Around 39 years ago, the girlfriend with who I was entirely obsessed dumped me. Shortly after this event, my old Audi slides down Seatltle’s icy streets into a parked car. A few weeks later, Audi’s motor, which hangs by engine mounts rather than sits atop like all other cars, decides to fall out and lodge into the middle of Fremont Blvd. And then, of course, I lose my job.
I am lying on the floor in my basement apartment. My arms are stretched out, as if on the cross dramatically and pathetically and I am asking God for help; of course, there is no answer. A good 32 years of carefully crafted artifice has brought me to this place, and I am so miserable and unhappy that I begin to consider doing the one thing I never thought I would ever do: go into therapy. I am absolutely terrified of therapy. Always have been, as deep inside I am convinced that I am unredeemable and unintelligible.
The problem is that I am extremely unhappy. My friends are all disgusted with me, and I don’t know what else to do. I have no money. I have no job, and I decide to “shop” for a therapist. I pull out the Yellow Pages and I begin at the top of the psychotherapy listings and work toward the bottom. I intend to interview them with a series of questions and see if there is anyone who seems safe enough to see and who might be willing to deal with me. Among the list of questions I have for them about their approaches and their costs is this one: “What is it about you that makes you feel you have the ability to help another person’s soul?”. A number of therapists are outraged by this question and hang up. Still, others don’t answer it but pass along the all-purpose formula they have for fixing people. Everything is going as badly as I expected it would until one person determines that mine is a good question that needs some thought before he could answer. His response fills me with dread as I realize I have trapped myself into having to go and see him, which I do, which is the beginning of the end of this low point in my life.
— DanielSouthGate
I am lying on the floor in my basement apartment. My arms are stretched out, as if on the cross dramatically and pathetically and I am asking God for help; of course, there is no answer. A good 32 years of carefully crafted artifice has brought me to this place, and I am so miserable and unhappy that I begin to consider doing the one thing I never thought I would ever do: go into therapy. I am absolutely terrified of therapy. Always have been, as deep inside I am convinced that I am unredeemable and unintelligible.
The problem is that I am extremely unhappy. My friends are all disgusted with me, and I don’t know what else to do. I have no money. I have no job, and I decide to “shop” for a therapist. I pull out the Yellow Pages and I begin at the top of the psychotherapy listings and work toward the bottom. I intend to interview them with a series of questions and see if there is anyone who seems safe enough to see and who might be willing to deal with me. Among the list of questions I have for them about their approaches and their costs is this one: “What is it about you that makes you feel you have the ability to help another person’s soul?”. A number of therapists are outraged by this question and hang up. Still, others don’t answer it but pass along the all-purpose formula they have for fixing people. Everything is going as badly as I expected it would until one person determines that mine is a good question that needs some thought before he could answer. His response fills me with dread as I realize I have trapped myself into having to go and see him, which I do, which is the beginning of the end of this low point in my life.
— DanielSouthGate
The start to the end of the low point began with a question, a challenge. A challenge to the proposed therapist, and a challenge to yourself to go through with therapy. Beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteFor some reason, I wanted to laugh with delight by the end of this little story. Partly because the actual situation is not as dire as it probably felt at the time. Girlfriend problem, car problem, job problem. But all those things together add up to HIGH STRESS! The Yellow Pages...still an iconic entity for boomers. Kinda like the I-Ching. So happy to read your writing. And I can relate. (Macoff)
ReplyDeleteYes, it definitely deserves a laugh..........I had sack-cloth on the walls of that place, and I threw the I-Ching all of the time!
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