Mindfudge.

Never ever ever try to out-run a psychologist. They have powers.

I skipped out on an appointment with my shrink last week because she wanted me to get out of bed and that's just not on.

The office promotes insanity by playing a dazzling array of music varying from the dizzy heights of 'Dancing On The Ceiling' to 'I'm Going Slightly Mad' so that you feel nice and insane when you go to see people you go to see.

This morning me and a four-year-old were sat in the waiting room. It seemed bizarre. All four-year-olds are batshit crazy as a fundamental rule, so what had she done to clear the bar? Absolutely nothing, surely. She could've taught my nieces a few things about being a regular sane four-year-old. Maybe this shizzle runs in the family.

When my person came to collect me, it was my turn to be the four-year-old. She told me to mind my step (all of them, it was a flight of stairs.. d'oh), carried my drink for me incase I spilled it, talked like she was my best buddy, all the usual. And then it was my turn to talk for an hour, most of which she spent guessing what I was trying to say, because fuck if I know.

My head isn't a place for words, it's just thoughts, feelings, images, hunches and a sort of black, blank, empty space where things randomly click into sequences that make sense and fall out of my mouth. I'm no artist and I'm not a particularly gifted speaker. Nothing's particularly easy to put into words or anything anyone else could gain insight from, so as far as shrinks go, I'm screwed.

My person is fairly new, she doesn't guard her facial expressions particularly well so I'm forever back-tracking and correcting what I'm saying, which does sod all for my confidence which is the thing that keeps me from being on a massive downer all the time.

My person also thinks that I'm schizophrenic because in my head I refer to myself as 'you' and also I kept hearing a noise whilst I was talking to her which kinda freaked her out, much to my twisted, delicious delight (oh come on, if you can make a shrink nervous you've really achieved something).

Generally, shrinkage always makes me feel worse, as do doctor's visits, dentist appointments and pop tarts, so it's always good to do something to perk myself up before I get home where I can wallow uninterrupted in self-pity/loathing for a good six hours. Walking back through town, I noted that the mental hospital is only five minutes' walk away from the shrinkses, I bought a godly smoothie from Xing Smoothies (om nom nom), a delicious cookie whirl from Millie's Cookies (om nom nom) and then came home and rocked out on Guitar Hero and Just Dance, and it was good.

Small steps, people. Small steps.