Accusing the World of Lunacy after Couples Therapy


I have decided that everyone on earth besides me is completely insane.

This is because my partner and I have friends who seem to be raising their eyebrows at our stories of puppets and various animal names related to couples therapists.  They don’t laugh at the jokes.  I imagine them thinking, “Well, you know Lyralen & partner, wherever you go, there you are,” OR “The common denominator in these stories is you two,” OR “They can’t all be that bad, can they?”

The reason I believe that everyone on earth besides me is insane is because OF COURSE THEY CAN ALL BE THAT BAD!  THEY ARE THERAPISTS!

I have come to see that people believe therapists are sane and that therapy works.  Um.  NO!  NOT!  INCORRECT!

Now I am going to take three deep breaths, calm myself, and write a narrative on this subject.  Ohm.  Ohm.  Ohm.

Thank whatever/whoever for Buddhism.

Okay.  I will admit that wherever I go I seem to be there.  With all my remarkable luggage, florescent pink, blood red, tie-dyed, you name it.  I will also say this:  I know it is difficult for therapists to do a good job with me.  From the moment I walked into the community health center when I was 17 years old, sucking on health food candy after giving up cigarettes, my hair in little girl barrettes, my brain whirling around Spinoza and Kant because I was doing genius training by teaching myself the philosophers from Aristotle and Plato on up, I was too much for them.  I truly did need help, there were problems in my family that were much too big for me, and I couldn’t talk about them directly.  My therapist was a 27-year-old hippie who had camping pictures of herself and her husband thumb-tacked to the fake wood walls of her office.  I’m sure she meant well, but she had no idea how to reach me, and I couldn’t help her outside of showing up and occasionally dropping a verbal informational bomb as if it was nothing.

I wasn’t a neurotic 17 year old who was going to grow up into a neurotic woman taking too many pills.  I was a girl trying to save more lives than her own.  It’s much easier to be a therapist to the first woman than to the second.  With the first one, you can sympathize and offer opinions.  With the second, you better get out of your desk chair and strap on a sword, because protection will be needed, and you better figure out how to provide it.

Yes, wherever I go, there I am.  Spinoza and Kant, Ayn Rand and the Gnostic Gospels, poetry and 70’s rock and roll, the need for a warrior much more than a listener.

I recently took a vow to tell the exact truth about how much I hate being in couples therapy as I’m sitting in couples therapy.  So, I go in, describe the relational difficulties in my marriage in a very succinct manner, and then I talk about how I hate therapists and don’t want to be there.

I have to say, it’s very rewarding to tell the truth in this manner.

The Santa Claus Puppet Therapist reacted by saying, “You must have been triggering all those therapists who fell asleep, hit on you, fired you, told you they loved you over and over again, etc.”

I was like, “I wasn’t even telling them the grief or loss or anything.  Well, I might have told the sleepy one something the day she fell asleep.”

Wherever I go, there I am.  Call me the human catalyst.  Put me in a room, and watch what happens.

I have a hypothesis.  I don’t think therapists are all that smart.  If you’re smart you become a neurophysicist or…a writer, for example, who is obsessed with philosophers and their replacements in our culture (therapists).

Therefore, consider this blog a theorem in which I prove I am the only sane person in the world.  At 1:30am.  Wide awake and coming up with blog topics, one after another after another, each one somehow about how therapy sucks.

I seem to have gotten a little obsessed by this subject.

And I am going back again on Friday at 5pm, with my partner, to the Stork Man, for session #4.  I think we did 5 with the Sheepdog, who still hasn’t refunded our extra accidentally prepaid copayments.  Do you think she’s expressing anything by withholding that money?  I mean, it’s got to be illegal or something, right?  It’s been well over a MONTH.

But, NEWS FLASH!  I actually bonded with the Stork Man last session.  For a few minutes.  I mean, a nonverbal warmth moment.  Which means I better come up with some really great insult to keep him at bay on Friday.  I mean, I wouldn’t want to feel close to a therapist, now would I?  Even if he is a stork.

I am working for sanity, all the time.  Madly, truly, deeply.  But with the world as it is…I have my work cut out for me.  Therapists, everywhere you turn.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s