Therapy

I had my first session with a psychologist yesterday. I probably wouldn’t have been near tears when I walked into her room if I had remembered that it was at 10 and not 10:30 am, if I had not had to race to the LRT station to find a parking space, sit anxiously on the train to the UofA for 20 minutes, listening to the conversations of others and watching the city roll by because I forgot earbuds on my desk at home, while the time on my phone ticked closer, if I had walked straight across the parkway to the Education North building instead of walking right until I eventually turned around, if I hadn’t made it into the Education South building instead, and maybe figured it out before I ended up on the wrong fifth floor with no 513 in sight, and if I hadn’t had to have three separate people come together to rescue me and send me in the right direction.

But there I was, making my way over to the North building, ten minutes late already, while breathing deep, hold, one … two … three. Breathe out, hold, one … two … three. And so on like Jon had taught us in yoga the Monday prior.

I finally found the right fifth floor and was feeling relieved. Though I was now 15 minutes late and afraid that I’d be told just to come back next time. But both my psychologist and her receptionist were unbelievably friendly and kind.

I filled out five minutes of paperwork while I listened to scenes of Dustin Lance Black’s Milk play in the room beside me. I thought that was fate. It’s like my favorite movie.

I was beginning to calm down, but then I was invited into my psychologist’s office and couldn’t hold in the tears that wanted to fall any longer. Why must I be so overwhelmed?

It was relaxing though, afterwards. She was casual and comforting, like we’d already known each other from somewhere else. We talked a little about my family, and me moving to Vancouver in three weeks. We chatted about our pets, and which anti-depressant I’m on. And by the end of it, I didn’t feel like crying anymore. I wanted to stay and talk more and get everything out and absorb all new information, like her knowledge on surgery and hormone replacement. But that’s what our next two sessions will be for.

I wish I could stay here and hash out my life with her. I’ll have to start all over again with someone else in Vancouver.

Maybe I won’t get too lost next time.

Maybe I won’t tear up the instant someone is so nice to me.

Maybe I won’t feel so overwhelmed.

No, no that will never happen.