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“I know. Amelia had an online session and was happy with how it went. I think I’ll get there. I always thought I was good at self-reflection. This stupidly makes me feel like I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.”
“You are good at self-reflection. This isn’t about you not knowing yourself, it’s about learning how to work with your own struggles. You’ll get there,” Mackie assures me.
“I’m ready to do the work. I’m just scared of what the work is.”
“Anxiety,” Mackie whispers dramatically.
“Hilarious. Someone tell me something about their life, because I’m done with mine.”
Joel shrugs. “I don’t know. Having a blast in my master’s program. Sarah’s hyped about hers. Despite working long days between clinical stuff, online classes, and studying, she comes home bouncy and energetic every night. I reap the benefits of that,” he says with a sly smile. “We’re enjoying living our best lives right now. So in that sense, I’m pretty boring. Macks?”
“I’ve learned boring can be a good thing.” She laughs. “I’m good. Finally said the big ILY to Mari. It’s been a slow burn, but I’m really happy with her. She’s sweet and supportive. We’ve discussed maybe moving in together. She spends a lot of time here, anyway, but it’s farther from the school, so we haven’t decided anything yet.”
“We are getting old and boring, aren’t we?” I say with a laugh.
“You’re having a kid, and I have a feeling she’ll be the first of many in this friend group. If anything, this is the calm before a storm of loving chaos headed our way,” Joel says.
“Oh, I’ll drink to that,” Mackie says.
We lean over and clink our coffee cups against hers. I take a long sip, looking out the window at the street I grew up on. Loving chaos was our childhood. It’s barely ended for us, now we’re starting the next generation. Fucking crazy, but exciting at the same time.
I want to vomit.
Social anxiety is not my form of anxiety. I’m fairly extroverted but enjoy quiet time too. Sitting in a psychiatrist’s waiting room has my anxiety running around like a kid at a carnival snatching up cotton candy and bingeing it till they puke.
I’m going to puke.
“Miles?”
I stand up and wipe my sweaty palms on my pants as I walk toward the middle-aged woman with brown hair holding a folder and waiting for me. Her smile is soft and kind and gives me the slightest bit of ease.
“Hi,” I say, because what the fuck else do I say?
She confirms my last name and date of birth, then leads me back to her office. It’s surprisingly bright. I’m not sure why I always think of psychiatrists’ offices as dreary or dark, but I do. Probably doesn’t help with the stigma around therapy.
“I’m Doctor Pierce,” she says kindly as she sits down in her desk chair. I sit across from her in a plush, oversized chair. Not a weird couch like I thought there would be. What the hell kind of TV shows and movies did I watch that depicted therapy as a kid?
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. Amelia warned me it would be awkward.
“I know it takes some time to get comfortable here. Not in that chair. I picked those because they’re luxurious, and if you’re going to feel uncomfortable in other ways, you might as well be at peak physical comfort.” I chuckle at that. I like her. She disarms me in a good way. “I’ve read your file, and it’s your anxiety primarily that brings you in?”
“Yes. It’s something I’ve struggled with most of my life, but usually I could handle it. The last six months or so have been hard and they’ve brought my anxiety front and center.” I do my best to clearly explain everything that has happened.
“That’s a lot for anyone to deal with in a short amount of time. It’s good that you’ve recognized you need help to work with your anxiety, especially during this transition.”
“Thank you. I want to be the best partner I can be and I want to be healthy for my daughter. I don’t want her to feel my anxiety. I don’t want it to negatively impact my experiences with her. Unfortunately, a lot of my anxiety has been around the pregnancy and health of Amelia and the baby, even though there hasn’t been any cause for concern. It pushes on my trigger points.”
“Which are?”
“Feeling helpless or like I can’t help or protect the people I love.” I tell her about my mini-breakdown over SIDS this past weekend. “This is the part where I feel like you should throw meds at me to fix me.”
“First, we’re not here to fix you, so let’s step away from that mindset. Second, I would never prescribe meds and send you on your way. I always continue seeing my patients when I prescribe medication to make sure it’s helping them and their mental health. You may be a good candidate for medication to help you manage those bigger spikes in anxiety. But if you’re not interested in medication, we can wait to discuss that.”
“I am… interested. Just nervous. I read the side effects—”
“Which ones are of the biggest concern to you?”
“Some I saw had aggression and worsened panic attacks as side effects, but I’d assume those wouldn’t be right for me.” I swallow the lump in my throat. What’s left of my pride, probably. “And I saw almost every kind can have sexual side effects. I’m sure that sounds shallow—”
