Therapy Journal, Entry 2

Though I'm by no means an expert I think the fourth session may be when you really start to see some value in a therapist. In the first session you're just barely feeling each other out. Very much like dogs sniffing each other at the dog park. You learn several meaningless things about each other (where did you grow up, where did you go to school, have you ever made anyone look at those stupid ink blots, what do you hope to get out of therapy) and one or two important things.

Session two begins the real getting to know each other part, although that's not really true. Session two was when she started getting to know me. I still don't know much about her and that's ok. I don't need to know much about her and I don't think I want to. Not because I don't think I'd like her or anything, it's just that I think it's better to think of her as my therapist and not really as a person. That sounds cold but for what the Evil Insurance Company is paying her I think I get to be a little cold. Anway. Session two was when I told her the really boring, cliched stories of my divorced childhood. My mother didn't love me enough, my stepmother was wicked, blah, blah, blah, same boring bullshit that I've told myself over the years. I don't even know if that shit is true anymore but I told it to her anyway. If it's all lies that I've been believing for the last 20 years then I might as well feed them to her too.

Session 3 was when the medication question came up. I honestly can't remember which one of us brought it up but there it was. Do I think I need medication? If a pill could make certain feelings go away would I take it? Would that decision be dependent upon the side effects any hypothetical medication might have or would the decision be outright? I told her honestly that it disturbed me that both Momma and Daddy are on anti-depressants. I also told her that it would disturb them both even more to know that they're on the same anti-depressant. 22 years post divorce I guarantee they'd cringe if I mentioned that they're on the same drug.

It bothers me that they're on anti-depressants because it makes it seem like a forgone conclusion that I'm going to be on them some day too and I don't want to be. I don't necessarily buy into the nature vs. nurture stuff but when both parents are on the happy pills I don't think it bodes well for me. Because if it's not genetic then it's environment/nurture. So there doesn't seem to be much escape.

Then I told her the real truth; taking anti-depressants is a sign of weakness. She asked if I honestly believed that. I told her I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it. Then she asked if I never said anything I didn't mean. I said not often.

The beginning of session four was a little tense. Since session three I'd been thinking about whether I did say things I didn't mean and if so how frequently. I thought about it a lot and came up with many more examples than I thought I would and that displeased me. I came up with an equation to make it ok though. Each time I said something I didn't mean with good intentions (meaning I said to make someone feel better or to make them happy) was worth 1.5 times I said something I didn't mean with bad intentions. Did I write that right?

1.5 good = 1 bad.

So I came out well ahead in the saying things I don't mean derby. I explained the equation to my therapist and she didn't seem to get it. Although I can't prove it I know she was saying "Rationalize much?" in her head. Thus the tension.

Gradually the tension subsided though as we started talking about why I don't need to be in therapy. That sounds so stupid, like a bartender listening to an alcoholic say she's really not thirsty. However I think there is serious validity to the argument that I don't need to be in therapy. Generally I'm terribly happy, I'm just not content. When I figure out a way to write the difference down I will.

I pointed out to her that I'm not suicidal, I'm not manic, I'm not a sociopath, I'm not psychotic. I'm not crazy. Why then do I have a therapist? Because therapists obviously have a difficult time with declarative statements she asked me if I thought therapy was only for crazy people. Why she couldn't have just said "Therapy isn't just for crazy people" I don't know but she posed the question and I tried to give the best bullshit answer I could. I know now that my true and honest answer is that I want therapy to only be for crazy people and for it not to have anything to do with me. Like anti-depressants, therapy for non-crazy people seems like completely admitting weakness. You're so fucking weak you can't even deal with your life without paying some stranger to listen to you whine.

She asked if I was in therapy because I couldn't deal with my life. The question sounded so stupid coming from her. Give me a break lady, would I be here if that wasn't the case? She gave a half smile to that and then she suckered me in. She gave an idiotic analogy about a chef and a sous chef and "support staff." I laughed at her. Can't tell if that pissed her off or not but then she said "do you think having a therapist will fix something in you that's broken? That it will fix something in your life?" No. "Do you think it will make you better?" I don't know. "But you're here and you're trying anyway. You're doing something you don't even know you think will work because you want to work towards being better. Working towards dealing with your life better and not feeling a way you don't want to feel. If that's weak then you really need to define strength for me because I think we're working with two different definitions."

Damn. She called me out and won. How can I not respect that?

If I'd had my art therapy already this would be where I'd draw a cartoon version of my therapist verbally kicking my ass.