This morning I had the “intake interview” at the psychiatry office in a tiny town twenty minutes away. I had planned on taking Amy with me, but it turns out Mark didn’t have to be at work until after lunch. (Classes are over; this week is meetings and planning.)
I thought I arrived on time, but I hadn’t realized that this town is in the next time zone, so I was actually an hour early. Fortunately, they weren’t busy and took me in early.
Some basic paperwork — identification info, insurance info, that sort of thing.
Then the interview. I guess it makes sense for an agency providing a variety of services and therapists and all to have an admissions process to figure out which service / therapist would be the best fit. But it still seems odd to me.
I have an appointment with a LCSW therapist next week. I wasn’t able to find out much information about her at the office’s website, other than education, areas of specialty, and the fact that she’s a runner and volunteers with the humane society.
I realize this is essentially unsubstantiated bias, but I confess I think I’m too smart for a social worker to help me. For some reason I think of social workers as helping the uneducated or the poor and so on. I think of the parenting class that the Simpsons were sent to, where the parents were all carefully taking notes as the teacher emphasized NOT to throw trash in the backyard. Plus I think the two therapists I tried in NY, who were not at all good matches for me, were social workers. I suspect that a social worker will think I think I’m too smart and will try to cut me down to size. If she’s good she’ll be able to correct my bias without direct opposition. Well, we’ll see.
Next month I see the psychiatrist. I could just have our family doctor oversee my medications, but the idea makes me a little nervous. I think at least one appointment with a specialist will make me feel more secure. See? There’s my bias again. I am so unique and so complicated and sophisticated that only a highly trained professional specialist can understand and help me. Heh.
Joe respected and worked with my intelligence, my delusions of grandeur, and my inferiority. If I could get a weekly $100 gig…
We’ll see how next week goes, first.