Friday, October 21, 2011

Go ahead..Shrink Me.

Its almost hard to fathom that until this week, I was a therapy virgin, given factors including, but not limited to :

1. Fear of being murdered in public bathrooms

2. need to acquire and dispose of domesticated animals

3. lack of need for physical contact from other human beings

4. intense need for cosmetic changes....curtains, paint, bedding, body parts

5. Unnatural use of laughter in inappropriate circumstances (ie: the injuring of an person, even children and elderly, in my presence

6. Child rearing strategies (ok, these I stand by....but they are often unconventional)

This list could go on...and on...and on.

At any rate, I knew I may need assistance sorting out this oddities within my own mind. I have known for a while (4 years) that it may be a logical step in the natural progression of my growing as a woman, mother, wife, and human being in general.

Not to mention that it is extremely "in fashion" to see a therapist. I mean really, I am one of the few people I know NOT taking any sort of mood altering medication. (unless you count the few doses of xanax I occasionally "borrow" in emergency situations)

I had always put it off. I'm not going to lie. I truly believe, that in most cases, I know everything and am mostly always right. Not to mention that while most people have "opinions", I mostly have "factual statements". It's an asshole quality, I know. But I cant help it.

Going along with this, I cannot not imagine someone telling me something about myself, or offering advice about MY LIFE that I could not do myself. I am not an idiot. I know the difference between right and wrong. I can see what is healthy and unhealthy behavior, and I am pretty sure I know why I choose to react that way i do in certain situations.

I decided, however, that maybe, if anything, I could get some "help" in dealing with my issues in a more normal way. That maybe there are ways of eliminating some of the behaviors I have developed which make myself.....and..... others miserable and/or uncomfortable.

It has also been 3 years and 8 months since I have been a stay at home mom. If that is not a reason to be therapized.....or medicated, I don't know what is (no offense to those who enjoy this lifestyle choice)

It is no secret that to me....staying home and raising my children has been a bit of a sacrifice. Selfish, bratty, whatever. Sorry. I enjoyed being a working mother. It was difficult, yes, but it was who I was and what I loved. (If I were a mom in the 50's with no real choice of having a career outside the home, I think I definitely would've have been an alcoholic, a swinger, or hanging from a coat hanger in the closet) This statement alone proves I may need to talk to someone.

So, over the past several weeks and a few attempted interventions by my close friends, I decided to give it a whirl. I booked an appointment with a therapist who came highly recommended by a good friend of mine.

My appointment was at 1pm. I arrived at Dr.K's office promptly at 12:59pm. (i am a firm believer in showing up earlier rather than being late)

of course, my main focus was to thoroughly size up each and every person in the waiting room. I knew they weren't all there to see her. There were several other therapists within this building. So naturally, I was trying to decipher what the fuck was wrong with each one of them.

As I was in the middle of deducing that Jane Doe #2 was a substance abusing kleptomaniac with a history of sleeping with strange men, Dr. K came to retrieve me.

I walked into the office and just as I had expected, saw the "couch". I was confused by the other four cushy chairs however. One of which was an over sized queen anne armchair upholstered in a black and cream toile. I wanted to sit there...if only for the fact that the crazy shit I was about to tell her may seem more sophisticated if backgrounded by this old english garden motiff. It seemed perfectly logical to me.

However, she directed me to the couch. I was uncomfortable for a brief moment...wondering if I should lay down and make myself they do on TV....or would that be too cliche (?).

I didn't want to look foolish if that really wasn't what you were supposed to do. So I sat. She looked at me. I nervously looked her in the eyes, and like an innocent high school girl would say to her older college boyfriend... I uttered "Ive never done this before"

She chuckled and told me to give her a little background. I didn't know where to start. So I started at the beginning. "When I was 10, this city kid exchange student made me shoot a bunny with a bibi gun".

She thought that maybe I should fast forward a bit. So I did. Within one hour I covered 18 years of crazy. Literally. She often looked confused. Maybe because after each little bone I threw her, I covered my eyes, shook my head, and uttered "but wait...there's more".

This was the easiest $120 this lady ever made. Not only did I divulge each issue I had, i immediately followed with the 'why i did it', 'how to fix it', 'what I'm going to do about it', 'how it made others feel'...etc. So basically, I did her job as well. Just as i thought.

I left there thinking I should have made HER pay ME.....if for nothing else than the shear entertainment she received over the past 60 minutes. She did conclude a couple of important things. She told me I needed to get a job. (duh). She also told me that I am a type A personality who ultimately, is going to do what I want (again..... duh) Oh, and its very possible I am in the midst of a midlife crisis. (ya think?)

I made another appointment

I left feeling exhausted, mentally drained, and with an odd sense of relief in some way....not what I had expected.

I got in my car. Drove about 2 miles and something strange began to occur. What the hell? What is this salty liquid dripping down my face and into my mouth? was like the fucking Johnstown Flood of 1889. (the worst dam failure in the US)

I was crying. I had no idea why. Maybe the crazy needed another place to all my wacky thoughts living together within the confines of my brain were acting as a dam...and with each idea/thought/problem I divulged to this woman, a piece was broken off...causing this flood.

Thank God it only lasted about a minute. She didn't totally break me. After it was over, I had no need to hug a loved one, or anything. We'll see how she does next week.