So I sit in the waiting room, 20 minutes early.  I sit in front of a large window, the building is right beside the highway.  The highway is moving well, I am surprised how little time it took me to get to this side of the city.  The waiting room is behind glass doors the receptionist; who is gorgeous, is sitting at her desk on the other side of the glass.  I can’t help but look at her.  I love her hair.  Its pulled up in a beautiful bun  drawn back in a lovely sophisticated manner.  Her hair must be as long as mine, I am resisting  the urge to asking how she did it.   My side of the glass there is a play area behind me.  There must be a T.V. or something que’d up to play a movie.  It keeps playing the same theme music over and over and over again.  I am trying to zone out.  I am trying to concentrate on other things.  The traffic keeps moving along. I read all the truck signs, wonder what that one is carrying, or where that one is going, or wouldn’t you be embarrassed to be driving around with that slogan on the side of your truck.   Time is passing slowly.  I read the signs on the walls, resisting the urge to look again at the receptionist and analyze her hair.  She has seen me twice looking at her, not good.  I read the bristol board on the wall describing mood disorders.  Bipolar, depression, anxiety.   Its like sitting in an examining room looking at diagrams of the insides of the body and wondering if your aches and pains are one of the horrible things they are describing with an arrow.  This ugly spot is cancer!  Ok; back to the traffic.  I am trying to do three things at once.  One; look normal, not scared, second; don’t read the mood disorder descriptions, and three; don’t get up grab the DVD and rip out that disc and stomp on it cause the music is about to make me crazy.

I am waiting for my new therapist to greet me.  I keep looking out of the corner of my eye, receptionist, someone walking by- is that her– ugg, mind telling me don’t look.   Traffic.  Corner of eye, looking, ugly man, ugg, no mine is a woman.  Traffic.  I am losing my mind sitting here.  I feel like a caged animal sitting behind the glass.  Everyone looks at me as they walk by.  If it’s a waiting room where are all the people?  Or am I the only crazy one here today.

These are all irrational thoughts. But they are my thoughts- the thoughts of someone who is just a little anxious about what is about to happen.  I pray for God give me someone good.  I sit remembering the past year, how the hell did I get here?  I was a strong farm girl. I could handle anything.  If any of my family, Mother, Uncles, cousins, anyone knew I was sitting waiting to see a councilor they would laugh, tell me to go do some farm work and smarten up.  Too much time on my hands, thinking about stupid stuff, get to work.

Yet here I am watching the traffic. Wanting to take a bat to the DVD now- but I saw anpatient transport van in the parking lot, so I am thinking, not a good sign, what mental institute does that one belong to?? If I smash the DVD they will see me as aggressive– when No I can’t stand the stupid music. This thought makes me laugh, I can picture myself white jacket in a rubber room – explaining to the doctors “really I’m crazy I just hear the same song 58 times and couldn’t handle it anymore.  Why does this make me laugh- its like something from a sitcom, and by the way if this is a waiting room at a Family Counciling centre wouldn’t they have calming yoga type music?? I’m just saying! ! ! ! ! !

So I meet her.  She is nice and makes me feel at ease, but I am still conscious of the fact that I have gone from normal to depressed, to drugs, to a therapist.

She takes down my information and after an hour of questions about my husband my kids my child hood I leave.

What do I think about all this ? I am not sure yet.  She tells me I am brave to be there I am sure she tells everyone that.   Her body language when I was telling her my father has passed was like she was about to cry.  A little over the top, I almost said, “”hey I got over it, relax that was 15 years ago”    I do know about this.  I am still feeling good, and maybe that is why I am feeling weird about this.   It might be easier if I was sad or mad or feeling anything else but good.

I go back next week, we will see where this leads to.

Dear Lord my God you lead me to this place, you lead me to these people.  I pray that you lead me down the road in this journey never to leave me always holding my hand.  I give you all of this and ask for help in the powerful name of Jesus Christ.  Amen