Thursday, June 21, 2012
Today was the day that I met with a new psychologist. I still have the same incredible psychiatrist but he doesn't do psychotherapy, only med management, so I've been on the hunt for someone on my insurance plan for psychotherapy. If anyone needs a psychotherapist it's me.
I was fully prepared to question him to death, to take charge of my treatment, and to make an informed decision on if I would choose him as my treatment provider. I was going to be the one doing the judging and the assessment.
That was until my husband burst my bubble and brought me crashing to the ground. I was on the way out the door when he asked, "You're not really going to wear that shirt are you?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Do you think it's appropriate for meeting a new psychologist?"
"Yeah, why not?" I was a little confused. It was just a black tank top.
"Teri, that's your 5150 shirt, you're 'Hardcore 5150' shirt."
"Oh shit! But it's hot out there and I couldn't find the shirt I was looking for so I just grabbed this."
"5150" is police and institution code for a dangerous crazy person on the loose. I got the shirt at Street Vibrations last year from my friend's family's booth.
"Are you sure you want to wear that?" He wasn't going to let it go.
"Well I guess I'll see if he has a sense of humor."
With that I left the house and made my way to the doc's office. When he greeted me his eyes went directly to the "5150" or to my boobs, I'm not sure which. Both were well displayed.
I decided I needed to explain my shirt and told him what my husband said and that I said I'd just see if he had a sense of humor.
He looked at me and said, "Well, it definitely gives me insight on who you are and what you're about."
Shit. I was sunk. I was no longer in control. I'd betrayed myself with my choice of attire, and on my first meeting at that.
Oh well, what the hell, like he said it'll give him insight on just who I am and what I'm about. I decided to just roll with it. At least he got a valid first impression.