So...met my psychiatrist today. He wasn't Doctor Melfi, but he was nice. A little arrogant. Hey, what psychiatrist isn't? Seriously, I think arrogance 101 is part of their residency training. Anyway, he's nice and confident and his office has a very, very nice view. Plus, I'll probably see him fifteen minutes once every month/six weeks. So, yeah. The only thing that was weird was that he sat at his desk and typed up pretty much everything I said. I'm glad he's taking notes, but what happened to note pads and quiet nods and "mhmm"s and eye contact? He did make some eye contact and he did have to urge me on a few times, but you know, it's hard to think about what I am telling you over the sound of you typing up everything I'm telling you. Maybe he never learned shorthand in medical school. Anyway, it's not a big deal. What is a big deal is that I went at all. I've basically been in denial for most of my life about my "psych...
A True Crime Blog set in the Bloody Pacific Northwest