I shit you not, my therapists office is in a crack den.
I rolled up a good 45 minutes early for my appointment, as I wasn't entirely sure where I was going. After seeing the outside of the building, I was relatively sure that mace would've been a good idea.
I was already dreading the whole, "so what seems to be the problem" question, since none of this is easily explainable. With each element to my issues that I described, it became more difficult for her to mask her various facial expressions and reactions. She kept looking around uneasily, as though she was waiting for the hidden camera crew to bust in at anytime, confirming her beliefs she was getting punked.
When the main therapist came in during the intake, it was all I could do to keep from bursting into laughter through my tears.
I had already been told she was a Reverend when I signed my Hippa paperwork, as I had to specify if I minded her discussing spirituality. What was NOT mentioned, was the fact this Reverend was in full biker attire, including do-rag and Chad. She apologized for her attire, to which I promptly responded that it actually made me feel a lot less in a position to be judged.
After all, why start being a conformist now?
The best part came when the two of them sat there in front of me and openly discussed my diagnosis, to which I added my thoughts and preliminary diagnosis. It was like we were co-counsel. They also seemed very concerned that I had an eating disorder since I mentioned I haven't eaten in three days. I was a little shocked at the term "eating disorder" as it's not because I am choosing not to eat for my appearance. Believe me, I TRIED to become an anorexic before to lose weight, but found that I sadly lacked the motivation. My choice to eat as little as possible now has more to do with the fact I have had diabetes for four months and I'm not particularly partial to it.
The more I recalled the events of the past year of my life, the more I found I wanted to put do myself. If she was this awestruck of my inner strength, I found myself saying, "oh, that was nothing...you should hear about the first time my husband deployed and I had five car accidents!"
I loved the horrific reactions she gave me. She would be a perfect audience for my book that I am writing about my life.