Rainbows are becoming a daily event in these parts but it’s always the light that follows which is so amazing and last night was particularly dazzling, otherworldly almost.
A surprisingly and much welcomed good night’s sleep helped motivate me to attempt a little light gardening this morning, before the temperature rose.
Just some tidying, removing of plants gone over and weedy things, taking care to check that I wasn’t carelessly detaching some creature from it’s home or food source.
Apologizing to large earthworms that wiggled out indignantly with an air of:
“Oy! Disturbing us here!” They seemed a bit cross.
Muttering about the bugs that kept crawling under the “temples” of my glasses, I moved along, mulling over in my mind an upcoming appointment.
With enormous reluctance, in one of my low moments, I agreed to see a psychiatrist, because it is the only way I can get my anti-depressant changed and I’ve lived with this long enough to know when it’s needed.
Well, of course, it isn’t that simple. What is?
Having moved around a bit, I am once again to be a new patient and it seems there is now a New York requirement that psychiatric patients must attend an “intake” appointment.
The “psychiatric” stigma already bugs me and looking through the content of the intake frankly gets my hackles up.
It makes me want to go there in pyjamas, wearing a beanie with a propeller and use every foul word I can muster. I do know a few.
After all I am 73. I first saw a psychologist more than forty years ago. I’ve talked about everything I am ever going to talk about.
All I want is to get my anti-depressant adjusted.
It even says in the description that the “intake” procedure is stressful, for God’s sake!
“But it’s very important!”
There’s nothing for it, you just have to follow the routine and try to control wicked impulses.
Many, many years ago, I got the crazy notion I might like to join my company’s minor management team. I was even led to believe I was a favoured candidate. Which is what caused me to be just a bit affronted by the nature in which my application was rejected. I was told that I was perceived to be “insincere”.
Slap my face, why don’t you!
Anyway, that was that, but time went on and just to annoy them, I applied for the job again and by then, it had become a requirement to take a psychological evaluation which was in the form of a questionnaire.
At that time I had not yet let go of the anger eating my guts and safe to say, I was fairly pissed off with life.
So I sat with their questionnaire and decided to have fun with it. I wasn’t going to get the job anyway and they couldn’t fire me because I was protected by the Union. Anyway, I was useful to them.
The upshot was a summons to meet with The Manager. He was a Dutchman that had been in a Japanese prisoner of war camp. He wasn’t some jumped up fool. I did not dislike him or object to talking to him. He seemed surprised at my “results”.
“You have a lot of anger, Carolyn.”
“Yes, yes I do!”
Presumably he could see that I wasn’t likely to run amok injuring people, or myself, but he was concerned enough to offer to send me to a psychologist in London!
It seemed a little extreme and I declined the offer, saying that I had a therapist and he shouldn’t worry.
By then I had extricated myself from the situation that had created so much of the anger. For years I had grasped for help, desperately hoping for rescue.
Timing is everything.