Head Shrinkers is how my dad used to refer to the psychological profession.  Or, to be short, just ‘shrinks.’

I’m willing to bet this sounds like a derogatory term for those in the profession.  A person doesn’t go through college, internships, and the fear of starting new to be referred as a poor name.  I understand that, but it’s not really to be taken as a put-down from the way it was explained to me.

Sometimes, people get into problems that’s just too big for them to handle mentally.  These problems need to be shrunk.   You know, they need to be made not so big so people can think about them objectively and get over having a ‘big head.’   That’s why you got to go and see a shrink.

There isn’t shame in seeing a shrink, but rather having the need to see shrink.   It was like an unspoken weakness that people didn’t have the strength to handle the issues themselves.  See?  The term isn’t to downplay the importance psychology has but rather that it was needed by ‘other people.’  Selectively, that included my family.

For various reasons, I saw shrinks when I was in middle school and briefly in high school.  Convinced that it was a play for insurance money, dad grudgingly let me attend while mom offered uncertain support.   Always my father’s daughter, I was never enthusiastic about the visits, often sitting small in a corner with my gunge jean jacket and cut off sleeved shirts – the same style I’m fond of today.

It wasn’t until I was upgraded from a counselor to a full blown psychologist that I took interest and that wasn’t what you’re thinking of.  I was more interested in the tests than the actual outcome of the tests.  I wanted to learn how to influence the outcomes to what I wanted them to be.  There may not be a correct answer for the ink blot tests, but I wanted to figure out what ‘my answer.’   The excitement was figuring them out and how the psychologists reacts.

Yeah, I know, this invalidated everything and, eventually, the tests stopped.  I can’t say I was ever informed of the outcomes of anything.  Eventually, the visits stopped and a bunch of stuff happened.   I won’t go into it here… but stuff happened.   The psychologists wanted me to stick around, which I appreciated it, but it wasn’t in the cards.

Fast forward to last year.  I started to see a psychologist again – two of them actually – after my three month House visit.   One became my once-a-week visit and the other I see once every two months or so.

I didn’t think my once-a-weeker was a good fit, but she started to grow on me.  In exchange, I learned about her friends, family, and her co-workers. (She probably told me stuff about her co-workers that she shouldn’t have.   Let’s just say I wouldn’t recommend the place.)   I think we share some of the same interests when it comes to material, so I guess she became a quasi-bestie — sort of.   Heck, I even brought her snacks once or twice.  She didn’t ask for it.   I just wanted to do it and she accepted.  –  That was awesome.

Well, through an email exchange, I told her that the insurance wasn’t picking up on the bills or was rather slow paying.   Since bills rack up fast, especially since this was a once-a-week visit, I wanted to make sure the billing is straight before meeting again –  and I was disappointed that her billing department wasn’t staying on top of it.   I mean, some of the charges hadn’t been paid in months or were rejected.  Although her field is about helping people, it’s a business.  What business would responsibly let an individual continue into debt that couldn’t possibly be managed without insurance?

Understandable, right?    If I’m already on a mental teeter-totter, a bill of a thousand would easily flip me to the moon.

Fortunately, I managed to straiten out the issue without too much trouble – an insurance first to be sure!   However…  I waited.   I waited for her to email or to call so we could resume our appointments.  Know what?  It didn’t happen.

When I was in physical therapy last year and couldn’t continue because of insurance, the therapist left a rather impassioned voicemail giving me his personal number should anything change.   A other shrink I saw years ago also left a message (again because of insurance) that was impressively caring.   Nether had to do so, but they both did.   To me, that speaks volumes about their character.  I was impressed and would happily return for their services again — should insurance allow it.

This quasi-best friend dropped me like a hot rock.  I didn’t even get a courtesy sniff.
Once the insurance payments were made, it would be in her best business interest to continue a relationship with me.  I was a weekly paying customer after all.  I don’t know if psychologists have to take a version of the Hippocratic Oath, but you think that she would at least contact out of professional concern. On some level, I even thought she liked me… even if it was just a little…

But I guess not.
Oh well.
—  Her loss and I save half a tank of gas a week.

It’s just kind of a disappointment.
Not for me, but rather for her.

Again…. oh well.