Drink every time you read “I didn’t need therapy”…
… Seriously though, drink responsibly. (serious)
Welcome to part 5 of The Indelible Sulk. I’m still working on a guide for my posts; nobody’s raised the issue, so it’s a low priority right now… As usual, I welcome all feedback! Thank you for your time!
The Indelible Sulk—part 5 (I didn’t need therapy)
If you chose right you chose wrong. If you chose left you chose right! To those who chose right, you have my commiserations?! To those who chose left, congratulations! Anyway…
Dr. Dude didn’t open with something like “please tell me about yourself”; instead he asked about why I was referred to him—thank goodness; I’m glad he skipped the small talk. I hated small talk… “Please tell me about yourself” falls in the same camp as “tell me about a time when you faced a challenge,” or “tell me about your strengths and weaknesses,” or “tell me about a problem and how you overcame it.”—they’re fluff. I try avoiding inane conversations. I abhor wasting time; plus, I usually find social interactions lacking in the first place: small talk has no place in my life. I didn’t need to be here anyway: I didn’t need therapy.
NOTE: Are you _actually_ playing the game? Don't. I recommend against playing the drinking game and sincerely hope you aren't taking my joke seriously...
Therapy (especially CBT) changed my perspective: I’ve since shifted from “I hate small talk; it’s a waste of my time” to “though I dislike small talk, I acknowledge that it has its benefits. I respect that. I will give it a chance—albeit grumpily…” That shift occurred a few years after I saw Dr. Dude though. Before therapy, I was stuck in a loop:
That loop only strengthened my belief that I didn’t need therapy. We had barely started the interview, and I already hated it… I didn’t need therapy; this was such a waste. I was fidgety and sweaty. My thoughts were racing. This was a mistake; I didn’t need therapy. This was going poorly… Why was I here?! Oh right, I’m here to prove that I didn’t need therapy.
NOTE: To be fair, I'm always fidgety and sweaty... The consultation didn't worsen things, but it didn't help...
Did he notice? Did he notice my disdain? What was he thinking? I didn’t—and still don’t—know. He continued as if he didn’t. He hadn’t yet realized what I already knew: I didn’t need therapy. Over the next ten to fifteen minutes, I answered questions that one has no business asking a stranger—outside of a clinical environment, which I shouldn’t be in since I didn’t need therapy… They included “what is your history with /adjective describing type of abuse/ abuse?”, “do you think life is conspiring against you?”, and “do you hear any voices in your head?” I still marvel at how drastically context changes those questions. It reminds me of the uniqueness of therapist-patient relationships: it’s incredibly intimate, yet one-sided… Where else does that happen? Think about hearing those questions during a job interview—would you answer them? Worse yet, can you imagine it on a first date?
What is your history with /adjective describing type of abuse/ abuse?
Umm… Excuse me?
Do you think life is conspiring against you? …
I can’t tell if you’re being serious or…
Do you hear any voices in your head?
You know, I just remembered I have something super important to do. I’m so sorry we need to cut this short. Hope we keep in touch! (… I hope we never meet again…)
The questions were fair and appropriate. That didn’t change how I felt though. I didn’t need therapy, but I was answering these questions to figure out if I needed something I knew I didn’t need. They still felt intrusive. My thoughts were racing even faster. I stared at “the painting” (the one I mentioned in part 4) hoping it would make time go by faster; it didn’t. I didn’t need therapy. I kept telling myself that. With each moment, my anxiety increased. I didn’t need therapy. This was all such a waste. It wasted my time, since I didn’t need therapy. It wasted precious resources someone else would benefit from—someone who genuinely needed them—not me though, I didn’t need therapy. It was all in just in my head.
NOTE: Are y'all familiar with the aggressive grin? It's the one with gritted teeth—the one that convinces you to slowly back away… That's me when someone tells me that "It's all in your head."
I didn’t need therapy. I just wasn’t working hard enough. I didn’t need therapy. I didn’t hear voices in my head; so, I didn’t need therapy. I wasn’t pathologically anxious, nor was I severely depressed—I didn’t need therapy. I just needed to try harder, perhaps sleep a little better—no, I definitely needed to sleep better. I didn’t need therapy; I needed sleep. It was so obvious that it infuriated me. I didn’t need therapy. I was just cranky. I’ve been cranky and irritated my entire life; this was just a phase—albeit a long phase, like a reaaaallllly long phase—it would clear up soon; obviously, I didn’t need therapy. I definitely didn’t need therapy.
NOTE: If you're still playing, stop. In case you choose to continue—against my suggestion—"I definitely didn't need therapy" doesn't count. Don't worry about that one. Remember, only "I didn't need therapy." counts. Also, yes, the one from the previous sentence counts.
I didn’t need therapy. Everyone else could deal with it; they didn’t need therapy. They didn’t need a free handout. I was simply defective. I didn’t need therapy. I needed something, but I didn’t need therapy. I didn’t need therapy. I knew I didn’t need th—Dr. Dude interjected with his preliminary diagnosis.
Thank you for your time,
Roybert S. Henanigans
P.S. 96: I’ve updated my Contact Me page explaining how you can help me if you choose to. This includes a messaging form, my gmail address, my Twitter account, and a donation button to my Ko-Fi page. I’ll update specifics gradually. If there’s one thing I could ask for above all else, I’d ask for two—then I’d use one of those two to say that the best way to help is to share my work with someone.
On a serious note, thank you so much for reading—it truly means the world to me!