Therapissed

About maybe eleven years ago I was going to therapy. I had been struggling with the beginnings of what would be a life long seizure disorder and thought it would behoove me to start speaking with someone who didn't know me, therefore was capable of giving me a fair chance to get things off my chest without judgement. At the time one of the only things I was doing was working on writing poetry. Really, it was lyrics but I had given up music, at the time, so lyrics without music ends up being poetry. It was literally all I had, creatively, and when the therapist asked to see my work I was a little bit excited as well as nervous. As I walked to the therapists office (my car was dead) in the rain I clutched my old notebook. As the session began she asked to see it. I handed it to her and waited...waited for something to make me feel like I wasn't a complete waste of time. Suddenly she stopped and asked me about a particular passage. I took the notebook and looked at it. It wasn't what I wrote...it was a paragraph that someone else wrote, a quick sort of on the fly/no thought type of joke. All she could talk about was this persons work...how great that paragraph was, was there anymore? She went on and on. Finally, after clenching my teeth to the breaking point, I told her that I could get her an autographed copy if she liked. Sensing my sarcasm she immediately gave me this look as if I was wrong for getting ticked off. Really?!?! Are you insane?!
This was my time...literally, I was paying for this time. It was like I was shelling out a hundred bucks just for her to confirm that I will never have enough talent to even interest the person I'm paying to be interested in me. I took the notebook and, as she was spouting more bullshit, I stared at the quickly written nonsense from my friend. It just basically confirmed that nothing I would do would really mean anything because the grass is always greener, newer, better through the fence. You could build a house and your soul mate would like a condo or you could make an opera and the person likes death metal disco (really, who doesn't?). Anything you can do will never make the people you want to make happy happy. I really thought it was good stuff that I had written. I still do.
As I walked back through the rain I looked back at the office and thought "Man, she's a fucking idiot. But I'm the bigger one..I paid her."
But there would be other "brilliant" loser fuck ups who wanted to play shrink that I would meet. These fuckwads were the cream of the crop...
There was Gail. An ex decided that I might need help (she was a christian who cheated on me with an abusive alcoholic and then, two years later, tracked me down to ask me what she should do about his violent behavior..so clearly I was the one that needed help. Clearly.) so she recommended Gail. She used a sliding scale to charge poor bastards like me. Let it be known to those of you who, like me, are poor and, like me, hear the words 'sliding scale'- this is a term that the therapist will use but cringe the whole time they're saying it. They hate getting less per an hour. I know Gail does. Two weeks in and she decided she was going to have to "let me go". I had no idea one could get laid off from therapy.
Then there was a guy who swore I needed drugs...lots of drugs. All he would do each session is try to convince me that I needed drugs. I told him that, along with my Carbomazapine for seizures, coffee was enough. He swore I needed meds, meds and more meds! This guy wasn't going to be happy until I was rivaling Keith Richards and pills were coming out my ass! I left after a few sessions. Another "doctor" was doing testing on me for the neurological aspects of my seizure disorder. I had taken multiple tests and the last one involved a computer. When I looked around I didn't see any computer at all. He then told me it was a special computer at his house and that I would have to go there alone for the test. I told him that was mighty Catholic of him but no and quickly left the office. A woman I saw for one session went through half a box of Kleenex in the hour we sat together. I received a phone call from her the following week. She called to tell me she had double booked so she was going to have to cancel. Also, that she thought I should go on Prozac. Riiiight! I'm that bad off that I need Prozac but don't actually sit down and spend any time with me. Nooo. Apparently, anyone can "help" the "helpless".
But the best one was Andrea. She really made me hate humanity and curse God for ever getting a chemistry set for his birthday. Andrea was an attractive woman who, at first appearance, seemed like she wanted to turn the world into a beautiful candy coated land of hope and promise. She seemed to genuinely listen to me and laughed at everything I said...everything, including "Sorry I can't pay this week". One day she vanished. Stopped taking my calls. Just disappeared. I had built a relationship of trust and the last session we had was on my abandonment issues due to the past 12 years of my life. Was this some sort of test? Was she going to try to help me by hurting me? Was this to show me that I shouldn't be afraid of being left alone? No. I found out what happened. She wasn't murdered or slumming it up in a run down truck stop, over come with amnesia. No. She quit. Yep, just up and fucking left because she married a RICH MAN. Oh, and I found out she was apparently a god damn slum lord as well. Wow...fucking magical. Thanks for teaching me WHAT I ALREADY KNEW, YOU OVER PRIVILEGED MAGGOT! At least the people who let me down in my every day life aren't getting my money.