Last week I had a telephone assessment with a mental health practitioner. It’s probably the third or fourth similar assessment I’ve had and what strikes me most about them is how good mental health staff are at cooing reassuringly – “mmm” – I swear, the first week of their training must be devoted to getting the pitch just so.
We went through the questionnaire that’s designed to determine where you are on a scale of depression and anxiety. This caused a brief bout of self-recrimination because my scores, on the whole, were low and I felt briefly as though I was wasting her time. It’s an interesting mental contortion to wish that you were more depressed so as to not disappoint a stranger at the other end of a phone. I suppose its one that goes right to the heart of what it is to suffer anxiety.
It’s an interesting…
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