December 14, 2004

Without A Net

I'm thinking of ending the longest non-familial relationship in my life.
Before you get any ideas, I am neither considering cutting friends out of my life (mostly for the birthday gifts, but partially for the love. Besides, who else would read this?), nor getting rid of anything battery operated that currently resides in the drawer under my bed. My boyfriend lives across the country, People. Let's be real here.

I'm talking about my shrink.

After 3 plus years, the greater majority of sessions carried out via telephone since I moved to Manhattan, I'm thinking its time to cut myself loose.
Don't mistake me darlings. I am by no means headed for the cover of Sanity Fair. But I think she and I have reached a plateau.

Besides, not once has she written me a prescription, preferring instead to take the mamby-pamby (do people outside of 80's police movies use that phrase? I'm thinking of bringing it back. Viva La Revolution!) approach of talking about feelings and addressing my issues with the past and how to change my future reaction and behavior.
Content to ignore my obvious need for medication in large doses, my shrink has chosen to take my parents' money in exchange for teaching me to blame them for my current lack of direction and need for constant attention.

And yet somehow I have reached a point where the mere mention of an ex-boyfriend no longer turns me into a latter day Miss Havisham, and unreturned phone calls are an annoyance, and not a reason to hole up in my bedroom with a carton of Parliament Lights, my cell phone and old CDs from college.
Is this because she's helped me address issues and recognize patterns in my thinking and behavior in order to better cope and not fall into depressive patterns?
Have I matured as a person, understanding who I am and how I relate to others?
Or have I learned to outmaneuver her technique and avoid emotional growth all together?
There are plenty of situations in my life that have the potential to leave me hiding in the bathtub, reduced to thumbsucking, hitching sobs and attempted overdose on whatever happens to be in the medicine cabinet.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't consider looking up the name of the nice place where Soulless Fuckwad has stashed his poor son and calling to inquire about room rates. But cooler heads prevail, and I realize that checking into such a place would mean the possibility of seeing Soulless Fuckwad on visiting days. I doubt that such chance encounters would contribute to my mental well being. On the upside, I could probably attack him with a shiv made from one of the legs of my cot and blame it on my 'condition'. (First Rule of therapy: There is a bright side to everything.)
And so I am thinking of starting the New Year not only free of my job, but also free of my shrink. Provided my boyfriend and I are together forever, I become gainfully and happily employed immediately and Grandma never dies, I'll be just fine.


Blogger Duchess said...

Nice blog. I will keep reading it.

4:07 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home