Why My Psychologist Must Think I’m Crazy
I’ve decided my psychologist must think I’m crazy, even if my actual medical diagnosis doesn’t say crazy anywhere (see that post here). Now, I know what you are thinking – she’s trained to deal with crazies. This is her lives work. She’s probably seen worse. I cannot possibly be the craziest person that she’s ever dealt with.
I once thought that too. But I was wrong. You see, I am now confident that I am actually the craziest (is craziest even a word?).
Why you ask?
- The first day I met her I’m not sure I even reach the chair before I burst into tears. I went to discuss stress management techniques (this was before our miscarriages even started), and I had a complete emotional breakdown. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that with a perfect stranger before.
- She provided sound advice for over a year, which I, an educated professional, promptly chose to ignore. And the irony of this isn’t lost on me – I went to her for advice on how to deal with stress and when she gave me her advice, which is what I asked for, I discarded it. I’m a sure when I finally did attempt to quit my job she actually thought “I told you so. Imagine where you’d be today if you had just listed to me a year ago”. Okay, maybe she didn’t actually think that, but I would have if I were her and I think she should have.
- Some days I meet with her and I seem to have it all together. I’m guessing she must be able to see through this, but yet I question why she lets me have these delusional sessions.
- I went to one group session and never went back. Reason being – I didn’t have any sympathy for the other people in the room (which made me feel slightly horrible about the type of person I am). My thought process went something like seriously, you are sad because your boyfriend dumped you? Or you got fired from your job a year ago and you don’t know how to go on? Seriously, you’re 20, you will have more boyfriends, don’t let some guy define you. Have more respect for yourself. And go get a new job, they aren’t that hard to come by in this booming part of the world. You are qualified. Get some confidence. Yes, that’s right, my life sucks worse and I’m holding it together better. Yup, I have no sympathy or compassion for others and I’m a horrible person…this has to qualify me for some sort of crazy.
- I have held my life together, almost perfectly from the time I was 14. And I always portrayed the perfect façade – no-one knew just how deep some of the hidden pain has been – heck, even I didn’t realized it. And it has taken until now before I ever been willing to admit that it’s not all sunshine and roses. There must be a psychology word for this delayed nervous breakdown.
- I refuse to have a breakdown like I assume other people would. Instead, I take all logical steps to control the situation and my outward emotions. Career Counseling – maybe that will provide me with a solution or at least help me find one? Psychologist to help me deal with stress – that should help. Of course it would help a bit more if I actually followed advice better.
I now acknowledge that I’m crazy. I never would have before, but now I think I am and I think I always was, I just did a great job hiding it. Not crazy like I need to be locked up in a padded room in a strait-jacket. Or at least I hope not. But I guess if my councilor felt I was padded room crazy she’d be negligent for not referring me to a padded room specialist – right?