The thing about going to see a psychiatrist or a psychologist or anyone where you’re there for therapy is that none of us normal’s can imagine doing that as a profession, and therefore, as a business entity, the lay-men are skeptical of the entire industry.
We can’t imagine not bringing our own shit into the mix. None of us would be able to sit with a stranger for an hour at a time without either telling them to fuck off or to fuck us.
They’re held to a high degree. They are doctors. They have to uphold all the rules and shit, but with them, at an even higher level, because they are dealing with our mental health, which in itself can be a tough thing to wrap your head around. That’s why a lot of times, the cliché snotty psychiatrist always has an attitude of “I know something you don’t know.” And that’s why Good Will Hunting is such a good movie. People like Robin William’s characters may be rare, but they are real, and they really can help. And he played it with such an intense beauty that it may honestly be one of the best performances of all time. That’s why people love that movie. Fuck Damon and Affleck.
It’s hard to unload on a stranger. Even if you see them repeatedly, it takes a certain kind of person who is able to open up like that and build a relationship out of it, no matter how great they are at building trust. That’s why I never know how to act.
I’ve been trained by the media to believe that I’m supposed to have an intense and deep relationship with my doctor, when in actuality, they’re just someone trying to do their job and I’m paying them for a service and then they give it to me in some way or another and we both go home.
I take all the tropes I know about their person and have immediately adopted a certain speaking style and structure and my posture changes. These changes occur in the most minuscule way. We all do this everyday. Everyone speaks to every other person in a different way, even if they don’t realize it. So when my doctor is an elderly lady, I’m immediately coding her with the idea of a grandma figure, or however I see older women in my mind. But at the same time, she’s still working, and that’s kind of cool. She’s in a field that’s fascinating, where they have to be smart to do it, and that’s really fucking cool that this old lady is like this. Maybe she’s like a Meryl street or a Lily Tomlin, where I feel like I could just hang with those old birds and be chill as fuck and say whatever. But she’s not my friend; she’s here to help me.
Or him, which can bring an intense wave of whatever relationship you have with older men in authoritative positions. Maybe he’s an old man who I respect too much to really tell him anything, because I can only assume he’s seen a lot more shit and thinks I’m pathetic. Like the way I’d never really talk about my feelings with my Grandpa, he fucking fought in WW2. Or maybe I have daddy issues.
Part of me wonders that everything I say to them is being analyzed the way I analyze everything I say to myself.
They’re not going to like me, but it’s not their job to, why do I want them to? I feel like I want to test them, do something just a little off kilter to see if they pick up on it and then see if they weave it into everything as a reason or a response for what I do. Do I really think they’re going to be that good? This over- fetishized genius stuck among the rubes and the only thing they can do in this world is fix our fuck ups. Such a drag.
But if they are that good, why not tell them the total and honest truth. They might actually be able to help. Take everything you’re actually saying and doing and work with you to help find a solution to your issues.
The problem there is admitting that you need help. Even putting yourself on that couch is a promise, of sorts, to work together toward a fix. You won’t fuck with them, and they won’t fuck with you.
See, you don’t have that kind of relationship with any other kind of doctor. You don’t go in to surgery challenging the hands of your surgeon. You go in expecting that they don’t fuck you up worse than you are now, because if they do, you’re suing their asses for everything they got. What if you go into therapy with that kind of attitude? Is it because with those other doctors, we secretly sort of hate them, because we need them to fix us. And the thing with shrinks is that, in most cases, the decision to see a therapist is totally up to you.
Or court ordered, which is a whole other ordeal. Is that why, in the media, the court ordered shrinks are more like the burnouts with a heart of gold, or they’re pervs, or suckers, or a Denzel-type, or a Kathy Bates-type, and the ones for rich white people are also rich white people?
So you go in accepting that yes, I’m going to be honest, fuck it, yes, I’m going to make it work. And you go in and you’re yourself. You’re wild, crazy, pervy, honest, real, self. It’s such an intense feeling, to open up to a stranger. It’s like coming clean about all the secrets you have, including the biggest one, the one that every person has: how do I get by each day?
The problem is, what if they don’t know that you decided to go in with this great attitude, and they’re expecting you to be like every other mother fucker who goes in before you who hasn’t made this decision and messes with them. So they’re only half listening to you at first, waiting to decipher which of your stuff is true and which is false, which parts they won’t believe. What if they’re not fully committing to this? What if they’re going through rough life shit? Maybe they hate their job, maybe they’re worried about money, maybe everything and nothing all at once.
Now take all of this into consideration and really wonder how in the fuck are they going to help you.
But you have to try. And try, and try again. Maybe you don't? Maybe you give up. Do what you want, I'm not you.