The Doctor
I would have preferred a nice, fatal car accident. It would have been quicker and basically more fool proof than anything else that comes immediately to mind. A quick flash of light, maybe a burst of static then cool never ending darkness waiting for birth again. Perhaps even the local news would have mentioned it in the morning traffic reports – “Accident shown by our exclusive Action Hotspot Trafficams has traffic in trouble on the East Side. Stay tuned for more after this........”People stuck behind me, or what was me, inching along and now running late would swear at me over their radios, “Bastard!”.
But, such is not the case, at least not yet. Instead, through the twists and turns, cliffs and abutments that litter life, I find myself here contemplating a blank page, love, death and a tuna sandwich I may or may not eat.
I’m perplexed by tuna or rather my feelings about it. On the plus side I like the taste, it’s cheap, it won’t spoil if left contained and, in a pinch, you can eat it straight out of the can when energy and time are everywhere else but with you. Not so pleasant are the thoughts about how many dolphins may have actually paid the ultimate price for my sandwich.I always imagine what I’d do if I were a dolphin in that situation, suddenly ensnared in a net and forcibly pulled out of my home. Once landed I like to think I’d shit on the closest tuna, spit my dying breath at whoever was on deck and say to myself “eat that human jerks.”
Not really. I’d die very confused trying to understand why someone would want to hurt me like that. I would never know.
I have this problem, or set of problems and to go along with them, lots of advice on what to do about them. My therapist who I have been seeing for about a year has finally decided I may be depressed. Everyone I work with says I need to drastically increase my alcohol intake but the folks at the AA meetings I go to tell me that’s not a good idea. My wife tells me I need to fix myself first, next work on my head strong 13 year old son from my first marriage then deal with my mother who, through a very strange crack in the space / time continuum lives with us. After my first wife left me for someone else, my mom helped out as primary care provider for my son while I worked. I couldn’t have made it without her really.
Next on the list are our current marital problems following our year long separation.Only after all this will I finally be able to tackle the most vexing problem of all. Why the 3 dogs we have insist that the great outdoors is not a dignified enough place for them to do their business and go in the house, on the carpet upstairs, downstairs. There is nowhere in the house that has missed a full blessing at one point or another.
My therapist referred me a Doctor of Psychiatry. I think it was because I told her that I was really hard pressed to come up with any reason not to go out and get drunk. I was having fond memories at that moment of the blackouts, beer vomit and waking up in strange places like outside on the front porch in my sleeping attire which consisted of only boxers.
As nearly as I can reconstruct it, that night I drank my 15 or so beers to relax a bit and passed out at the normal time on my side of the bed. This was my nightly routine. Nothing unusual.
I must have had to go to the bathroom somewhere in there and in a blacked out state decided the front porch was just the perfect place for it. When I woke up, probably in the range of 4 AM, I was actually shocked to be outside. I couldn’t sleep again as I tried to remember how I got there.
Actually, I was thinking it would really be good to drink again just this once. Just one more time to get me by, get me past this period I was going through. My only problem is that my “once” would last 10 years.
Expressing this thought to my therapist was a sure sign to her that I was entering dangerous ground again and I can’t say I could argue with her. So, she recommended I go see the Doctor.
I was nervous as I started out from the company parking lot but I kept going. As I drove to his office I was wondering what differentiates a psychologist and a psychiatrist anyway. I had never been to a full doctoral psychiatrist before. His title certainly was impressive but was the source of his mana just matter of a few capital letters following his name on his card? Was it a matter of 8 additional years in some Ivy League school and the commensurate ruination of his parent’s financial security?
Were the movies accurate? If this guy felt so inclined could he order the straight jacket and padded cell for me where I’d wind up making friends with a bed pan?
If I gave a little too revealing an answer to one of his questions and betrayed something about my inner self not even I was aware of could he take legal action to have my adult rights stripped from me?
Would he be able to see parts of me I had no idea existed?
What the hell was I about to do?
I have found in the past that when I’m dealing with institutions I know little about and don’t seem to have even the remotest capacity to understand like banks, the IRS and collection agencies that I usually wind up getting screwed. This trip to see the Doctor was no different. I was filled with hesitation and a sense of genuine dread.
The real dread I felt was not of the system I was about to face however.
I was very afraid of what he would tell me about me. I almost didn't want to know but, I needed to do something. I was starting to hurt in a way I had a few times before and knowing what I was about to go through scared me to death.
posted by Knot @ 11:12 AM
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