Do you agree with your psychiatrist? Do you agree with their diagnosis and hunches? Does it seem like the world gives them too much credit? A therapist spends hours with a client working through emotional baggage and getting to know them. They generally are calm, and patient, and offer words of encouragement. They spend time thinking about the client as a person, and sort through details that may not have been obvious before the process began.
For the unfortunate ones who are emotionally guarded or perhaps have volatile responses, they might be sent to be "evaluated" for a possible drug intervention. The therapist might be on the fence, or may feel strongly that it is the best way forward.
Do you feel a sense of impending doom as the psyciatrist opens his mouth? Is the sense of hope suddenly erased whn you realize that you are no longer in Kansas? As questions are hurdled at you at 100 miles per hour, do you get the impression that you are nothing more than a check in a box? Does it seem like the black and white thinking that your cognative behavioral therapist has preached against each and every week is alive and well in the psyciatrists office?
Does the apparent lack of empathy and the unfamiliarity with the doctor cause you to cut your answers short? Does it seem like they are so arrogant, or "confident" as your therapist likes to call them, that in a matter of 50 minutes they think they know everything there is to know about you?
Now your life is in their hands. They give you a pill that makes you crazier than before, and tell you not to stop taking it. More importantly, they jot some capital letters down on your chart that really misrepresent what you were trying to say? The thing is, once those letters are sent to your insurance company, and once they are e-filed in your medical records, you may never escape them. Right or wrong, how come their pen gets to be mightier than the one of the therapist who has spent hours piecing together the puzzle of your broken self?
For the unfortunate ones who are emotionally guarded or perhaps have volatile responses, they might be sent to be "evaluated" for a possible drug intervention. The therapist might be on the fence, or may feel strongly that it is the best way forward.
Do you feel a sense of impending doom as the psyciatrist opens his mouth? Is the sense of hope suddenly erased whn you realize that you are no longer in Kansas? As questions are hurdled at you at 100 miles per hour, do you get the impression that you are nothing more than a check in a box? Does it seem like the black and white thinking that your cognative behavioral therapist has preached against each and every week is alive and well in the psyciatrists office?
Does the apparent lack of empathy and the unfamiliarity with the doctor cause you to cut your answers short? Does it seem like they are so arrogant, or "confident" as your therapist likes to call them, that in a matter of 50 minutes they think they know everything there is to know about you?
Now your life is in their hands. They give you a pill that makes you crazier than before, and tell you not to stop taking it. More importantly, they jot some capital letters down on your chart that really misrepresent what you were trying to say? The thing is, once those letters are sent to your insurance company, and once they are e-filed in your medical records, you may never escape them. Right or wrong, how come their pen gets to be mightier than the one of the therapist who has spent hours piecing together the puzzle of your broken self?
