Prozac, Lexapro, Wellbutrin, oh my!

So I set an appointment to see a therapist for the first time in years. Not because I'm in dire need of therapy, necessarily, but because my life on paper is complicated and full of emotional potholes, and I want to be prepared in case there's an avalanche.

I walked into the office to speak to the receptionist, and she asked if I was there to see the therapist or the doctor.

"What's the difference?" I asked.

"The therapist is here if you need to talk to someone, and the doctor is here to prescribe medications. Would you like any medications?"
I chuckled, thinking she was garbling her words, and that what she meant to say was "We have a medical professional here to evaluate if anti-depressants would be the right course of treatment for you."

Nope. After five minutes of the receptionist trying to convince me to see the doctor and just "get a sample of something," she declared me "an old-fashioned naturalist" and went to get the therapist. She might as well have called me "stubborn bitch." It was the same tone.

I sat in the waiting room completely in shock. I looked around at the other patients waiting, and recognized that glazed over look in their eyes as the anti-depressant glaze. Hmm.

The therapist's first words to me were, "So you don't think you need drugs, do you?"
I fumbled my way through a response: I've tried the drugs route, I think they should be used as a last resort for me, I'm just interested in making some sort of in-case treatment plan for if the roof caves in over my head.

He stared at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears. "We really recommend you see the doctor. If you can't make it in today, come in any time, Monday through Saturday, 7am to 6pm. The pharmacy's always open and there's always a nurse on standby to write you a prescription."

"I don't want drugs." I kept saying.

"Then what can I do for you?" he said, spreading out his hands like we were at the end of some ridiculous rope.

"I'm here to talk to a therapist? See, I'm a single mom, and..." I started to say, but he cut me off.

"You just want to... talk?" he said, like talking was the last thing someone would make an appointment to do. "Oh, I see, you're a naturalist." (Stubborn bitch).

Then he went and got the doctor anyway, with whom I had the same run-around. Abbott and Costello have nothing on us.

I was flabbergasted. I left, needless to say, in a very confused and disappointed state. Is this what we've come to? We're medicating before psychiatric or medical evaluation? Talk therapy is "old-fashioned" and someone who doesn't want to shove concoctions of chemical correctional drugs into their system suddenly is pegged a "naturalist?"

Unfortunately my insurance literally doesn't cover any other therapists. My options are a) go back and pray they don't continue trying to convince me to drug up, b) go back and feel the therapist shut down week after week while I talk and he tries to find a way to convince me to drug up, c) never go back and just sign it off as a loss, d) pay out of pocket for an expensive therapist that I'm not even sure I really need right now.

I am just so disappointed.

It's not that I am so against anti-depressants. I think they can save you. I think they are an excellent resort after other options have been exhausted. But I'm not there. I'm not even close to that point.

If I have another visit like that, I may be.