Mental Floss

So I've been suffering from some pretty major anxiety lately, which isn't much of a secret if you interact with me on a regular basis. I've been seeing a wonderful therapist for a few months, and while talk therapy has done absolute wonders for me, my anxiety persists. She suggested that I seek out a psychiatrist to discuss the possibility of some medication.

I've always been a little gun-shy about psychiatric medication, but I have a bunch of friends who have really benefitted from it over the years. And goodness knows, anything that can make me friggin' RELAX would be a welcomed change from my current jangly-nerved, sweaty palmed, frustrated state.

I finally got to a psychiatrist today, and he was the most bizarre man I've met in a long time. First of all, he was elderly. I would say at least 75 years old. He was wearing a full three piece suit and his office was stifling. It was a completely bare room-- nothing on the walls, just a desk with a comfy chair behind it for him and hard backed chair in front for me. Mid way through the exam he got up, complaining that he was cold, and turned OFF the AC. The room went from stuffy to unbearable for me in my summer dress, although he seemed perfectly comfortable in his three piece suit. He was also a boob looker. At first I couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to make eye contact with him until I figured out that behind his thick reading specs, he was actually looking at my tits.

He was deaf, so talking about my private matters involved a lot of shouting and repeating myself loudly ("YES, I THNK THAT I AM SOMETIMES CONTROLLING AND MANIPULATIVE"), made much worse by the bare walls. After I told him that my parents weren't divorced and that I liked my job, he commented "It sounds like you don't have much to complain about". I swallowed this remark and said "Well, that's exactly right. My life is good, but I'm still having a lot of anxiety. So that's why I'm here." He told me that didn't make sense. What. The fuck.

I was feeling very guarded around him, so I didn't end up mentioning my girlfriend until later, when he asked me what hobbies I had. I said "we" had just gotten a dog, and he asked me if I was married. I told him no, I was gay and that I had been with my girlfriend for 3 1/2 years. His face completely fell. I would love to play poker with this bloke-- I would take him for all he had. He then had the balls to suggest in a round-about manner that my homosexuality may be a reason for my anxiety. At first I thought he meant dealing with the stress of coming out, etc., but no, he was suggesting that if I dated a man I might feel better.

Then to top the whole thing off, he spent the last 20 minutes of our session talking about HIS childhood, I shit you not. He told me about his father, who wasn't affectionate, and he even drew a DIAGRAM OF HIS CHILDHOOD HOME for me on an envelope. Then he talked about raising his sons, and I guess his point was that you can have a detached father, grow up to be an educated man, and then still be a detached father yourself. He summed up the whole thing by saying "it just goes to show you that you never know, and that you're always doomed to repeat the mistakes of your father". And then he said "good luck" as I left.

Did I mention that his receptionist barged in during the middle of our session to inform him that she was going to the bathroom?

Man, now I have to go through the whole process of finding another psychiatrist all over again. Ick.

He did write me a prescription before he told me his life story, and the whole time I was steeling myself not to leap across the desk, grab the script and run out into the street, howling like a banshee. I was literally calming myself down from a panic attack at my psychatrist's office.

Talk about irony.