Shrinky Dink Conversations

Many thanks to last week’s guest bloggers: Turnbaby, Anissa, James, and Janelle. I’m digging the Summer of Love this year, as I always do. And this week, I’ll be here even LESS frequently than last week because there’s a guest post every day this week except for today and Wednesday. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

An odd thing happened last week. I actually found myself writing down blog post ideas again. Hell, I now have a Blog Ideas note on my iPhone! Feels good to be back, inspired by so much great writing with all these guest posts. Just WANTING to write again feels pretty weird, but I’m liking it.

So a couple of weeks ago, I went to the local VA Clinic here in Sebring to see a social worker/counselor about my depression. I’ve been through a shitload of therapy over the years, not to mention several pharmacies’ worth of meds, so it’s hard not to go into AutoPilot mode while answering what I now consider routine questions from counselors, therapists, social workers, and shrinks. Still, I did my best to get acquainted with yet ANOTHER counselor.

We decided that I should see a shrink (again) to talk/manage my meds, and so she made me a consult. Thing is, there are no shrinks at the local VA Clinic any more, so I had to drive to a VA Clinic a couple of hours away to see one. That was what I did Friday.

I listened to a couple of Adam Carolla podcast episodes on the way, so the drive flew by. That, and the occasional Tweet and text, and countless cigarettes (which I will be quitting again very soon because $45/carton is fucking insane).

I’m generally the youngest guy in the waiting area when I walk into the VA. When I saw an old dude riding into the waiting room on a motorized scooterchair while simultaneously texting someone on his iPhone, though? Yeah, I got a glimpse of my future 30 years down the road.

So my new shrink, right. She was very nice and had a sexy Indian accent. And regrettably, didn’t dress anything like THIS sexy Indian doctor.

Our conversation went a little something like this:

Hot Indian Doctor: So I see you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Bipolar Disorder -

Me: And a partridge in a pear tree, yep.

HID: Now, your meds. I see here that you haven’t done a refill on any of them since February.

Me: Really, wow. Yeah, I’m in the midst of one of my semi-occasional self-destructive phases, where filling my pillboxes every week is kind of a monumental task and so I just kinda…stop taking them.

HID: That’s not good, Karl.

Me: Thus, the self-destructive phase.

HID: Were the meds not doing anything for you?

Me: At this point, it’s hard to say just what medications are effective and which ones aren’t. Hell, I’m on FOUR of them for depression and bipolar alone.

HID: And how has your depression been?

Me: Bad enough to come in to see a social worker and get a consult to see you.

HID: Are you isolating yourself?

Me: Yes, y’know, aside from online interactions and a few phone calls to close friends.

HID: Having trouble sleeping? Nightmares? Flashbacks?

Me: Yes, yes, and yes.

HID: How many nightmares do you have?

Me: Three or four a week.

HID: That’s excessive.

Me: I know, I’ve complained to the management, but they don’t seem to listen.

HID: Do you ever feel suicidal?

Me: Suicidal ideation, yes, but I’d never act on it and, no, I don’t have any plans cooked up to do anything with those thoughts.

HID: Most patients don’t use the word “ideation.”

Me: This ain’t my first rodeo, doc.

HID: What sort of support system do you have?

Me: One local friend and many online friends. A few close friends I can talk to on the phone.

HID: When you’re feeling really depressed, do you cut yourself off from even your close friends?

Me: Sometimes, but I’ve gotten much better about it over the years.

HID: And how do you earn money?

Me: I sell smack to schoolchildren.

HID: What?

Me: I mean, I’m a writer.

HID: What sorts of things do you write?

Me: I have a professional gig at a gossip blog, and another one at a travel blog. And then there’s my personal blog.

HID: And what do you write there?

Me: Mostly I write about vaginas.

HID: Vaginas?

Me: Yes, according to my blog stats, vaginas are the number one search term that bring people to my blog.

HID: And are you in a romantic relationship now?

Me: If I was in a romantic relationship, do you think I’d be writing about vaginas all the time?

HID: I don’t know, would you?

Me: Probably. I really like vaginas.

HID: And is it your depression that keeps you out of relationships?

Me: It’s a lot of things. Living in Sebring, depression, being 42 and living with my mother…

HID: You live with your mother?

Me: Try to contain yourself, doc. I know that’s a huge turn-on.

HID: And your bipolar disorder. When you experience mania, do you find yourself with a lot of racing thoughts, impulsive behavior, excessive anger, and wild mood swings?

Me: Yes.

HID: Tell me about the racing thoughts.

Me: Well, I have those pretty much all the time. I generally have at least 50 different divergent thoughts in my head at any given moment.

HID: Such as?

Me: Well, right now, I’m thinking of what I’m going to post in my blog on Sunday, where I’m going to eat lunch after this, how I haven’t gotten laid in two years, vaginas, what sorts of meds you’re going to prescribe for me that I hope will make me magically feel awesome but I know won’t, that there’s a ketchup stain on my shorts, how much I miss my friend Lisa, how I have been avoiding cleaning my bedroom like the Plague, how I hope a dear friend with fibromyalgia is feeling better today, that I kinda wish I was mildly stoned all the time, and I’m imagining what you look like naked. Oh, and vaginas. Did I mention the vaginas?

HID: And it’s like this all the time?

Me: Pretty much. Course, if you take off your clothes, that’ll be one less thought to fight for space in my head.

HID: Anxiety attacks?

Me: Yes, please, may I have another?

HID: When do you feel anxious?

Me: When I’m awake, mostly.

HID: No, I mean what situations make you feel most anxious?

Me: Social situations. Leaving the house. Getting down to my last pack of cigarettes, because it means leaving the house and subsequently interacting with live people.

HID: Yet you go to these – what did you call them? – blogger parties?

Me: Yeah, usually a few every year. I’m getting ready to go to Chicago next week to hang around 1,000 women and a dozen men.

HID: And that makes you anxious?

Me: Um, YEAH. But I have to push myself out of my comfort zone, or else I’d never interact with another human being in person.

HID: And how do you deal with your anxiety in these settings?

Me: I drink and make lots of jokes about boobs and vaginas.

HID: Around 1,000 women?

Me: Yep. It helps to weed out the cool chicks from the ones with sticks up their asses. I feel much more comfortable hanging with the cool chicks because they know that I’m full of shit and a total teddy bear hiding behind lots of inappropriate humor, and that if any one of these women called my bluff and offered to go to my hotel room I’d probably freak out.

HID: That’s an interesting way of coping with severe anxiety.

Me: I’ve spent decades honing my coping skills, and I’m kind of a complex guy. You figure out what works and what doesn’t over time.

HID: Do you drink a lot?

Me: Not a lot. Usually.

HID: Enough to black out?

Me: No, no. Nothing like that. A few episodes of projectile vomiting that make Linda Blair look like she’s drooling, but no blacking out.

HID: That’s not good, Karl.

Me: I know. I’m turning over a new leaf.

HID: Illegal substances?

Me: Why, what have you got?

HID: No, I mean do you use any?

Me: If I was in Amsterdam, I’d answer no.

HID: We’re in the United States.

Me: Ah, so we are.

HID: You don’t shoot up or anything?

Me: Shit, no! I’m a wuss when it comes to needles.

HID: But you’re an insulin-dependent diabetic.

Me: I know. My life is truly a series of neverending incongruities.

HID: So I’m going to refill TWO of the four prescriptions. I don’t want to start you on anything new at the moment…

Me: Really? But I don’t think the stuff I was taking before was helping much.

HID: Yes, well, for now. You’ll continue to see the social worker in Sebring and we’ll schedule a follow-up for 3 months down the road. If you should need anything before then, simply tell the social worker and we can adjust things as needed.

Me: *sigh*

HID: Is there anything else, Karl?

Me: You’re really not going to take off your clothes, are you?