that thought in response to that event?”
Me: “I don’t think there’s a reason, I think it’s just what popped into my head. For no reason at all. Can’t I just have a thought and there be no reason for it?”
Therapist: “If I believed that, I’d be out of a job.”
Me: “Touché. And I guess to be able to justify the cost of this session, I should think of a reason.”
Therapist: “Sure, if that motivates you.”
Me: “I think maybe my thought in response to this event signifies that deep down, I am just a frightened, lost, ignorant soul simply stumbling through the dark, terrifying abyss that is life.”
(long pause)
Therapist: “Alright rein it in.”
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