Ode to Dr. A

I just read an entry from the blog of one of my devoted followers (you know who you are), and it was so strange because it very nearly paralleled feelings of my own that I experienced just yesterday: That gut-gnawing feeling of weird and/or painful memories brought to the surface by a visual prompt, in this case, the walk from my car to the office door of my counselor. About 7 years ago, I went off the deep end (depression, anorexia, etc. etc.) and came out of it thanks to my counselor, Dr. A, my faith, and my now-husband David. The source of all this unhappiness lies not in one place but many, so I won't go into how I fell so low. The point is, those years were very hard for me and my mind has done me a great service by pretty much erasing those events of my life from ages 19-21. Thank you, brain.
I now am happily married with a beautiful baby daughter, a mortgage and car payment, and two brown boo boos (dogs - my other babies). But I have come to the point in my life where I've experienced enough tumult to make me wonder what I ought to be doing with myself and who I ought to be. I don't want to be the angry, bitter, and worthless mother to my daughter that I feel like I currently am. So after seven years, I called up Dr. A again and set up an appointment.
I had been looking forward very much to returning to counseling, and counted the days until the appointment. But as I pulled up to the office building for the first time in all those years, I grew anxious. Just returning to the neighborhood in which the office was located stirred up the bleakest of memories. I think having Ilse there helped me to not launch into the anxiety attack that I typically suffered from during those times, but the butterflies remained.
I gathered all Ilse's baby paraphernalia and walked slowly to the front door. I awkwardly held the door for some middle-aged businessman coming in behind me, who clearly needed my help less than I needed his. "I got it." he said flatly. To stall a little, I took the stairs instead of the elevator - two flights with my arms full. Brilliant, Anna. The very best thing, I thought to myself, would be to increase the chances of harming my precariously balanced daughter by tripping and falling down the stairs. But we made it.
At last, that lonely hallway, with its bad corporate art and blank, and nondescript doors staggered on either side. I reached one of the blank, nondescript doors marked "220," looked across the hall to the bathroom I frequented in those early days (an annoying consequence of drinking all your food instead of eating it), and finally turned the handle and entered the office.
It was just as I remembered: the dark green carpet, cushy waiting chairs, children's toys, car enthusiast and fretful mom magazines, the giant Latin map of the world, and 95.5 playing in the background. The receptionist's desk was empty - it was after 5pm. So I sat there with sweaty palms and squirmy stomach and busied myself with Ilse and her toys.
At last Dr. A emerged smiling, looking essentially the same, and invited me back to his little office. It was essentially the same, too, with the addition of an ikea chair. So I plopped down in the same old over-sized couch that I had plopped down in all those years ago as if it were yesterday. We went through the niceties of typical conversation as he prepared his clipboard, after which he too took his seat. Now it came down to it. I had no idea where to begin, and hoped he would help me by asking me why I was so crazy. He just smiled, though, and we sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few more moments; it was probably some sneaky counselor's trick to determine your personality or how much of a pain in the ass you were or something. So I began, stating why I had come and explained the form of the beautiful person I wanted to be molded into through these sessions.
I won't bore you, O Reader, with an entire transcript of the session, but what I will tell you is this: In spilling my guts of all the things I'd been doing over the last 7 years, I realized that I was no where NEAR what I used to be. That small, empty, tortured gollum-like creature withered away at some point, and I was left in her place. In fact, my file was so old that Dr. A hadn't been able to locate it right away. I was starting with a completely new folder! In one hour I was cured! Well, no, I still have a little way to go. But I have no desire to ever revisit the life of that old Anna creature. The only habit I will be repeating is the one where I walk from my car to the office building, up the stairs, down the hallway, through door "220" across from the bathroom and into the office of Dr. A. Hopefully there I will discover the Anna that's inside me right now, just waiting to be found.