Hard Pass (and Flea Market Travels)
August 21, 2021 (+) / 5:45 p.m. / I had a consultation with a therapist today. He said that he didn’t feel he was the right fit for my situation. While I thanked him for his honesty, part of me wondered whether he could really come to such a conclusion in just twenty minutes, especially if the consultation was over the phone.
“I think you need someone you can actually see in person,” he told me. “I only offer services over Zoom.”
I gave him no attitude. Because truthfully? I’m not sure he’s a fit for me. Because when I mentioned I think of death all of the time, he reacted like a skittering fish on the other end of the line.
I said, “I don’t fantasize about hurting people, I just can’t turn it off — my thoughts of death. In fact, I think more about myself dying than others.” Which is true.
We chatted for a little longer (because I’m gonna make the best of my full twenty minutes, goddammit), and he said, “Yeah, I’m not qualified to help those who have delusions and paranoia. And you’re in that age frame to develop schizophrenia.”
I suppressed an eye roll. I’d mentioned earlier in our conversation that I wondered not long ago if I had schizophrenia, and I made it very clear that I wasn’t self-diagnosing. Who knows? Maybe I do have schizophrenia. It’s very possible, but I don’t hear voices or see things that aren’t there (to my knowledge, that is).
I connected with a person on Twitter around this time last year who has schizophrenia. We’ve conversed quite a bit and, while we share similar symptoms, I don’t find myself having some of the same experiences he has. Then again, it’s possible, I suppose, for two people to have the same disorder but experience it differently. If he’s reading this— hi, I hope you’re doing OK over there in India. Sincerely, a weirdo from the U S of A. P.s., stay safe in there.
After I ended the call, I decided I would not sit in my room and mentally decay. So, I went back to the flea market in Fayetteville and ordered real Mexican food. In addition, I bought my grandmother an early Christmas present that I plan to store away in my closet until the 24th of December.
And tonight, I’m going to play old PlayStation One games. Why? BECAUSE. I. CAN. MOTHER. FUCKER. Unless my graduate school team wants to meet, which I highly doubt they will. Not today, at least. It’s still early in the semester. But come week five, I know I’m going to be submerged in projects and long readings. That said, I don’t predict this semester will be that stressful, seeing as I only have one class.
I guess you could say I’m really happy today and positive. But how much longer will this last before a tidal wave of depression and paranoia comes rushing back? Also, I can’t stop thinking about my internship letting me go, which is part of the reason I chose to get away today — to try and take my mind off of it.
