moment of change

I had my first appointment with a psychologist this morning. I was very nervous about going and a bit upset just before bed last night, but all went well.

I was having trouble putting a finger on the exact emotion I was feeling, but a little bit of it was dread and fear like the kind you have before you get a flu shot. You know it's coming and you know it's not going to feel good, but you also know that it only lasts for a second and then you'll be protected for the year. However, you can't help but think that it's going to hurt worse than it really does so you dread the tiny prick up until the moment it pricks you, then you're so relieved that it didn't hurt nearly as bad as you anticipated it would.

My appointment was at 9am. I met my doctor and she seemed very nice and welcoming and warm. I told her I didn't really know where to start so she asked me why I thought I needed to see her - and then the flood gates opened. It's somewhat frustrating at first because I have this desire to lay it all out for her on the first day so she'll know what's she's working with. Like opening a brand new puzzle you want to spread all those pieces out, collect the edge pieces and fit those together, then fill in with the hard part. I wanted to give her a clear picture of everything I'm dealing with and then in the following sessions fill in with the icky stuff. I think, for the most part, I was able to do that.

I pretty much talked the whole time. I think before I go next time, I'll make a list of any and everything I can think of that I've ever wanted to tell anyone. I've told my mom a lot of this stuff, but I guess there are always things that I'd feel more willing to tell a stranger than I would be to tell my mom. When I realized I'd need to make a list, I felt like Earl Hickey. I laughed to myself as I left the office picturing me with my "list" on yellow legal paper, crossing off each item as I shared it with my doctor.

I was able to tell her about my dad, my job, my middle school trauma, my second-guessing, my panic and anxiety, and the lack of any close friends other than Seth.  She compared my physical and emotional responses to my work environment to that of PTSD! HA! I told her I'd considered that before.

I'm anxious to get several sessions under my belt, relax more with her, get into more details about each and every nutty thing I think or feel and hopefully see some progress. But, that's just like me to want to hurry up and get to the good stuff. I hope I can be patient. It helps more than anything just to talk and get some feedback. I feel pretty alone in this but I'll continue to update on each visit. Maybe there's a stranger out there reading who can relate. You never know who's lurking around on your blog!

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