Hey guys,

This post is quite a strange one, as I would bet most of you won't typically come across something such as this. But I firmly stand by the notion that I should be honest in what I write, and it is the dedication to publishing real and raw content that has led me to creating this post.

There is a rather large, rather negative, association between mental illness and seeking out help. I want to stop myself here and emphasize that by no means am I going to write this and share with you all that I have a "mental illness", because I don't, but I do want to talk about my experiences obtaining help at a university.

I have never gotten to speak to a psychiatrist before, been on medication, or so much as kept a diary in which I could write down things that bother me. The closest thing I have ever come to is having a friend as my confidant or using this blog to serve the purpose of that similar to a diary. However, this semester took a very large toll on me. I frequently felt drained, lost, and tired.

I hit my breaking point about a month ago, at what I would say was the peak of the unnecessary problems inside my classroom and out. I became extremely frustrated at how I was beginning to feel constantly belittled in Chinese class. I grew increasingly tired with my situation at my apartment. I became more and more distraught at having no clue how I got this far in the semester when I couldn't remember what I had for dinner last night, much less that I had done the homework required the next day for class. All of these things and more led to me walking into the student services office and making that first appointment.

I was scared. I was nervous. I was shaking. But I was told it wouldn't be but two weeks until I could speak with someone. Two weeks I remember thinking to myself Is it even worth it to go? But I did not cancel. I wanted to; don't get me wrong, I so badly wanted to call and cancel my appointment. I had thoughts in my head of how wrong it was that I was seeking out help, and made regular attempts at trying to convince myself that I didn't need help, and that I must have something wrong with me if I am to get help.

On the day of, two weeks later and bright and early in the morning, I was sitting outside the office. My leg was shaking, fingers quickly tapping away on my phone to help preoccupy my hands. To keep myself busy. To distract myself. It was a lame attempt that was made no better when the woman, the same one to help me, called out my name and startled me to where I knocked over my metal water bottle on the shiny floor, causing everyone to jump and stare. Great I thought just what I need. So I follow her into the back, entering her office and taking a seat on a sofa with cushions very much used. My first thought was that she must see people often; and how I was nervous for what was to come.

The appointment lasted 50 minutes and included notes, spiels on what certain questions mean, and explanations on how this initial appointment won't do much in terms of helping me. 

At UH, and I'm sure across many campuses, the first visit in to see the psychiatrist is considered your "initial" one. However, there is very little help in this 50 minute session. It's a lot of me explaining why I want to be there, and more time spent explaining how they're going to take "my case" and try and match me to a counselor. I'm allotted 6 sessions a semester, and appointments depend greatly on the amount of other students who need to be seen. From what I can gather, many students want to be seen at UH, and this has led to the office having to be open on study days and place counselors within residence halls, just in case you can't make it in one day. 

Overall I think it helped. I wouldn't say it was life changing, nor would I say I left feeling like I knew all the answers. It helped in the sense of calming me down, getting me to talk out loud about what I'm concerned about, and allowed me to talk to someone with an unbiased opinion. 

I have another appointment, but that's not until tomorrow. I might make another post about this in the future, but for now I think I would rather have it be left unsaid. My main goal was to share this experience to depict how most first sessions go, and emphasize that there is truly nothing to be worried about. There is nothing wrong with talking to people and there is nothing wrong with trying to help yourself. 


Until next time,

Aislinn