chapter 3

It was easy enough setting up an appointment, I didn’t even need to get over my anxieties to call and talk to a real person. I registered on the website, and surprisingly, I was able to schedule an appointment for the next day. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure what to expect, I had never had the courage to go to a psychiatrist, despite struggling with anxiety and depression for years, but I was starting to kick myself for not doing it sooner. This only fueled my anxiety more. I knew this was for the best, but I had always been scared of change.

Could I really do this?

I sighed to myself in the back of the Uber. This place almost felt too good to be true, they were even covering my transportation through some ‘insurance assistance program’ or whatever the text reminder had said. I really didn’t care what it was as long as I didn’t have to worry about how I would be able to pay for it.

I looked down to my belly, which had been poking out for years now. I shook it thinking to myself, “I really am a pig.”

“Ma’am?” The Uber driver looked back through the rearview mirror. “You’re a what now? Oh, we’re here.”

‘Oh fuck, did I really say that out loud?’ I thought to myself, this time one-hundred percent sure I was thinking and not speaking out loud again.

“Thank you.” I quickly shuffled out of the car and into the building, my face as red as the medical cross on the door.

The lobby was cold and sparse, with a receptionist behind a desk, and, weirdly, a black leather reclining chair. It almost looked like one of those massage chairs that you’d see at malls, but nearly twice as big. I didn’t notice the receptionist approaching me with a damp towel.

“Oh ma’am, are you okay? Here you go.” The short, balding man smiled and handed me the towel. I hadn’t noticed, but the shirt I was wearing was still stained with not only the ice cream from yesterday, but white cake and chocolate donut frosting.

“Let me know if you need anything else, ma’am. Doctor Verdicken will be ready for your 1:00 p.m. appointment shortly. Please,” he motioned to the comically sized recliner, ‘have a seat in one of the chairs over there.”

“What?” I tilted my head, looking at the recliner, “that thing is huge! It’d be a little funny, it’s practically a couch.”

The receptionist looked quizzically at me, sitting down at his desk, turning toward his computer. “The chairs? It’s just a -- oh, the Doctor tells me I don’t always catch humor very well. Ha ha ha!

“Anyway, just let me know if you’d like a coffee or water. I’m Wilbur, if you need anything.”

“Thank you, sir.” I decided it wasn’t worth it to keep pressing, and let it go. Maybe that’s why this place seemed too good to be true, if it has weirdos like this work—

“The Doctor is ready, please go to the second door on the right after this main one here, labeled ‘Room 2’.” He waved toward the door behind him, still focused on his monitor.

The Doctor’s office was small, not claustrophobic or anything, but a cozy, unclutter room. It seemed that this practice liked to keep things simple. I took a seat on the couch, hoping I wasn’t expected to lie down.

“Sarah, it’s so lovely to meet you!” The chair behind the desk turned, revealing a woman in her late-30’s. Her hair was obviously straightened, long, and dark with what looked like highlights of blue and purple glitter. She smiled widely and stood with her hand extended. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” I shook her hand before sitting back down. She grabbed a legal pad scribbled with notes. “You can lie down, sit, hell! Stand if you need to.” She put on a pair of reading glasses and grabbed a pen. “Whichever works best.

“Now from what you’ve submitted online, it looks like your main concerns are struggles with anxiety, both social and professional, depression, and ---” she flipped the page reading further into her notes “coping with food after a break up.” She lifted her head and looked at me, “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions or concerns?”

“I’ve never done therapy before.” I looked down at my hands, wondering how forthcoming I should be with my concerns. “You… this…” I swallowed hard, “I’m not just gonna be put on a bunch of medications, am I?” I looked up expecting a disappointed or angry face, but was only met with one of understanding.

“Medication is an option, yes. We don’t, or rather, I don’t prefer to go that method right away.” She started scribbling. “Medication is a great tool, and you might need it at some point, but–and here’s the analogy I always use–” She held up a drawing of a radio tower at the crest of a person’s head. “Medication is like a broadcasting antenna: it can only amplify what you have learned, make it easier to manage.” She placed her legal pad back on the desk.”Set yourself to a certain ‘frequency’.

“Some people need it, some people don’t. There is no shame in medication, and no shame in using different approaches for your mental health. I’m just here to help in whatever way I can.”

That definitely put my mind at ease. I began telling her about my break up with Broden, what he had said to me at the cafe, how I had been “managing” the situation. She took notes, only spoke when asking me to elaborate on certain details or how I felt. She really listened, which was more to say than Broden ever did. This might not have been the doctor I was expecting, but I was beginning to feel glad I came.

“That’s all for today. Now for the first week, I can see you twice since this was more of an introductory session than anything else. Then it’s once a week after that. But that is entirely up to you.”

“I think I would like to come back again, Dr. Verdicken, yes.” I smiled, still feeling calmer than I did this morning.

“Okay then, I’ll see you on Friday, Sarah.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “And please, call me Carey.”