prev Dr. Wheat next
2002-05-01 | 1:05 p.m.

Well, I went to the therapist. Dr. Wheat. (Are you supposed to call a psychologist "Doctor"? I can't remember. When I wrote out my check, he said I could make it out to "Jeremy Wheat, Ph.D." Pffft.)

When he is thinking, he has the habit of throwing his head back and wincing as if he were in great pain. But that was the weirdest thing about him. Thank God. He went to Berkeley; lives in Berkeley, which I found comforting. I was afraid I would end up with some freakazoid who would whip out the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory test the minute I sat down. (To which I would have had to reply, Hey, I don't need you, buddy, I've got the Internet!)

The session was all right. As soon as I opened my mouth, before any words came out, I started crying. So I thought, great, I won't be able to say anything. I'll just sit here and cry for an hour.

But it didn't happen like that. I was able to talk and I said a lot, actually. I just rattled along, detonating mines. I know what my issues are, for the most part. I know how to talk about my life. He even said, "Wow, you just told me a lot." And next time I'll tell him new things, and he'll think I held back the first time.

He wanted to know where I had lost my confidence. But that I couldn't say. A number of things occurred to me, but nothing I could put my finger on.

He definitely thinks I'm depressed and should go on medication. I agreed, but told him that I was still nursing Jasper, and he said he was just about to ask me about that. Which impressed me, because most people wouldn't even imagine that a mother would still be nursing a three-and-a-half-year-old child.

He said he thought I should work on weaning Jasper, but in a way I found non-objectionable (which is a bit of feat).

If/when I go on medication I will have to go see somebody else, a psychiatrist, and sit and tell them my story so I can get a prescription. I understand why but it still seems sort of redundant.

Half his practice is children. He has lots of little spindly toys on shelves, tiny plastic dinosaurs and other things that hurt your feet when you step on them. Also shells. Not sure what the therapeutic use of shells might be.

prev archive next
0 comments