That moment when you're sitting across the table from your psychiatrist in awkward silence as they study your composure.

I sit upright and ask if he enjoys his job. As he says it has its Up's and Down's I am wondering which one I'll be.

He asks why I'm here.

All I can think to say is, "My heart feels weird."

He lifts his pen. “ - My palms get sweaty too."

He starts writing chicken-scratch. I think to myself, he must write illegibly on purpose…there's no way in hell he can actually read that shit. Well, I don't blame him. Why would anyone want to be reminded of an anxiety-ridden queer?

He starts to draw a picture for me. I'm flattered. The pen begins in the top left corner of the page and moves diagonally down to the bottom then back up to the top followed by another downward stroke.

Speaking of Up's and Down’s…

"Your secretary seems depressed." I ponder aloud.

The pen stops in the middle of his elegantly directed map. I wonder if he knows I'm not lost.

He sighs, "Yeah, we have been really busy here. We’re all pretty exhausted."

Oh, sure! Brand the schizo's, addicts, and emotionally confused while your colleagues remain free of psychological analysis…I see how it is.

It’s like his pen got stuck by the awkward anchor of my statement. The ink starts to bleed into the paper.

Great, now the beautiful rendition of my serotonin level is bleeding out, pinned down by the weight of a stubborn man's hand and his tainted lens. God, I wish these places played music… Where are Tegan and Sara when you need them?

He snaps out of the strange aloof state and slides the sketch in front of me.

"We are looking at an emotional curvature. Now, we are not assuming this is you here" Yes we are.

"I want you to understand the range of serotonin levels you may be going through" Called it.

"You may be up here most days, but can you tell me how often you sink down to this level? It may be once a week maybe once a month." Well, that's nice of him to say.

“Maybe five times a day…?” hoping he would clearly recognize this as an understatement.

"Okay, very good." I’m sure.

He slides it back. I feel cold. I imagine secretary woman and I being sick together.

Could two inconsistent serotonin levels make it work? Am I in love with secretary woman?

-"You have severe anxiety, but I am glad we are catching it now. You should be better in no time."

Christ, I am in love with secretary woman.

"I am going to start you off on Xanax. I want you to take one a day for the next 6 months and we will see where to go from there. Any questions?" He asks as he folds up my emotional patterns small enough for them to fit inside the same waste bin the other’s fell into earlier that day.

My tongue twisted into the only question I could think of, “How has this medication made you feel?”

Fantastic way to wrap up your session Grace… Your psychiatrist out of all people has been living deep inside the hive of Xanax. In fact, he’s been strung out since you got here!

He smiled and said he has never taken this particular brand, but explained that he has prescribed people in the past and has almost always seen positive results. I squinted my eyes into his. He got uncomfortable and looked straight into his schedule for the day. I assumed this was my cue to leave.

I sat there for a solid 20 seconds wiping my sweaty hands on my pants praying that I never go bald - psychiatrist man was so bald. I wonder if his ring really means his wife still loves him. I briefly expressed how strange of an experience this was to him and left.

I turned straight into the lobby, approached depressed secretary woman and slid her my number. I think her name was Peg. She had to be at least 40 years old and lord knows how long she has hated her life, but hey, no ring! I figure I might as well carve the paths of erotic behavior while I'm in an environment that is likely to excuse it.