I hate psychiatrists. With a passion. Their smug little faces, looking at you from some big chair. That fake smile. They want you to think they can help you, but secretly you know what a bunch of bullcrap that is. I'm alright with just helping myself, thanks.
One way you know there's trouble is when there's that smooth, monotone voice. My God, I hate that. It really makes me want to punch a baby.
It' so annoying.
Now, this probably wouldn't be that much of a problem if I wasn't being forced to go to the psychiatrists every Wednesday now. I'm so happy it's not even funny. I can't wait to tell my entire life story to a douchebag prick who'll only tell me what's wrong with me. Like I don't know that there's something wrong right now. I'm way behind in my lucid dreaming. I haven't dreamed for an entire week. I'm tired as shit. Apparently this guy tells me that it's become I have anxiety problems. No shit Sherlock.
Our conversation pretty much went like this:
Dr. Fitzpatrick (which is the dude's name) comes in and starts the usually session full of shitty personal questions such "How did you feel when this scenario first began?", "How have you felt ever since?", but then his questions become downright insulting. "Do you feel safe with your family?" "Would you trust your father?" What. The fuck? I wish I could give you guys the entire conversation, but sadly I couldn't record it. My memory's faulty enough as it is.
I do remember a series of very peculiar questions though.
First he asks me about my hobbies, and I give him my standard list (books, art, movies, etc.), and then I mentioned my lucid dreaming hobby. This seemed to spark his interest for some reason, and he asks if I keep a dream journal. I'm like, "yeah, I use a sketchbook to draw my dreams". And his face goes "woah!" or "wow!" or "hey! Jackpot!" I honestly don't know, these guys are like trained to make their emotions undetectable no matter what expression they're wearing. So we talk a bit about my dreams, and I mention the dream with my mom in it.
Here's where things REALLY get strange.
That dream where we moved away to the blue house?
MY MOM HAD THE SAME EXACT DREAM.
What does this even mean? Has this ever happened before? I have no freakin' clue.
Then he prescribed me these pills. I have no clue what they are but apparently they're supposed to help quell my anxiety issues. Okay...
My dad already got them for me, and they're this weird black color, capsules of course. There's something about the way they shine in the sun. I swear they freakin' sparkle. Or something. But damn, taking them can hurt. It feels like knifes are being shoved down your throat. Yet things seem to calm down when they enter your system...
...Yeah, very calm.
Dammit, I suddenly feel like sleeping like a bear cub.