44/52: Week One - The Intake

05/05/2019: The Intake

So my day isn’t going very well. Yes, I know you didn’t ask, but we are both here so let’s make the best of a shitty situation shall we? Like I was trying to say before you rudely rolled your eyes, my day is not going very well. My boss left a vague, yet detailed passive aggressive note in my employee box this morning. It said the following.

1st Employment Warning"Cross, if you would like to continue to work here, go to this address. Set up an appointment and return to work AFTER your first session. You and I both know you are not well. You have insurance; use it, or lose it. This is your life; make a mature decision for once." - Sir

First of all, who calls themselves Sir? It’s really odd, almost creepy. I hate to admit it, but “Sir” is one of the only people I know that will always do the right thing. Even if he is stupid and bald. Okay, that wasn’t nice, but still. Like, why would you start a person’s day off like that? He attached a business card for a Gary Connor CSW. Address 1437 Round Stick Lane. God, it’s like we have run out of names and ideas for everything books, music, movies, and now street names. Round Stick Lane. It doesn’t even make sense.

The real shame here is that I’m sure Gary is a great guy. Now I have to hate him. Because you know, fighting for free will or something. Do I think I need therapy? No. Why? Because. That’s why. If I wanted food, I’d go get food. If I wanted to talk to people about my feelings I’d post all my feelings on Facebook. Actually, I wouldn’t do that; I normal delete anyone who does that. This may explain why I only have 36 friends, 16 of which I’ve never met.

So back to Gary; my issue with “mental health services” is that his business is built on the inner suffering of others. How is that any different than a big box store giving a single mother of two working full-time minimum wage? It’s fucked.

I can’t really afford to lose my job, and I’m pretty sure I’d screw up any other job. So off to see the office of Gary Connor we go. I need to figure out when the next bus comes; yes, I know most 19-year-olds are driving by now. However, cars kill the planet, cost too much, and requires too much upkeep to keep going without breaking down. It blows my mind that people spend $250 a month to have a car, another $125 a month to insure the damn thing, then another $100 on average in gas just to drive the thing around while killing the polar bears. I spend $50 a month get to see homeless people pee on the bus. Okay, that was a bad example but that really did happen, twice. Cars for personal use are selfish and evil, so god created public transportation for people like me.

The bus guide says I need to take the 500 to Swingline Parkway and then walk down to “Round Stick.” 25 minutes away isn’t that bad. I always have a smart water bottle with me on my trips. Sometimes I make the water smarter with vodka, but I didn’t tell you that. Ah, yes the office of Gary Connor CSW looks very professional. As I went to open the door the questions started following in; what does this guy already know about me? Is he also stupid and bald? What if I know people in the lobby? How much is this crap gonna cost me?

I walk in and it’s empty. Not a soul, not even at the front desk. No candy dish either; this seems to be promising. They do have a little bell thing like at the hotels. I’ve always loved those things, I don’t know why. I look over and see two posters; one says “You are the future 'You' you’ve always wanted to be.” Talk about seeing something that makes you want to puke. I personally believe that the word 'you' should never be used more than once in any sentence, it’s selfish. The other one was a little more confusing; it simply said “Where are you going?” Well, right now it looks like I am going to therapy to keep my job.

The bell rings, scares the crap out of me

“Are you Mr. Cross?” a tall soft-spoken man asks.

"Yes, are you Mr. Connor from the business card Connor?"

Gary chuckles for moment. “Rumor has it. Are you ready for intake?”

Connor begins to walk down the hall. Tim whispers under his breathe “I mean sure, why not” dismissively. I walk in and the office is stacked with books from top to bottom. Kid books, adult books, history books, and one with the title “The Planet of Make Believe” which I assumed was a rip off of Mr. Roger’s.

“So Tim, I hear you’ve been in therapy before?" Mr. Connor asked.

“Yep, five days back in 2015, best five days of my entire life” as Tim rolls his eyes.

“You are a fun guy,” Connor chuckled.

Personally I didn’t think it was funny; I was going more for sarcastic.

“Alright Tim, here are some forms to fill out. Each session has a $30 copay; your insurance will only approve 44 minutes session. We are set up once a week. Each session will be held on Sunday morning from 10 to 10:44. After you are done with the forms put them on my desk and I will see you next week. We all set?” Connor asked.

“Actually I work on Sundays. I can’t do this time,” Tim replied.

“Oh, don’t worry your boss is willing to pay you for the time you are here, and he’d like you to go straight back to work after we meet. Tim, you have a boss that really cares about you,” Connor explained.

“Well, it seems to be all taken care of,” Tim replied.

I have always hated doctor forms. Why do I need to write my name 11 times on 3 different pages? Do they think I am going to lie about it? Then here comes the questions.

What’s your family medical history?: Mom was a drunk; Dad was a pushover with the backbone of a noodle that you take to a swimming pool. My sister was perfect, annoying, but perfect.

What is your biggest concern that brings you here today?: My boss will fire me if I don’t come here.

Please circle what issues impact you the most throughout the week?: Depression, Eating Concerns, Anger, Loneliness, Confusion, Forgetfulness, Dizziness, OCD, or Anxiety.

I didn’t answer this one. I don’t need a paper trail. My problems are mine. Gary and “Sir” can get over it. These are such stupid questions.

What would you like to get out of our services?: I’d like to get to a point where my boss doesn’t threaten to fire me for being myself, that would be nice.

That was a little blunt, but true. Each question pissed me off a little more. I finally finish the paperwork and prepared myself for boredom until next week when I get to come back and do whatever people do in therapy.