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What It’s Like to Have 10 Psychiatrists in 13 Years

I never called my first psychiatrist “doctor.” He was my parents’ friend, and I saw him because we didn’t have health insurance.

He asked me, over and over, whether I had gone through anything traumatic. He threw out the same list of traumas every time, rattling off the options — I shrugged.

When I told him, he asked if it had only happened once. Then he threw out the list again. “Anything? Anything?” he asked. My parents knew my second psychiatrist, but I still called her “doctor.” We had health insurance.

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