The organization, Community Institute for Psychotherapy, offers low fee or medical covered therapy with intern therapists. For a few months, I’d been seeing a girl there around my age.
She was laid back, gave me time to answer questions, pretty. I envisioned seducing her by walking in with sweatpants, semi-erect, even while knowing she’s engaged and has a kid (Facebook search).
But she didn’t seem to stray from the confines of “How does that make you feel?” and she’d waste time apologizing for my blatantly shitty circumstances.
“That sounds really hard.”
I guess therapy often feels formal and forced. There’s too much emphasis on politeness, neutrality, which creates complacency. It sets the bar too low for what it actually means to be nice. Kind of like real life.
She also didn’t seem to be following much of what I’d say, asking me things I’d told her sometimes seconds before. Maybe my lack of eye contact made her think I wasn’t engaged and was an invitation to tune out.
So I requested to be transferred.
But I still had one appointment left. I saw her in the hall as I was turning into the waiting room. Her somber “Hello” alerted me she’d probably heard.
A few minutes later she called me in “hey Matt,” with a slight smile, held the door as I walked passed and led the way to our room. She looked prettier than usual. Her hair was down.
I plop down onto my usual spot on the couch and she sits on her overstuffed swivel chair across from me, sets a recorder on the small table between us.
She starts with the obligatory “So how are you?” then carefully attempts to gauge how I’m feeling about our sessions together. Damn, I thought she would only know if I brought it up.
“I guess Carol told you we talked,” I said.
“She told me,” she said, “but didn’t go into details.”
She inquired and said it was uncommon to quit at this critical juncture.
“I care a lot about you and we’re just beginning to approach some real issues. I think you wanting a fresh start or to escape is a microcosm of what happens outside the office. ”
We began to talk in stunted circles. I parry her, uncomfortably and vaguely, careful not to offend, but she’s relentless, more engaged than ever. And her hair.
We agree on another appointment and to speak up anytime we have questions or concerns. I leave feeling slightly hopeful but the next appointment is the same old story.
Initially, there seems to be a snag. She explains that I need to give a more concrete reason for my defection before they can authorize it. I feel offended, not taken seriously.
Then she tells me the other therapists are all booked up.
In our final session she informs me another therapist has an opening and I say I’d like to see her. Several times she says I would be welcome back anytime and that it wouldn’t be awkward.
I get up slowly as it ends.
“Should we shake hands or something?” I say.
“Whatever you want.”
She grabs and shakes just my fingers which is slightly emasculating because I don’t have the largest hand to begin with.
I really want to become more comfortable around physical beauty.
On another note, I think if I turned into an attractive girl right now, my life would improve dramatically.
I wouldn’t waste time walking around, thinking about approaching girls. Developing empty traits like charisma and charm. I could actually have sex when I wanted to and not to waste money (when I’m already living in poverty) and develop unhealthy sexual associations and habits by visiting a “massage parlor.”
I wouldn’t have to settle for a toxic relationship with the first girl to give me a chance.
Both men and women would be more prone to engage and sympathize with me. No one would tell me to “man up.” I could be around kids without feeling like a child molester and have a better chance of finding babysitting or pet sitting gigs (among the handful of jobs I’d be comfortable doing). It would be easier to find housing.
There would be more and better bathroom options.
Maybe women have it harder in general but I feel like I’m often slipping through the cracks where a “safety net” would be if I were female. Either I’m making people uncomfortable through some arbitrary social stigma or I’m seen as an intelligent, white male and therefore happy. Safe.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence more men end up homeless, in prison, or commit suicide. A reminder that an individual’s situation, if it can be glimpsed, is the most important consideration.
I know, it seems desperate. It’s strange to ask a girl out right off the bat. But all I have to go on is beauty, and if I take too long thinking about it, the chances I’ll approach decrease. I’m usually nervous and awkward but also ultimately confident and find it offensive that guys are always expected to take the initiative, strong-arming their way into a relationship.
Maybe other guys have just ruined other girls for me. Girls put up a shield, expecting something worse. It’s hard to understand where we both are immediately and then execute in the time frame.
“Ladies men” aren’t better for women, they’ve simply just been with a lot of girls, momentum is on their side. They understand how to manipulate the system and it even seems to work for a minute.
Being poor, without a job, not very social (because people are annoying, not because I’m “bad” at being social) doesn’t help things either.
Sometimes, maybe you need to “force” things initially. Instead of, say, relying on a friend to introduce you to their friend or meeting someone at work.
“If you don’t feel comfortable talking about it it’s fine,” says my new therapist.
“It’s ok if you’re not sure.”
I know my introspective abilities are rusty but now I’m marinating in her impatience. Or cautiousness. I didn’t answer in time and she assumes something must be wrong.
Well, now that you assumed it….
One of the reasons I try to avoid other people is to avoid absorbing rushed and unfocused energy.
Trade-offs.
Therapist’s use their mirage of superiority to connect dots to “disorders” which are created solely in order to receive funding. This is simply impractical. We are all unique, complex and ever-changing. Everyone is fighting their own heroic battle and oftentimes legitimately need help, maybe a change of scenery.
The best medicine for someone is to be seen. Telling them they’re doing it wrong just because they’re different or make you uncomfortable is alienating.
We need to educate and empower individuals. Little misunderstandings can add up, creating debilitating circumstances, even if victims know the origins are inherently lame.
I often retreat in order to avert judgement but I’m still being scrutinized. Spending a lot of time alone is also a good recipe for craziness.
Trade-offs.
We also often falsely legitimize our discomfort through dismissive assertions of free will regarding the “offender.” But choices are like ultimate preferences, and we can’t choose our preferences.
If we had the free will our culture so often ascribes, we wouldn’t make mistakes. But given the infinitesimal components which govern our lives, the interaction of our spirit and the world around us, it’s inevitable. We are organizing our lives in the only way we know how to. Whether it makes sense or not, the part “we” play is experience itself.
As Neil Degrasse Tyson says, “It’s ok to tell people to pick themselves up by their bootstraps if you acknowledge that not everyone has boots.”
People mirror others, get caught in patterns (or “addicted,” an arbitrary distinction), becoming “free” when they find what works. If we don’t simply have the information, what good is a judgement?
“If I can do it anyone can,” doesn’t make sense. It may actually be generally true but it’s a restrictive mentality. If you do something, the only thing that proves is that you did it.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” might mean you can take more shit, in a certain context, but you’re not necessarily better off, and might lead to complacency.
“I could have done things differently” is only a reminder for the future because things can only change in the present moment.
I ride past this car on my bike every few days that has the bumper sticker, “Shit works out.” I can’t bare to look at it anymore and have an urge to sharpie “sometimes, for some people” in small letters underneath.
Telling someone to be “mindful” is dismissive too. Sometimes it makes sense to detach, even become “psychotic.”
We are also living in an increasingly rushed, scattered and complex society which is leading to more misunderstandings, detachment and stress. Our dependence on technology and media is an obvious culprit.
Absorbing the flashes on a computer screen or smartphone removes transitions, subtly and breeds impatience. People say we’ve always worried about new technology as if somehow that’s an argument for being glued to a screen for hours and losing basic social skills.
We need to find ways to empower our fundamental curiosities and remove ourselves from what’s too destructive. Yoga and meditation may be helpful coping strategies but they may not be enough.
I’ve personally considered living in a commune or another country. Even the rainforest.
At first, she seems engaged, able to uniquely echo an understanding. I’m also high and unsure if I would be more or less irritated if sober -however we constitute “sober” in this crazy world.
My throat and stomach are constricted. I intermittently tune out.
Now I’m three sessions in and thinking of going back to the old therapist. The new one calls me in ten minutes late each time and our last session was only 35 minutes, compared to the standard 50.
After being isolated all week it usually takes me 40 minutes just to “warm up.”
I’m brain-dead, hopeless and stoned in this last one. My whole body is aching and spams continuously shoot through the sole and toes of my right foot (read Van Life).
But there doesn’t seem to be any acknowledgement or curiosity. Her attention is lazy, questions pointless and I can’t play along.
Maybe I’m making her uncomfortable but her role doesn’t allow her to say anything. We can only talk about me. I wonder what sick reasons people use to become therapists. I mean, we are ultimately selfish, right?
“Some clients are able to communicate better by writing something,” she says, several times. “You could bring something in.” Or, “We could pass notes back and forth.”