My Psychiatrist Can't Shake Hands...

My psychiatrist is odd.  Now, I realize the fact that I need a psychiatrist to begin with tends to suggest that perhaps it's all in my head.  It's not.  Many many...many other things are, but not this.

The guy hates his job...like despises it.  For example, in our first session went over my family's health history with him and he seemed like he wasn't paying any attention.  I asked him if he was having a long day and his response was "I'm having a long career.".  I let it go, especially considering I tend to overly read into things all the time (thank you OCD, etc, etc) and, frankly, I didn't really care that much.

He then asked me about my Mom's marriages (there've been 5).  We got to the alcoholic-attorney marriage (that's my dad, a good guy with a bad disease) and then the subsequent marriage to the bi-polar (my step-dad, an really good guy with a couple of bad diseases) and his response was "Wow, your mom really doesn't learn her lesson, does she?".  Granted, that answer didn't sit well with me and, thankfully, the look of annoyance was enough for him to apologize.

He can't shake hands, which I find hilarious, but I like the guy.  He's very odd and I tend to appreciate that.  Also, he's shorter than I am.  I don't think he likes that.

It's odd sitting in the waiting room of a psychiatrists office at Kaiser.  You ever know who you'll be sitting next to.  During my last visit, a man sat next to me who (sadly) had a severe tic which caused him to constantly smell his hands.  Unfortunately, I don't have the ability to not laugh when I'm not supposed to, so I went for a walk. 

If you're wondering why I see a psychiatrist, I'm fairly certain it's obvious, however, to those who don't know, I was diagnosed with the usual things afflicting people these days ...major clinical depression, G.A.D. (I love this one, General Anxiety Disorder) and O.C.D.  Granted, the O.C.D. is not as common and I have it pretty tame compared to those you see on T.V. who have to lock the doors x number of times or wash their hands a certain way.  Saying G.A.D. always makes me laugh.  It seems like an illness you throw into the mix when you can't figure out what is wrong with the person.  Basically, you're stressed out and can't figure out why...which pretty much seems like life.  As for the major clinical depression, that's really the only downer.  I was diagnosed when I was 15.  At the time, it really just seemed appropriate because of all the chaos in my family's life, however, when it didn't seem to go away, that's when my parents thought it was, perhaps, a good time for me to talk to someone....thankfully.  I think I was fortunate.  My parents were really flawed like most parents, but like most parents, did the best they could with what they knew.  What they knew was mental illness, considering they had a very good understanding of the term. 

I was taught at a very young age how to be very perceptive.  I tend to think that's both good and bad.  Bad, in the sense that I grew up far too young.  Good, in the sense that I've honed that gift and am generally able to understand and perceive things about people through observation. 

Well, I'm done writing.  Once again, I really don't have much of an attention span and writing about anything serious tends to make me uncomfortable.  With that said, here's a funny picture. :)