October 13th, 2009
I think that most therapists suck. I’ve dabbled with the therapy because I do see the wisdom in talking to an objective “kind of” qualified individual for an hour. But I’m critical. Partly because I’m generally pretty good at analyzing and understanding the peaks and valleys of human emotions. Yes, it is ironic(and perhaps a bit pompous) that I would declare myself as “skilled” or more self aware than the people who have dedicated their career to therapy. Well, let’s sum it up to my researching the human experience and a blog topic for today.
I give credit to people who are willing to open the door to the inner workings of their own mental health. It can be frightening and we’re willingly putting ourselves in a vulnerable position. Anyone who is trying to better themselves can be part of my world. I’m very content with the therapist that I see because she is an unbelievably sympathetic listener. That’s a skill. She doesn’t have to break everything down because I generally can do it myself with the help of looking at her kind face. Plus, when she chimes in, it’s usually just to blow smoke up my ass in some, way shape or form. She tells me that “I am extremely in tune and I possess a heightened form of intelligence.” Awesome. What’s not to love about this woman? That’s what I pay good money for and why she’ll be seeing me again next week.
Part of the reason I find the therapist/patient relationship so fascinating is that I had to divorce a few of them. We were just different breeds and our wiring didn't make a connect. OK. I’m being too nice and I should get angry more. Quite frankly, I just didn’t like them. The therapist/patient disunion can be a complicated split. I find it best to let them keep the couch as long as I can hang on to my sanity. One PhD of the head(“Mind Whisperer”) was a heavyset Colombian woman who kept taking calls during our session because she was in the process of doing contract work in her office. When I told her I was leaving, she literally slammed her office door in my face and said, “I need to get paid too!” I didn’t really get what that meant exactly.. but it was ugly(yet I saw the comedy in it too..I’m good like that.) The second failed therapist was an orthodox Jew who just looked at me with great concern for 60 minutes. There were a lot of exaggerated long sighs combined with the slow shaking of the head, “ewwwws” and "Aye-yi-yis. Seriously Dr. Über Jew? You want me to leave feeling worse? Shalom. And by Shalom, I mean goodbye.
It concerns me that someone who seeks therapy has to frequently be in the position to initially open up to a licensed individual that is clearly not the right fit. I would imagine that many patients could be in a fragile state since they’re seeking help to begin with. I would love to live in a world where it is guaranteed that the helper/helpee relationship is guaranteed to be harmonious from the start. There is only one option to achieve the visual of therapists and patients happily running through fields filled with framed postgraduate degrees, resolved issues and endless supplies of serotonin. We will hold therapist auditions.
It is sure to be lighthearted and fun. We’ll rent a theater space. Actually, in this economy, we can just meet at a Starbucks. The therapists up for the part will be required to bring us a head shot, resume and be prepared to recite a Shakespearean monologue. Next we’ll role play a mock session. For example, we’ll ask, “My marriage is in jeopardy and I'm having frequent panic attacks. What should I do?”
Therapist #1 - I think it’s safe to assume that your husband is cheating. Look at you and those extra 30 pounds. You need to start telling yourself “A moment on the lips an eternity on the hips.”
Therapist #2 - We’ll talk about this soon. Just stay put. I’m gonna run to my jazzercise class.
Therapist #3 - Your husband is gay with a small penis. You’re better off. I’m going to give you a few thousand dollars. I have enough to spare. Also take this 10 year refillable Xanax prescription and my brother’s phone number(He’s Mr. July in the “Firefighter Hunks Calendars”)
It’s clear that we will hand the crown and the ginormous floral arrangement to therapist #3. However, if we're still unsure, let’s throw in an evening wear, swimsuit and talent competition. Ultimately, we’ll pick the harpist.