On the down side

A few weeks ago, I went to a free depression screening at the school's clinic. I was definitely feeling down in the dumps, and I noticed I had begun to pick up some bad habits. Nothing serious, mind you, just a little irresponsible shopping. Which, while I love shopping, is totally unlike me. So I decided, what the heck, I'll go to the screening.

I got there, filled out their little questionnaire thing, then was introduced to this guy whom I believe was still a student, still working on his practicum hours to become a counselor/therapist/shrink/whathaveyou. By the time I left I was 100% sure he was still new. When we first sat down to talk, I could see he was kind of excited at the idea of a new client. He hid it well, it's just that I can usually read these things pretty well. Anyways, he took a look at my questionnaire, and you could literally see the disappointment transforming his face. He tried to hide it, but wow, did he do a sucky job. He sighed and said, "Well, you're not depressed. Why'd you come in here?" First off, way to put your client on the defense. I told him my situation, that even though I tend to be moody, what I was going through was unusual, and so I just wanted a professional opinion. He basically said, so long as you've got good friends to talk to, you're fine. You know what you're doing, so you can control it.

The whole point was that I was going to a "professional" because I didn't feel like I had good friends to talk to. Also, I kinda wanted to see if I could identify their therapeautic listening tactics. This guy was so transparent, it just made me mad. I probably didn't quite fit the descriptions of a clinically depressed person (even though I certainly felt like I did), but
invalidating my worries and fears does NOT make for good client rapport. It rather made me want to yell at him and just throw the word "suicidal" around.

It truly amazes me how terrified medical doctors can be of uncovering psychological wounds. And now I'm amazed at how therapists' love of uncovering those wounds can be so thinly-veiled. It's like, if I wasn't raised by a druggie mother and raped by my alcoholic father I'm not worth the time to counsel. Go figure.