Vividblurry: Blog

The doctor said it without missing a beat.

"But, you're quite the looker. You know that, right?"

Right. I'm sure that is what you say to every 22-year-old who comes into your office, whining about body image problems. Oh, no, what are you talking about, you look great! Get outta here, you're crazy! Well, yeah, that's sort of the problem, doc. I'm fucking crazy! So, like, fix me now.

Normally when I'm in an examining room, I take off my shirt and hop up on the wax paper-covered table. This time I was invited to sit in a chair with my clothes on - how refreshingly dignified! The doctor pitched me some softball questions about my general health. Do you drink alcohol socially? Sure, that's one way of putting it. Do you smoke cigarettes? Only when drinking - read into that however you please. Do you take poppers? No, I don't even know what they are. (Only a gay doctor would ask that!) I enjoyed taking his light-hearted health survey and watching him check off boxes, mostly because I knew that in a few moments, this age of yes-or-no questions would seem miles away.

The conversation abruptly shifts to, "So, why are you here?" I tell him. We both immediately know how this appointment is going to end, but he hears me out anyway. Maybe I'll take some blood, just to make sure it's nothing "organic." Yeah, that sounds fine, that's a good idea. It's possible that you have a testosterone deficiency. Wow, I never thought of that, it's definitely possible.

And then: Have you ever thought of seeing a psychiatrist?

Oh, no, I don't need to see a psychiatrist, I have a blog.

Um.

I, mean...

I have no idea why I just said that.

The doctor didn't really say anything, either because he doesn't exactly know what a blog is or because he knows exactly who I am. I'm laughing at this point, because who cares, no matter what I say, this type of appointment ends the same way they all do. Not that I have a problem with that. It's the next appointment that matters most, and who knows how that is going to end.