"Is that really how you feel about that?", she asked.
"Yes, I have thought about it for a long time and that is exactly how I feel about it when I am angry, happy, sad, irritated, or just waiting in the ATM line, " I replied sitting in the grey flannel upholstered chair that was badly rump-sprung.
She looks at her notes we have accumulated over the course of several meetings, fingers rifling through a genuine Rolodex despite her iPhone4 sitting there. Upon reflection I was silent thinking she was plotting her next statement designed to comfort/piss me off/or reveal she was a Divine Student of the Obvious but now I realize she clung to the Rolodex because everyone knows iPhones are good for everything but actually making a call. Since she was a psychologist she probably danced naked under the stars in some bizarre ritual and said she would try not to make people crazy on purpose and calling people then dropping their calls multiple times is bound to make anyone blame their parents for anything. Hence the paper file.
"You know, you probably have repressed memories of sadness from your childhood and if we could talk about those...", she ventured unhopefully.
"I tell you what, you ghoul, they are repressed for a reason. If I came in here and said I relived every time a bone broke or I slammed my finger or a patient vomited on me then died even you would think that was freaking weird. Now I am supposed to examine everytime I got spanked (twice and I deserved it), didn't get completely actualized, or didn't learn appropriate self-congratulatory mechanisms I am unbalanced?", I asked, secretly pulling out the tacks from under the uncomfortable chair. Now I have a half dozen rusty tacks I am at a loss to do something with that doesn't invlove an assault charge or poisoning the fish tank bubbling soothingly beside me except for the fish trapped in the tank with artificially shortened life spans.
"I am 41 years old. I have a job, no terrible bad habits, believe there probably is a god but the one that has been portrayed by mankind is doing a suckass job of it and needs a PR update. I think that to blame my mom or dad for anything now is a bit like buying Off! after the malaria has set in."
We eye each other warily. She is wondering why I am there. I am wondering why I came. She is convinced I have something fatal from the DSM-III guide and I know for a fact she is making this stuff up as she goes along and it was the only degree that she could get that kept her from being a social worker.
I throw the tacks in her trash can (I miss one) and stand to leave. I am tired and need a shower and really only came to talk about a call that was stuck on rewind. She asks if anyone else is having issues with that same call and I said, "Look. If I went to the doctor and they said it was going to take years worth of visits and experimental medicines in trial by error doses and examinations of the minutae of not getting to sign up for summer camp one year because you didn't mow the lawn often enough to get better from a chronic stomach ache you'd say, 'Oh hell no!' Maybe just maybe someone's mind just needs a swift kick in the ass to get restarted. You can't do that, apparently."
We parted company, each relieved to be away from the other's company. She probably had some professional guilt about it and I should have been nicer. I went for a walk in Memorial Park with a friend who hates people and loves fire trucks and would prefer to talk about trucks and doesn't understand people and really only tolerates them if they talk about trucks. Then I went and had a margarita and found a geocache. I visited with a homeless guy (accidentally) I used to pick up from 33's all the time and left him with some dinner and paperback romance. He prefers being on the streets than constrained by society's rules.
As I made my way to a shower I realized that whatever you think your problem is, that is what it is. You will refute all evidence to the contrary to prove yourself right. There aren't many people who look up and say, "I am all fucked up. I am fucked up because I cannot get myself right. I will take responsibility for myself and fix this in slow steps if I have to." My truck friend hates people and is happy like that. My homeless contact knows he will be uncomfortable but he doesn't blame anyone. I then realized that nothing is as bad as it seems and in fact, was better already and getting better by the minute.
"Yes, I have thought about it for a long time and that is exactly how I feel about it when I am angry, happy, sad, irritated, or just waiting in the ATM line, " I replied sitting in the grey flannel upholstered chair that was badly rump-sprung.
She looks at her notes we have accumulated over the course of several meetings, fingers rifling through a genuine Rolodex despite her iPhone4 sitting there. Upon reflection I was silent thinking she was plotting her next statement designed to comfort/piss me off/or reveal she was a Divine Student of the Obvious but now I realize she clung to the Rolodex because everyone knows iPhones are good for everything but actually making a call. Since she was a psychologist she probably danced naked under the stars in some bizarre ritual and said she would try not to make people crazy on purpose and calling people then dropping their calls multiple times is bound to make anyone blame their parents for anything. Hence the paper file.
"You know, you probably have repressed memories of sadness from your childhood and if we could talk about those...", she ventured unhopefully.
"I tell you what, you ghoul, they are repressed for a reason. If I came in here and said I relived every time a bone broke or I slammed my finger or a patient vomited on me then died even you would think that was freaking weird. Now I am supposed to examine everytime I got spanked (twice and I deserved it), didn't get completely actualized, or didn't learn appropriate self-congratulatory mechanisms I am unbalanced?", I asked, secretly pulling out the tacks from under the uncomfortable chair. Now I have a half dozen rusty tacks I am at a loss to do something with that doesn't invlove an assault charge or poisoning the fish tank bubbling soothingly beside me except for the fish trapped in the tank with artificially shortened life spans.
"I am 41 years old. I have a job, no terrible bad habits, believe there probably is a god but the one that has been portrayed by mankind is doing a suckass job of it and needs a PR update. I think that to blame my mom or dad for anything now is a bit like buying Off! after the malaria has set in."
We eye each other warily. She is wondering why I am there. I am wondering why I came. She is convinced I have something fatal from the DSM-III guide and I know for a fact she is making this stuff up as she goes along and it was the only degree that she could get that kept her from being a social worker.
I throw the tacks in her trash can (I miss one) and stand to leave. I am tired and need a shower and really only came to talk about a call that was stuck on rewind. She asks if anyone else is having issues with that same call and I said, "Look. If I went to the doctor and they said it was going to take years worth of visits and experimental medicines in trial by error doses and examinations of the minutae of not getting to sign up for summer camp one year because you didn't mow the lawn often enough to get better from a chronic stomach ache you'd say, 'Oh hell no!' Maybe just maybe someone's mind just needs a swift kick in the ass to get restarted. You can't do that, apparently."
We parted company, each relieved to be away from the other's company. She probably had some professional guilt about it and I should have been nicer. I went for a walk in Memorial Park with a friend who hates people and loves fire trucks and would prefer to talk about trucks and doesn't understand people and really only tolerates them if they talk about trucks. Then I went and had a margarita and found a geocache. I visited with a homeless guy (accidentally) I used to pick up from 33's all the time and left him with some dinner and paperback romance. He prefers being on the streets than constrained by society's rules.
As I made my way to a shower I realized that whatever you think your problem is, that is what it is. You will refute all evidence to the contrary to prove yourself right. There aren't many people who look up and say, "I am all fucked up. I am fucked up because I cannot get myself right. I will take responsibility for myself and fix this in slow steps if I have to." My truck friend hates people and is happy like that. My homeless contact knows he will be uncomfortable but he doesn't blame anyone. I then realized that nothing is as bad as it seems and in fact, was better already and getting better by the minute.
