The Fat One

My therapist was trying to recall something we talked about in our last session, but she couldn’t remember what it was.  “Hold on a second,” she told me.  “Let me grab your folder.”  She pulled out the drawer and started flipping through folders.  “Where is it?” she asked herself, still flipping.  “Ah ha!  Here it is!  I forgot – yours is the fat one.”

MINE’S “THE FAT ONE”?!

I obviously peeked at the rest of the files as soon as she said that (I couldn’t read names or anything.  Calm down, HIPAA).  Mine was definitely the fat one.  I simultaneously felt two strangely opposing emotions: horror and pride.  Horror because I am the craziest client she has, but also some pride because, hey, I’m the craziest client she has!  If I’m going to be crazy, I might as well go big or go home.  Looks like I win!  Hoooooray me!

I would have preferred to win a different sort of competition (like maybe…um…any other one), but oh well.  A win is a win.  I’m going to take it.  They’ve been tough to come by lately.  While I’m basking in the glow of my victory…does anyone know how to put a folder on a diet?  I don’t actually want to be “the fat one.”  I know!  I’ll stop adding so much every week and let the other people in that drawer catch up to me.  Next week I’m going to say, “I have nothing to report.  I am GREAT.  Please write down ‘she is great’ in super tiny letters, and that’s all you need to say.  You know what?  You could even throw out some of those other papers, because I am so very over all of those issues.  They’re not even worth keeping.  Let’s do a ceremonial purging of the folder to show how over them I actually am.”

I would love to know what’s in that fat folder.  Why does she write so many more notes for me?  Have I been seeing her the longest of all of her clients?  (That can’t be true…I’ve only been seeing her since fall.  It’s barely spring.  She sees some people for years).  I want to break in after hours and take a look at that folder.  It’s a great plan, because if I get caught I’ll say, “Officer, here’s my ID.  Look at which folder is mine.  See how fat it is?  CLEARLY I am super crazy.   This isn’t my fault.”

On second thought, if I did that then we would have a bunch of arrest paperwork to add to the folder, which wouldn’t really help my cause.  Pretty soon I’d need my own frickin drawer.  Perhaps I’d better skip that idea.  I’ll just embrace my fatness.  At least my therapist can’t say that I don’t I keep things interesting.

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5 thoughts on “The Fat One

  1. I absolutely know how it feels to want to see your psych file, however I want to see my psychiatrist’s notes not my therapist’s. I just want to know why she diagnosed me with Bipolar I and not something different. I feel like my diagnosis is exactly what you said, go big or go home. I read auto/biographies about people with bipolar and most of their manias seem so much worse than mine, yet we have the same diagnosis. Just perplexing.

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  2. “If I’m going to be crazy, I might as well go big or go home.” –

    I can really relate to some of your thoughts. It’s not often I come across a writer that has the gift to deliver such humor that can make me laugh out loud, that absolutely tickled me!

    Your posts are great, I’ll look forward to reading more of them ❤

    M x

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  3. You actually have every right to read your file. Your therapist may not want you to, if she thinks it might trigger something, but you could ask. She could at least tell you what’s in there that makes it thick.

    Also, how much of that file might be medical reports, hospital stays, lab work, etc. Your whole psych history might be in there–or part of it.

    And fat doesn’t mean More Crazy, just More Thorough. She’s taking care to document everything as she’s not as confident in her treatment plan with you. Bless her heart, she wants to keep track of all the goofy stuff she’s tried that fell flat (my guess).

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