Status: I seriously don't know what I'm doing...seriously
Desperate, But Not Hopeless
Where Did You Come From Where Have You Been?
"Uh Dr. Anderson, You OK?" the well toned man retracted his hand looking concerned at the shell shocked woman sitting across from him.
Say something dammit! You're a fucking professional pull yourself together! Heather screamed in her head. The fact that this was a world famous musician and one of her own personal music idols shouldn't influence the fact that he was here for her help and she should act accordingly; but it was Mike fucking Dirnt! In her evaluation room! This must have been the secret Grace had been sitting on all morning. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, Heather refocused and stuck her hand out.
"I'm sorry I was just notified of your case this morning and I wasn't told who I would be diagnosing, and well…I must admit, I am a fan…Mr Pritchard" The smooth black polished finger nails of Heather's hand were finally met with the rough calloused pads of the man sitting across from her. A small smile formed on his lips as he shook the woman's hand.
"It means a lot to me and the rest of the guys that you're a fan so thank you. But I have to ask, is that going to affect our relationship as a doctor and patient? Because I really don't need this kind of shit to get leaked to the press or to anyone really, I'm just here to talk to a good shrink." The blonde haired man finished his thought and began to rub his temples and around his eyes, anxiety over the brand new, yet very familiar situation seeping in.
Noticing this immediately Heather swooped back into doctor mode. " Mr. Pritchard I am bound by the Hippocratic Oath and Doctor-Patient-Confidentiality Agreements that were explained to you when you walked in the door of this facility. It is my job to diagnose you, and then treat you to the best of my ability based on that diagnosis. Furthermore, if I am to tell anyone besides a fellow doctor whom I am consulting on the case with about you or your current mental status, my medical license will be removed and I could possibly face jail time wether or not you so choose to sue me for infringing on the Doctor-Patient Confidentiality Agreement. As I happen to superficially know you, I think that could give great depth and insight into your diagnosis and treatment here. If there is anything you don't understand that I have just said please ask me as many questions as you like I don't want this to be a relationship based on anything but the truth."
Mike looked shocked now more than anything. He liked sharp, intellectual women and this chick had plenty of brains, not to mention beauty. "Uh no not really,," was all he could really muster for the time being. He felt like a child being put in his place, but he knew he probably deserved it after treating this apparently reputable shrink like some scabby fan willing to sell anything to TMZ. Wanting to take the attention away from himself, the tattooed man said the next thing that popped into his head,
"I like your shirt."
"Hm? Oh, uh thank you, it's one of my many favorites"
"Well, obviously someone has good taste in this office."
"Yeah, I try," now that the awkward small talk was over Heather knew it was time for the more unpleasant part of her day: picking her idols brain to see what was wrong with him.
"Ok Mr. Pritchard, we're going to start the diagnostic exam now. As I said before, I am going to ask you a series of questions. Anything you don't wish to talk about will be respected, however we do encourage our patients to feel free to openly discuss any and all problems with their doctor."
"Yeah, yeah ask away I'm a fucking open book."
While his defensive tone clearly indicated otherwise Heather carried on and looked down at the questionnaire knowing she knew maybe a quarter of the answers without having to ask her patient.
"What is the current martial status of your parents?" the dark haired woman asked already knowing this was going to be a rough question?
"Divorced and Divorced. My original parents gave me up for adoption and he split on her before I was born, then my foster parents who became my adoptive parents divorced as well."
"Right" Heather murmured scribbling her notes down on her yellow legal pad. "What were their jobs?"
"My adoptive father was your average handy man, plumber type and my mother worked several different jobs after the divorce."
The questions went on and on becoming more and more diverse and personal. Through the process Heather sat there and listened writing down her observations now and then. She heard of his troubled childhood of being given up for adoption by a crack addicted mother, of being adopted and his parents divorce, of moving homes and eventually leaving home. Then to living out of his truck and in Billie Joe's basement while working as a line cook at a seafood restaurant while still barely maintaining his passing GPA. What seemed to be the final nail in this emotionally damaged then teen's coffin was fighting with his mother over signing some form on attendance to allow him to graduate. He basically said everything that he needed to say in that moment about her neglect, drinking, and overall lack of support and how he didn't owe her anything she just needed to sign the damn form. From then on figures of authority were either revered fervently due to a lack of leadership in the blonde's life or more commonly, ignored leading him to seek out trouble. While it was a horror story to many, to Heather it was another classic case of neglect, need, and nare do well. Nothing some therapy could help with. He certainly didn't need any psychotropics which Heather was glad to now know.
Heather closed the folder on her lap, looking up she told Mike the good news.
"So when would you like to start coming in?"
"Uh my schedule is pretty hectic but why don't we try Wednesdays, the later the better?"
"Sure I have an opening from 6-7 does that work?"
"Yeah sounds great" Mike started tapping the information into his phone.
Both adults stood up and Heather stretched out her hand for one final shake.
"It was nice to meet you Mr. Pritchard, I'll see you on Wednesday then."
"See ya then, thanks for everything."
"Just doing my job."
And with that the more than famous man waltzed right out of the office leaving Heather to catch her breath and take in what had just happened. She had just become the psychologist to a rockstar. Life was pretty fucking awesome!
Say something dammit! You're a fucking professional pull yourself together! Heather screamed in her head. The fact that this was a world famous musician and one of her own personal music idols shouldn't influence the fact that he was here for her help and she should act accordingly; but it was Mike fucking Dirnt! In her evaluation room! This must have been the secret Grace had been sitting on all morning. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, Heather refocused and stuck her hand out.
"I'm sorry I was just notified of your case this morning and I wasn't told who I would be diagnosing, and well…I must admit, I am a fan…Mr Pritchard" The smooth black polished finger nails of Heather's hand were finally met with the rough calloused pads of the man sitting across from her. A small smile formed on his lips as he shook the woman's hand.
"It means a lot to me and the rest of the guys that you're a fan so thank you. But I have to ask, is that going to affect our relationship as a doctor and patient? Because I really don't need this kind of shit to get leaked to the press or to anyone really, I'm just here to talk to a good shrink." The blonde haired man finished his thought and began to rub his temples and around his eyes, anxiety over the brand new, yet very familiar situation seeping in.
Noticing this immediately Heather swooped back into doctor mode. " Mr. Pritchard I am bound by the Hippocratic Oath and Doctor-Patient-Confidentiality Agreements that were explained to you when you walked in the door of this facility. It is my job to diagnose you, and then treat you to the best of my ability based on that diagnosis. Furthermore, if I am to tell anyone besides a fellow doctor whom I am consulting on the case with about you or your current mental status, my medical license will be removed and I could possibly face jail time wether or not you so choose to sue me for infringing on the Doctor-Patient Confidentiality Agreement. As I happen to superficially know you, I think that could give great depth and insight into your diagnosis and treatment here. If there is anything you don't understand that I have just said please ask me as many questions as you like I don't want this to be a relationship based on anything but the truth."
Mike looked shocked now more than anything. He liked sharp, intellectual women and this chick had plenty of brains, not to mention beauty. "Uh no not really,," was all he could really muster for the time being. He felt like a child being put in his place, but he knew he probably deserved it after treating this apparently reputable shrink like some scabby fan willing to sell anything to TMZ. Wanting to take the attention away from himself, the tattooed man said the next thing that popped into his head,
"I like your shirt."
"Hm? Oh, uh thank you, it's one of my many favorites"
"Well, obviously someone has good taste in this office."
"Yeah, I try," now that the awkward small talk was over Heather knew it was time for the more unpleasant part of her day: picking her idols brain to see what was wrong with him.
"Ok Mr. Pritchard, we're going to start the diagnostic exam now. As I said before, I am going to ask you a series of questions. Anything you don't wish to talk about will be respected, however we do encourage our patients to feel free to openly discuss any and all problems with their doctor."
"Yeah, yeah ask away I'm a fucking open book."
While his defensive tone clearly indicated otherwise Heather carried on and looked down at the questionnaire knowing she knew maybe a quarter of the answers without having to ask her patient.
"What is the current martial status of your parents?" the dark haired woman asked already knowing this was going to be a rough question?
"Divorced and Divorced. My original parents gave me up for adoption and he split on her before I was born, then my foster parents who became my adoptive parents divorced as well."
"Right" Heather murmured scribbling her notes down on her yellow legal pad. "What were their jobs?"
"My adoptive father was your average handy man, plumber type and my mother worked several different jobs after the divorce."
The questions went on and on becoming more and more diverse and personal. Through the process Heather sat there and listened writing down her observations now and then. She heard of his troubled childhood of being given up for adoption by a crack addicted mother, of being adopted and his parents divorce, of moving homes and eventually leaving home. Then to living out of his truck and in Billie Joe's basement while working as a line cook at a seafood restaurant while still barely maintaining his passing GPA. What seemed to be the final nail in this emotionally damaged then teen's coffin was fighting with his mother over signing some form on attendance to allow him to graduate. He basically said everything that he needed to say in that moment about her neglect, drinking, and overall lack of support and how he didn't owe her anything she just needed to sign the damn form. From then on figures of authority were either revered fervently due to a lack of leadership in the blonde's life or more commonly, ignored leading him to seek out trouble. While it was a horror story to many, to Heather it was another classic case of neglect, need, and nare do well. Nothing some therapy could help with. He certainly didn't need any psychotropics which Heather was glad to now know.
Heather closed the folder on her lap, looking up she told Mike the good news.
"So when would you like to start coming in?"
"Uh my schedule is pretty hectic but why don't we try Wednesdays, the later the better?"
"Sure I have an opening from 6-7 does that work?"
"Yeah sounds great" Mike started tapping the information into his phone.
Both adults stood up and Heather stretched out her hand for one final shake.
"It was nice to meet you Mr. Pritchard, I'll see you on Wednesday then."
"See ya then, thanks for everything."
"Just doing my job."
And with that the more than famous man waltzed right out of the office leaving Heather to catch her breath and take in what had just happened. She had just become the psychologist to a rockstar. Life was pretty fucking awesome!
♠ ♠ ♠
Yay! So I got the second chapter up and thats all I have pre planned so from now on I'll be writing from the seat of my pants so we'll see how that goes. Hope someone out there is enjoying this story. I always thought it would be interesting to be one of the guy's shrinks since they get to see a very raw and personal side to them. Anywhore comment, subscribe, recommend, yadda yadda yaddaI love you!
Mia