We had a short conversation about how I felt about the answers he wrote down, and then she sent me back out into the hall while she discussed my case with another resident doctor.
We (my mom tagged along) sat there twiddling our thumbs for about half an hour before she finally invited me back in. The other doctor was a lot more intimidating. She didn't seem to believe me when I assured her I didn't need to stay overnight in the institution. (The only reason she wanted me to that is because she thought I wouldn't actually show up for therapy.)
She then asked me if it was okay to add another goal to the list, that after a month of therapy, I had to try to fill in the booklet again, but by myself. I nodded, but I don't know if I'll be able to do it. We'll see.
She told me I looked like I was extremely frightened. Well, duh, lady. Social phobic, remember? I wasn't really that freaked out, though, I was doing kind of okay, really. I wonder what she would have said if I'd gotten a panic attack.
Then, she commented on my clothes. I was wearing a "Nightmare Before Christmas"-hoodie
(That's not me)
and pale blue jeans. She told me I seemed quite "colorful". Buh? Uh, sure, there's a little red there, but "colorful"? *raises eyebrow*
She left after that. The first doctor (I need to make up some names for these people) gave me a prescription for something called Sipralexa and sent me back out into the hall while she went to check when I could start my therapy. Another half hour of thumb-twiddling followed.
When she came back, she handed me a little piece of paper with my official therapy-starting date. October 9th. And I'll have to go in for a little medication check-up-thing on the 26th. But next month, I will officially be a mental patient. I'm still not really sure how I feel about that.
(Icon made by jackieocean)