healing ii

I called the National Association of Black Psychologists today. I didn't want to call my insurance company because I don't want anybody to link me with a shrink. It's silly, I know, but . . . I don't want to be labeled.

Anyway, the phone call was hard to make. First, I disguised my voice. Then I asked for the names of some therapists with practices near my Germantown apartment. The receptionist asked me if she could fax me the list, and, of course, I said no. How would I look, hanging around the fax machine waiting for a list of people who treat crazy folks? It took a while, but I got the names and numbers of about ten therapists.

Since I've been home, I've looked at the list, which is sitting on my kitchen table. I keep walking past it, hoping that something will happen. I don't know what, but something. Nothing does. I guess I have to make the next move.