What I want for Christmas: amnesia

I've been through so much in my life-and through all of it, I managed not to be depressed for long. I get down, but I stay there for a few days at the most. At least, I thought so-until now.

These two years have been really very difficult-dire, in fact-and, really, I find myself occasionally envying people who have amnesia, because they can at least forget everything that happened in the past. History? What history? I'd like selective amnesia: I would like to be able to choose what to forget. I wonder how many other people feel that way! Someone would make billions if they could invent a pill that would accomplish that; it would probably put all the shrinks in the world out of business!!

And, speaking of shrinks...I went to my GP a few months ago and asked her to refer me for psychotherapy. I figured: I'm not bipolar, or schizophrenic, or psychotic, or psychopathic (well, perhaps a little, but only when I see the people who crippled me!! That's a joke, by the way...). But I do have periods of depression that last anywhere from a few hours to a week at a time. And, frankly, I'm boring myself by hiding out in my little apartment, stuffing myself with Kettle Chips and watching mindless junk on television. So I think I could benefit from some professional help with finding my way through this minefield. Am I still angry? Well-is the Pope Catholic? If I didn't feel angry, depressed, fearful-I would really be completely bonkers.

So I went yesterday for an assessment by someone who is (allegedly) a qualified shrink. Now, I don't need (and would never take) any medication; I have to get through this either by myself or with the guidance of someone who is professionally trained. I figured that maybe a psychiatrist would know the best way forward.

I think I expected a nice office in a pleasant, small building in an equally pleasant location. I think I also watch too many movies!! This is a large building, very clinical, very impersonal, in the middle of town, with lots of offices and lots of people around. As we all know, a lot of people coming at me make me very dizzy. So I staggered a little, but I managed not to fall over.

Well-I met the psychiatrist for the assessment, and I discovered that he speaks practically no English. Imagine: this man didn't smile at all, was very unwelcoming, and took no notes. Who takes no notes? And he was so dour; it would have cost nothing to smile. And he kept repeating what he thought I said-except that what he thought I said wasn't what I said. I put this down to the fact that he didn't understand me. Why on earth would they get someone to assess me who doesn't speak (or understand) English? And then he would mumble something that he clearly thought was intelligent, and I would have to ask him to repeat it, because I couldn't understand him. It was almost comic-and would have been, if it hadn't been infuriating.

So he said at the end of the session that he believes that my problems stem from the fact that the people in the hospital didn't listen to me, and their ignorance caused the gentamicin toxicity that ruined my life and incapacitated me for life. No shit-I said that at the very beginning of the assessment session!

I can look back on this and laugh, since it is now a day after this ridiculous farce occurred. I think that shrinks become shrinks because they are crazier than the rest of us. In fact, I'm now sure of it!

You know what? I think that (compared to this guy yesterday, at least) I'm normal. And I also think that I can find a way forward without the "help" of someone who never cracks a smile and who doesn't speak the language. A rhesus monkey would have been of more help. AND it would have smiled.