My First Therapy Appointment; Part 1

The back of the psychology practice was a little less ‘posh’ and a little more clinical compared to the front waiting area. The floors were carpeted all the way back, but the decor on the walls became a lot sparser and neutral, and other than what looked like a small coffee break area in the centre of the H-shaped layout, it was mostly just white walls and heavy oak doors.

“You a hockey fan, Robbie?” Doctor Samson asked as he led me through the halls.

“Not really,” I said. “I’ve been to a Knight game once, but that was a work thing. It was fun, but…”

“Not your thing,” the doctor chuckled, giving me a knowing look. “I feel the same way about football. Don’t hold it against me!”

“I’m not much of a football guy either,” I smirked a little. “I was a swimmer - I get excited about sports every two years when the Olympics come around, that's about it.”

“Ah, a solo-sports kind of man,” he nodded, stopping at one of the big wooden doors that were furthest back in the building and opening it up. “I can definitely appreciate that.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said as I entered his office at his encouragement. “I like a fun pickup game or something, but actual competition always felt more real when it was me against another guy, or against myself.”

Doctor Samson’s office was as oddly weird as he was. The wall directly across from the doorway was almost entirely a big bank of windows looking out at a garden nestled into the back of the building. The windows, and the ones across the garden leading to what I assumed was another office in the building, were both heavily tinted to hide whoever was inside them. The wall to my left was a big display of photos and framed memorabilia, from his degrees to a mounted tie-dye shirt, a signed New York Yankees jersey, and a display of signed hockey pucks. The wall to my right had another window, though it didn’t dominate the entire surface, and he had a couple of tall potted plants in each corner.

And, dead center in the room on a circular red rug under a hanging bronze light from the ceiling, were the chairs. Plush brown leather, one more upright, one tilted back further so that whoever was sitting in it could probably fall asleep comfortably, but also sit upright without a problem.

“I respect the appreciation for personal hustle and accomplishment,” Doc Samson said as he followed me in and shut the door behind us. “And the Olympics are a great time of year, but I’ll always lean towards the Winter Olympics over the Summer. I’m a big luge guy, if you could believe it, and I love the last few rounds of the hockey finals.”

“Hey, we all have our favourites,” I said.

“Well, welcome to my little home away from home,” the Doctor said, gesturing around the room as he circled around to stand behind the chair that was probably ‘his’ for the sessions. “You’re catching me right at the end of my day, and based on meeting your fiancee and girlfriend out in the lobby, I’m betting you’re a man who has a lot going on. You want a beer?”

I blinked and coughed lightly. “Is that…?”

“Legal?” he asked. “Sure. Ethical? Eh,” he wobbled one hand. “Questionable. But honestly, Robbie, I’m what you might call a non-traditionalist. And it’s totally fine if you’re looking for traditional; today is all about feeling things out a little, seeing if we get along and if my experience and practice can help absorb what’s going on with you and provide insights that help you tackle whatever’s got you to our doorstep here.”

“Fuck it,” I shrugged. “I’ll take a beer.”

“Local IPA good with you?” he asked with a grin as he crossed the room and headed around the desk sitting in front of his memory wall. “I’m a bit of a beer tourist and like supporting local breweries.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got; darker, the better.”

“Oh, nice,” he said, reaching down and opening what must have been a hidden mini refrigerator. “I’ve got a really nice schwarzbier from a little place just outside Reno. Here, catch.”

I was surprised when he stood back up, tossing me a tallboy from behind his desk. I managed to snag the can out of the air, the cold aluminum already starting to sweat despite the air conditioning that was keeping the building at a comfortable temperature.

Doctor Samson came back around, kicking the fridge shut behind him with his heel, and cracked his own tallboy open, so I followed suit. We both sat down, me in the chair with the tilted back as I suspected, and we both took a long sip of beer. The dark lager he’d tossed me was cold and smooth, with an aftertaste of a dark roast coffee.

“Mm,” I nodded, frowning and nodding, and checked the can.

“Good, right?” he chuckled. “Alright. Now that we’re both properly equipped here, my man, how about we start with this - from what I saw in our notes, you called to set up appointments for you and your fiancee, booking individual therapy times and couples therapy starting next week. Something obviously triggered that call, so let’s get a couple of super basics out of the way?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Are you now, or have you been having, feelings or urges to self-harm or harm others?”

I had to cough again at the abruptness of his question. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, definitely not.”

“Have you been having any suicidal thoughts, or anything like it? Feelings of hopelessness, that the world or people in your life would be better off without you, or that it would be better to end it all rather than deal with things any longer?”

“No,” I said definitively. “Jesus, dude. That’s…”

“Heavy?” he suggested. “It is, but you would be surprised how many people at least have flirting thoughts like that. And honestly, it’s much easier to talk about those sorts of feelings when you’re abrupt and specific than trying to just talk around them. Especially with someone new who doesn’t come with relational baggage.”

“OK, well- No, I’m not suicidal or thinking of self-harm or anything like that,” I said. “I’m not even depressed or anything.”

“That’s good to hear,” Doctor Samson said with an encouraging smile, then took a sip of her beer and let out a sigh. “Well, if you’re not in an emergency situation, where do you want to start? What are you hoping to get out of individual therapy?”

That was a good question.

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