Inside My Head: The Final Frontier

I have been going to therapy for my entire adult life. Beginning with my anxiety attacks in high school, moving through the exhilarating train wreck of marriage, divorce, and pseudo-dating I call my twenties, and finally to the self-actualizing 30s, I have heard and said it all. Reclaiming my inner child? Sure. Dealing with perfectionism and stress? You bet. Depression? Yes! Love addiction? Sign me up! Psychopharmacological therapy for intensely emotional and intelligent syndrome? Why not! The great part about moving to self-actualization is that I can speak openly about these issues. Not in an inappropriate catch-you-in-the-bathroom-while-you're-washing-your-hands-and-mention-that-your-sweater-reminds-me-of-the-color-of-the-room-where-I-was-inappropriately-touched-by-Pastor-John kind of way. But, in the "Hey, now that you mention it, I've been through some stuff." The only problem with having this many therapy notches on my belt is when I meet a new therapist who is not prepared for the new and improved, evolved Sherri. Case in point: My recent session with Dr. U.

Because I am taking a drug for one of the aforementioned issues (I'll keep you guessing on that one. Is there really a pill for love addiction, you're wondering?), my OB/GYN and I thought it prudent to see a psychiatrist during my pregnancy. You know, to work through "role transitions," and so as to have a relationship established with someone should I run into any post-partum mental health issues. My body once grew a tumor with extra teeth, for Christ's sake; the odds are great that a few extra hormones could mess with my system. So, I made an appointment with Dr. U, Chief Resident of Psychiatry at the hospital. I sat down for my "intake" appointment and proceeded to answer her question: Family medical history? Yes. Personal mental health history? Yes. Relationship history? Yes, yes, and yes. Current medications? Just a little something to take the edge off.

As she asked more detailed questions about life events, I began to tick off each of the key events or relationships that precipitated visits to therapy throughout the last twenty years. I was careful to show just enough emotion so as not to prompt her to order a battery of Rorschach ink blot tests to see if I was psychotic/anti-social, but not so much that I would end up in a fetal position on her office floor and miss my 3:00 class. Her eyes got wider and her pen flew across her notebook as I answered her questions.

Dr. U: Tell me about your relationships, Sherri
Me: Oh, I'm married to a wonderful guy who loves me and supports me and is just great. Phew, what a change from the alcoholic boyfriend in high school, and the anti-social abuser in my thirties, with a few meatheads, cowboys, and one really lovely soul that I married and divorced in my twenties.
Dr. U: Um, how about your family?
Me: Oh, you know, the usual June and Ward Cleaver upbringing, except my mom had undiagnosed OCD until a few years ago, and my grandmother was bi-polar and then there was that one time when I was five, and that incident in the dorms freshman year...
Dr. U: And have you undergone therapy in the past for any of these issues?
Me: Um, let's see...off and on I've seen two individual therapists, a marriage and family counselor, and two psychiatrists, one of whom was named, appropriately, "Joy." And now you.
Dr. U: Yes, right, and then, um...you were diagnosed with depression in 2006?
Me: Yep.
Dr. U: And, how are you doing with that now?
Me: Oh, great. I mean, diagnosed depression sure beats living in the deep, dark place where you don't open your mail for a month, forget to eat, and wonder why you don't feel worthy when you are obviously a great person.

At this point, Dr. U tells me she is going to step out, consult with the attending psychiatrist, as is common practice with residents, and then return with the attending to review my case. Ten minutes later Dr. U returns, armed with Dr. C and they are happy to recommend Dr. U work with me on a series of interpersonal therapy sessions to work on role transitions and my general mental health management. And she was happy to refill my prescriptions as needed.

Our weekly conversations consist of talking through how to manage my stress, communicate more effectively with my partner, and setting realistic expectations for myself, among other things. Looking back, I am pretty proud of the progress I've made in the mental health department. I know I will always have to fight being a little nutty and emotionally intense, but that's all part of what makes me me, after all.

This week's topic is my propensity to procrastinate, which may present the greatest psychological challenge of all. Stay tuned!