The other day I had a doctor’s appointment and, unlike the many appointments I had scheduled before, I kept this one—this particular appointment scheduled for a 60 minute chat with Mike. I avoid Mike, nice as he is, because he’s my shrink and seeing him seems to equate with the idea that there is something seriously wrong in neuron land; definitely not a highlight of my resume, typed in bookman old style and sandwiched in between “education” and “awards and accomplishments”. I have theappointment on my dry erase calendar, simply showing “Mike 2:30pm” as if the mental acuity police were going to enter my kitchen and exclaim “aha, we knew you were seeing a shrink!” as they stood in front of my rental refrigerator in my rental house.
I rent because it’s temporary you know—or so Mike says. If I buy, I commit and somewhere along the two-track dirt road into my emotional abyss there are road signs such as “what the hell is really going on here?” and “Mother speed-bump ahead” The real kicker is that only Mike can read them. Does that make him a psychological GPS? I have taken to buying the three-pack specials of smokes now… can’t commit to quitting I suppose, but not buying the cartons could suggest that I can’t commit to continuing either. My memberships to things are a cancel-at-any-time option—the gym, DVD clubs, blah, blah. No solid commitments there, quit anytime I want.
So anyway, I went to see Mike, he in his khaki’s and Hawaiian shirt, boat shoes with no socks—welcome to southwest Florida where we all are laid back; nothin’ serious ya know mon! He seemed lost at first—I already knew from the bitchy receptionist that the computers were down so he couldn’t see me. I felt an evil pleasure and contrived three ways to fuck with him within a minute or so, but I didn’t. I sat there bored instead—“l’ennui” echoing in my head. My yawn gave me away apparently so I covered my boredom with (I’m just tired Dr. Khaki Hawaiian guy-bet you have a penis extension sports car, convertible no doubt-but I ain’t payin’ the payments, I’m at the VA and looking at you is free!) “I’m just tired Mike”. I learned that French expression from a blurb in the newspaper; the arts section of The Naples Daily
Mike got in to my file briefly and perked up a bit, eyes gleaming as he repeated my own medical history back to me and we really got going along. He asked if I had resolved any of the family stuff, how was the medication working, etc. Then, he slammed on the brakes… the computer kicked him off and his techno-high crashed. So, what to do…
I told my shrink about you, in the shadows of the last half of our visit. I told him how much I love you but how much I feel encroached upon. “Mike” I said, “I feel like everything closes in on me until I can’t breathe—like my chest is squeezed, air is gone, eaten by the monsters hiding in layers within the space-time continuum”. I told him how I was sitting in my new rental back yard, enjoying the immensity of space, the enormous banyan, the peacefulness of it all and then, when you sat there with me I felt deprived of the room to move or breathe. But I did say to Mike that I love you and that you treat me better than anyone ever has. He said “ You really shouldn’t live in such close proximity to you family”. I looked at Mike, puzzled and then it dawned on me… “Oh, your computer just came back on; you just repeated what you told me last time”. He asks again, “have you solved any of the family issues?” and I flatly say no. I feel the “closing-in” realize it isn’t one person in particular—it is anybody trying to traverse that two-track road.
I told my shrink about you and your wishes for me to be near you and then your manipulative actions when I finally was. Mike re-iterated how being close to my family wasn’t good for me, how y’all are sucking the life out of me and the feelings of confinement are actually bouts of repressed anger and resentment. Trying to have compassion for all living things—releasing
negative energy and hostile feelings, well let’s just say it aint easy practicing the tenets of Buddhism. I told my shrink about how you don’t understand me and that you take advantage of my inability to say “no”. He says you know exactly what you’re doing. How to stop this new flood of anger? If I am honest, I lose, if I ignore things, I lose.
That stupid song“I’m a loser baby, so why don’t ya kill me”… who sings that? I can’t remember. Mike’s lips are moving but I can’t zero in on his voice. I hate him for a few seconds, because he suddenly looks so condescending in his chair, in those damned khakis and that out-dated Hawaiian shirt… then I remember he is the GPS; the boyscout with the compass exploring my vast emotional wasteland (note to self, re-read TS Elliott). I hope he’s dropping breadcrumbs or something…
I got a few extra business cards from Mike before I left his office. I will subtly leave them lying in the spaces you have crowded me out of—maybe you’ll like Mike; I hear he has a nice car.
Read more: http://authspot.com/thoughts/i-told-my-shrink-about-you/#ixzz1E8yr60DP
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