Psychiatrist: “What brings you in today?”
Me: “I get a little anxious sometimes.”
Psychiatrist: “Okay, let’s talk about that.”
[ten minutes later]
Me: “…so anyway, it turns out I wasn’t actually dying, just hyperventilating. Like you do. Oh, and I’m afraid of elevators.”
Psychiatrist: “Uh, yeah, your ‘anxiety’ is actually a full-blown panic disorder. But on the bright side, we caught it before agoraphobia kicked in and crippled you.”
And that, children, is the story of how Uncle Sweeney ended up on happy pills.