08 Aug First Wonderful Therapist Appointment
Hi Everyone,
Did I ever tell you my previous therapy nightmare story from back in the day? I did? Well, these folks over here didn’t.
So, back in the day, I ran a foul of the law on night after generously helping my friendly neighborhood bartender close up shop. This landed me in court-ordered counselling. At this point in my life I was already anti-psychiatrist, psychoanalyst, pretty much the whole psycho business for what I considered scientific reasons; back during the same day I was an avid reader of both Omni and Byte magazines, and so, I naturally knew everything about everything – everything about how the human and the alien mind worked, and why 8 bits of memory was way better than 4 bits. (For the youngsters in the crowd, Omni was a science fact, science fiction and pseudo-science magazine that was published by the same guy who published Penthouse magazine, and even thought the forum contained vastly different content that Penthouse, you still felt like you were doing something dirty; Byte was a computer magazine back before home computers were call PC’s, or even had keyboards or monitors; but I digress.)
Anywho, the powers that were didn’t exactly force me to submit to psychotherapy; what they exactly did was inform me that they would be holding on to my driver’s license until I completed some magic number of state mandated counselling session with a counselor of their choice, and until that counselor filed a positive report about my case. So I went and got me some forced therapy.
From the start, I went into therapy with a chip on my shoulder that was even further exasperated by my lack transportation to get to the therapy sessions since the state was holding on to my license. Having meet a lot of others in my situation back then, one would suspect that the therapist probably expected the same bad attitude from pretty much all new patients that arrived on his door step in the same manner as I, but the big surprise to me was the therapist’s overall hostility towards me.
My court-appointed therapist was acting like he was part of the criminal justice system, or working for the department of corrections. I knew I was there because the state was punishing me, but even though I had had no interaction with the mental health establishment prior to this, I was pretty sure this was not how they acted; my thoughts were of caring, supportive, sincere, and trusted professionals. I had the image of a social worker in my mind, and to strengthen my confusion, he had a plaque on the wall identifying him AS a social worker.
Anyway, to make a long story even longer, I continued to show up on time – if you were late you got a mark against you, week after week for a few months, and over time the therapist softened and I began to open up a little; I started to trust the guy and began thinking that maybe he could help me with a few problems I was having after all.
So as my taxi carted me to my last mandated session, I began thinking about me and about my therapist. I began to realize that, judging by the pictures of his wife and kids on his desk and kid’s crayon drawings hanging here and there, I began thinking that this was probably a good guy, a loving family man, a human being like myself, and that when my mandated sessions were completed I just might see if he could take me on as a regular client for awhile – this was my frame of mind as I approached my final session.
With a little more confidence in my step and a smile on my face, I strode on into the therapists office. My session progressed as usual and I was feeling a little lighthearted, partly because this mandate was ending, and partly because I was feeling more accepting of the process, but that all abruptly changed.
Right as our session was ending, and just before I was ready to inquire about continuing therapy, my counselor signed heavily, did a little bit of scribbling in my profile folder, checked a few boxes and then signed the page with great flare, and then – now this is the rich part, and then he suddenly announced that are time together had come to and end and that I was cured – of what I never knew, but I was miraculously cured. What a Christmas miracle! Stunned, I headed for the outer office while the therapist – in an overly chauvinistic manor, informed his secretary – I’m sure that’s how he thought of her, informed her that “he’s all done, we can close him out.” Still stunned, I look wantonly to the receptionist who informed me that I did not have to come back for any more appointments and that I had reached the number of sessions that my health insurance would cover…, sign here, and have a nice life!
So whatever skepticism with which I held the mental health community before was instantly replaced with great anger, and all of my suspicions about the trade were confirmed. I had no more interaction with the mental health care system until now, when my quest to transition and to get proper medical help made it necessary.
Maybe its the years, and with all things these past through years, I see and feel everything in a kinder and more accepting light, I approached my impending new relationship with the mental health care system with trepidation, but as that interaction was an integral part of my transition, my health and my future, a faced it head on and with as positive an attitude as I could muster.
My brand new therapist, and my brand new first therapy session were absolutely nothing like the previous experience; and as a side note, I really don’t believe you will find that kind of hostile unprofessionalism in today’s mental health system and more than likely the therapist that I frequented back in the day was probably an outlier.
I was apprehensive and nervous as I sat in the practice’s waiting room, but from the very moment that my new therapist introduced herself to, using my proper new name, I felt at ease. I think I actually surprised myself at how willing to share I was, and what a positive experience my session was turning out to be. Granted, this time I wanted to be there, and I strongly wanted to be there for some pretty well defined reasons – which my new counselor understood and helped draw out of me.
This was a very rewarding experience, and I believe I’m going to not only get the letters and recommendations I need to move my transition forward, but I believe I’m going to get much much more as well. This time I want to share, I want to explode on the World, I want to be happy, I want to be me, and these new session can only help foster that, with the benefit of helping me meet my transitionary goals. I’m looking forward to my next session.
Another very coincidentally and truly amazing footnote to the visit to my mew therapist, she is located in a recently renovated building – a 200 year old building, that back in the 1980’s was a restaurant, and just any restaurant, but the restaurant where I was the Pastry Chef, and where we held my sister’s wedding reception, and where I meet my second wife – whose name we dare not speak, and where I had some of the best experiences of my life and meet some of the dearest friends I’ve ever had.
In other transition related news: I just got off the email with a speech therapist – my next big step on the transition road. Before I make any public debut, and before I will even think of starting a YouTube vLog to mirror this traditional blog, I need to get my voice into a little better shape. Trying on my own, I think all I am doing is damaging the upper end of my range, so before I do any irreparable damage, I’m going to get professional help.
That’s it for now, thanks for your time.
Love,
Friday
08/08/2012
FAK