Sometimes great listener needs to be listened. I am not sure whether how good a listener am I, but I was really troubled for a period of time. I was having trouble finding someone to talk about my problems to. I thought all those troublesome thoughts would sink in after some time, and I should be fine very soon as I thought time is a good healer. But it turned out to be the opposite. The emotional pain wasn't washed away, but accumulating.
As I was keeping my problems to myself, I had cocooned myself away from everyone. I was loosing touch with people and worried about others' judgement on me so much that I was almost fearful to meet people. And worries became depression and depression induced more worries, forming a blackhole sucking me into the abyss. All these were accumulating and accumulating, more and more. Until a point that consulting a psychologist became the obvious way to go.
I still remember vividly my very first session with my psychologist. Before that, all I knew about psychologist was from movies and I had never met a psychologist. Silly me but I was expecting a leather couch, lacquered furniture and an old guy with a note pad to write nonsense on. Facing the unclear and knowing the fact that I had to face a stranger one on one for an hour was just so terrifying for me.When I was heading towards the doctor's room, I sensed an unfamiliar fear as I had paced into an uncharted territory.
To my surprise, it was nothing like I thought. It was a simple room, a desk with two chairs at the opposite sides and that was all. There was nothing but a desktop on the desk. It really seems like the clinic was on budget cut. But who can blame them for not having a leather couch. It is a clinic for students, so most of the treatments are given free. My doctor was an old guy and at least I got that right.
I don't remember how the conversation was and how it started and but the first session turned out quite alright. He was really kind and friendly, it really did me good to be able to pour out whatever was inside my head and my heart to someone. Admitting that you are sick mentally and emotionally and go for help is to put down your ego. The first session I threw away my manly ego and cried like a baby. Of course I can't see myself crying but I am sure it was ugly. My eyes were swelling like a goldfish in the end and I was so reluctant to walk out of the room to face the public again in this state, that I asked for permission to stay for awhile to let the emotion to cool down. It really was embarrassing.
I went back for the second time, the third time, and so on. But the more I went back, I got less and less satisfaction from talking to him, and the more I felt that he was just doing his job and he had no reason to care about whatever I told him. Plus, most of the time during the session, I felt the obligation to carry the conversation. The pressure was just too much for me because already, I don't usually talk much. Often I ran out of things to say and there came the awkward silence. It came more and more often, an unspeakable horror just made me want to run away immediately.
If I had something to talk about, often there was not enough time. Every session was around 45 mins. Almost every single time, when I thought of something, it was already the end of the session and the next patient was already waiting outside. Chit-chatting is supposed to be spontaneous, but talking to my doctor was so forced and unnatural. Whatever I said doesn't mean that my doctor was a terrible doctor. In fact, he was really kind like I said before. Just that it is strange to carry out a conversation in such manner. It is almost like being told : you have 45 mins to talk aaaaaand start now!
Now that I am better, I stop seeing him. Above all, it was quite an experience. I mean, how often people would seek for a psychologist and the answer is not often at all. It is a way to consider against depression but I don't think it is for everybody. Some go for writing to get rid of stress, some go for karaoke, and Buddha went for meditation under a Bodhi tree. For me, I found my own way. I swim, bike and run.
I don't remember how the conversation was and how it started and but the first session turned out quite alright. He was really kind and friendly, it really did me good to be able to pour out whatever was inside my head and my heart to someone. Admitting that you are sick mentally and emotionally and go for help is to put down your ego. The first session I threw away my manly ego and cried like a baby. Of course I can't see myself crying but I am sure it was ugly. My eyes were swelling like a goldfish in the end and I was so reluctant to walk out of the room to face the public again in this state, that I asked for permission to stay for awhile to let the emotion to cool down. It really was embarrassing.
I went back for the second time, the third time, and so on. But the more I went back, I got less and less satisfaction from talking to him, and the more I felt that he was just doing his job and he had no reason to care about whatever I told him. Plus, most of the time during the session, I felt the obligation to carry the conversation. The pressure was just too much for me because already, I don't usually talk much. Often I ran out of things to say and there came the awkward silence. It came more and more often, an unspeakable horror just made me want to run away immediately.
If I had something to talk about, often there was not enough time. Every session was around 45 mins. Almost every single time, when I thought of something, it was already the end of the session and the next patient was already waiting outside. Chit-chatting is supposed to be spontaneous, but talking to my doctor was so forced and unnatural. Whatever I said doesn't mean that my doctor was a terrible doctor. In fact, he was really kind like I said before. Just that it is strange to carry out a conversation in such manner. It is almost like being told : you have 45 mins to talk aaaaaand start now!
Now that I am better, I stop seeing him. Above all, it was quite an experience. I mean, how often people would seek for a psychologist and the answer is not often at all. It is a way to consider against depression but I don't think it is for everybody. Some go for writing to get rid of stress, some go for karaoke, and Buddha went for meditation under a Bodhi tree. For me, I found my own way. I swim, bike and run.
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