I have started going back to therapy, because as someone once told me, I have more issues than a magazine rack.
For about 8 months, I used to go to a wonderful therapist who practices out of downtown Albany, NY. She was great, and she made me feel a lot less crazy helped me a lot, but I decided last week to return to therapy, but with a new male therapist in NYC who specializes in my many wonderful quirks.
If you’ve never gone to therapy, it’s a trip. The first time I went, I was so nervous, I almost had a panic attack in the waiting room. I had originally wanted to start going to therapy because the idea of speaking to a stranger about my problems appealed to me. I often don’t like to bother my friends and family with heavy ticket items, and I needed someone to talk to, so on a recommendation from a friend of mine, I started seeing Diane.
The problem for me with therapy is that I spill my guts to the person, and then I feel emotionally closer to them and I want to go shopping for sneakers with them. But since I am told repeatedly that that is not allowed, I just leave and don’t communicate with them again until the next “session”.
If I ever saw them in a grocery store, or at the mall, I would probably puke. They know things about me that absolutely no one on earth knows and frankly, it makes me a little uncomfortable. I often play the following scenario over and over in my head should I ever run into them in public:
“Oh, my god. Hi Dr. Smith. What are you doing in Price Chopper???”
“I’m buying groceries, Matt. It’s good to see you. Ummm, is that beer in your cart?? I thought you were trying not to drink alcohol?”
“Yes, Dr. Smith, I know but it’s not what it looks like. I’m, um, making a marinade.”
“With Miller High Life??”
“Yes yes. I’m gonna put it on these, um, hot dogs. I’m having a dinner party.
“Well that’s nice, Matt. I know how nervous dinner parties make you, and I’m glad you’re confronting them head on.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you, Dr. Smith. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“It’s okay, Matt. I probably wouldn’t be able to attend anyway.”
“Why wouldn’t you attend?? Is it because you don’t like me?
“I told you Matt, I do like you. I am just not allowed to socialize with my patients.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Smith. You did tell me that.” I start crying. “And I lied about the marinade and the hot dogs.”
“I know Matt. Its ok.”
“And I’m not having a dinner party, either.” the crying gets crazier.
“I know, Matt. It’s ok. It’s ok. We’ll talk about it on Thursday at 11:00am. I have to leave now.”
“No, don’t go!” I reach for a hug but Dr. Smith isn’t allowed to make physical contact with patients, so I just stand there hugging myself and crying in Produce.
See? That is why I need therapy. If any of you feel that you would benefit from therapy, I highly recommend Diane Saunders in the Albany area. (or Dr. Michael Nina in the NYC area.)
Am I not supposed to publicly say who my therapist is? oh god. (please don’t sue me or take away my meds).