So I went for my psych eval yesterday ready to check this task off my to-do list in preparation for my October (fingers crossed!) lapband surgery. Although I had a nagging feeling that I needed to be mentally prepared, I pushed those compulsive, controlling thoughts aside. Note to self: No worries! You've got this in the bag! So I showered and primped. Don't want to look like a basket case, right? And put on a cute, assertive outfit and leisurely arrived at my destination feeling peacefully prepared to expose the wonders of my psyche to a complete stranger who, of course, would be completely charmed by my engaging personality. And I have to say-she was. I even made her laugh-twice! Who knew talking about failed, miserable weight loss attempts could be so....stimulating??? I was feeling very Kathy Griffith about the whole thing. Really. And this therapist's office was so warm and inviting and her compassion so steady and sustaining. She GOT me. And I told her EVERYTHING: falling apart at 40, my yr long depression, the implosion and near destruction of my marriage, my earliest memories of emotional eating, my epiphanies about food addiction, my life long battle of feeling like a fat failure, my subversive attempts at weight loss that bordered on the nearly illegal, as well as my chronic self loathing fueled by shameful binge eating episodes of epic proportions. I must say-my eloquence even surprised me. This was soooooo easy! Fun, even. I should have tried this years ago!
When I finally glide to an elegant ending of my tumultuous weight loss story, she compassionaltely looks me in the eye and says, "You are so articulate and insightful! You have a clear understanding of your issues, and you are what we therapists call the PERFECT PATIENT (I am all but glowingly levitating at this lavish praise-which I have EARNED). She continues: You were MEANT for therapy. Not everyone has what it takes to do this kind of work. You however, are a PERFECT candidate! And I have 100% assurance that with some time and sessions you can make this surgery a success. So we're going to cancel this evaluation, send you to another therapist (rejection!), and I'll see what we can do for you in another few months (ie: if you get your shit together)." Do NOT pass GO, and do NOT collect $200. You're grounded, baby.
Like a dumbfounded mouth-breather I sit there in shock. My tight deadline for getting my paperwork done in time for my October surgery is ka-put. And I am frantic to get this show on the road. I am SICK of being a perpetual fat ass! I stumble over my shocked dismay to ask a few stilted questions. My nerves are fraying in front of her. My panic mounts. I nearly plead with her: Please, please please! Just sign the damn papers!!! I'll do anything you want, lady. Don't be such a hard ass. I mean give me an F'in break, k??? I NEED this surgery because I DO have serious issues! What the F did you expect...!?! And I barely manage to listen to her instructions, gather my purse, and straighten my perspiration soaked dress and exit with some of my dignity intact-and a false smile plastered to my face. Within the beat of a few seconds, I have been politely dismissed and shipped off-an aborted psych eval failure. A total fucked-up head case that will require intensive work.
I could have told her that over the phone...