The Indelible Sulk—part 2

Ahoyhoy™,

Title’s accurate. This is indeed part 2 of The Indelible Sulk series.

The Indelible Sulk—part 2


2013 dramatically changed my life. It was hectic yet productive. It positioned me to wrap up my formal education on schedule, and showed me what I was missing and needed: it forced me to confront quality-of-life problems that I’d avoided my entire life. 2013 did a lot for me. Well, 2013 was when it happened—it didn’t single-handedly improve my life. It was just kinda there. I can’t exactly fault time for not caring about me though; I doubt time cares about anyone (perhaps space is the one exception)… Instead, I credit two individuals with improving my life that year (and onwards). This series is about the first one: Dr. Doctor (my psychiatrist)—I’ve already mentioned that. However, I don’t know where to begin. Where does the story actually begin? For now, I’ll start with the appointment that (formally) started the process.


I was never too keen on therapy. It sounded awful. Participating in one-way conversations about myself turned me off. Before therapy, I relied on steering conversations away from me and towards the other person. Unfortunately, deflecting attention away from me and towards my therapist isn’t an option in therapy: that’s not how it works. On top of that, what I would learn about myself terrified me. It’s not like I never criticized myself: I excelled at harshly criticizing myself by myself. I was aware of my shortcomings, and I worked as hard as I could to improve myself by myself. I knew I didn’t need therapy. I knew that—if not downright awful—therapy was at least not for me; it was unnecessary. What I “knew” changed during a routine checkup—earlier that year—with my family doctor, Dr. Family. During that checkup, we discussed my newest, and most effective coping method: {REDACTED TO BRING YOU A SUPERIOR NARRATIVE EXPERIENCE}


NOTE: Though that coping method's important for the overall picture I won't elaborate right now. Addressing it now—without sufficient context—will misrepresent my motivations and actions: it would derail this story. If anybody's going to derail this story, it'll be me—I won't let lack of context steal my thunder... Anyway, the method's pretty obvious, so it's not like I'm actually hiding something... right...


Controversial coping method aside, the impacts of my ailments showed up clearly in my university grades, my social life, and my physical health. It showed up everywhere in my life. Dr. Family then professionally recommended seeing a psychiatrist.


NOTE: A doctor recommending something as their "professional opinion" is the medical analog to being called out by your full name—you know you **ed up, and all you can do is brace yourself for a rough ride...


In hindsight, she seemed different during that checkup—after discussing how incredibly effective my new coping strategy was. She sidestepped my usual attempts at avoiding issues. She appeared even more concerned than usual. She was so concerned that she convinced me that even if I didn’t think therapy was for me, I needed to at least see a psychiatrist. I needed psychiatric medication—medication she couldn’t effectively prescribe without a specialist’s expertise… After a lengthy, awkward conversation, she finally convinced me.


NOTE: To truly understand how awkward, about three years prior Dr. Family gave me my rabies shots... Yes, you read that correctly... r a b i e s. I can sincerely tell people that I received my rabies shots before Chokka (please see this site's logo)...


Did I like it? No. Did that matter? Also no. We agreed it was in my best interest to see a specialist for a psychiatric consultation. We also agreed that I would commit to it—albeit begrudgingly. At the time, I remember thinking that agreeing to it would appease her. It would buy me a little time to think of something to avoid actually seeing a psychiatrist. I also remember that almost immediately after I promised to see a psychiatrist, she reached into my file, pulled out a psychiatric consultation request form, filled it out disturbingly quickly (a little too quickly), and scheduled the appointment… Is keeping a psychiatric consultation request form in a patient’s file—in case of emergency—normal? I doubt it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was smoothly outwitted.


NOTE: SPOILER—I didn't know better. I got hustled (for my own good). Well played, Dr. Famil. Well played...


That’s how I wound up seeing a psychiatrist. Rather, that’s how I wound up seeing the first psychiatrist and confirming that therapy wasn’t for me…



Thank you for your time,
Roybert S. Henanigans



P.S. 96: I’ve updated my Contact Me page explaining how you can help me if you choose to. This includes a messaging form, my gmail address, my Twitter account, and a donation button to my Ko-Fi page. I’ll update specifics gradually. If there’s one thing I could ask for above all else, I’d ask for two—then I’d use one of those two to say that the best way to help is to share my work with someone.

On a serious note, thank you so much for reading—it truly means the world to me!

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