I think I got the bad end of the deal. I got to (virtually) meet The Therapist, but I’d much rather have been able to meet his brother or at least go to one of his concerts.
I don’t know or care what their brotherly dynamic is. It could be more or less complicated than my relationships with all of my dang sisters. What I know is my own perception of both of them, and I think I missed out, because I’d much rather listen to The Therapist’s brother’s music than listen to The Therapists excuses. What does The Therapist even do? Listens to people’s problems until he gets sick of them or until they get sick of him? What is he actually creating and contributing? Also, who the hell is he to judge me?
Because the ending of my therapy confused and hurt me, it hit me hard. I haven’t been the same since in several ways. A few good things have come out of it. I can write dark depressing shit now, which I never could do before. I wrote a creepy scene one night in one of my novels years ago and I had to stop and turn on every light on the first floor because I freaked myself out. I used to edit my journals and diaries so they wouldn’t be filled with details about my bad family life when I was a teenager. All of my stories had to end happy. After I left my abusive husband I avoided sad movies and books. I’ve always been a big scaredy cat about any scary stuff. I don’t write super scary stories now either, but compared to what I used to write, after my therapy termination, my newer writing is much darker. My story “The Clock” only came about because of The Therapist dumping me and me emotionally nosediving as a result. I had started that in college and never could finish it, until last year. Thanks to The Therapist, my writing is more fucked up as far as subject matter, but I guess it means I’m censoring myself less, which for a Mormon might be better in the long run? I don’t know, you therapists can figure that out.
The flip side is after my therapy termination I haven’t been able to write much that ends happy. Instead of feeling trapped writing only happy things, I’ve been feeling trapped writing dark stuff.
And this leads me to look at The Therapist’s influence on my life as a net gain of zero at best. He supported me and then pulled that support out from under me. He acted like my friend and then threatened to sue me instead of having a conversation with me. He listened to me intently but was apparently telling his supervisor that I was bad the entire time, so where’s the gain, the benefit? It feels like things with him reset to where there’s not a gain.
Meanwhile the vibe I get from his brother is that he’s a guy full of life and he seems courageous. I feel like you end with a happiness gain with him.
So why did I end up wasting time working on my issues with The Therapist pretending he cared, instead of skipping therapy and just finding his brother’s music? I feel like that would’ve saved both The Therapist and me a lot of time and stress, because The Therapist might consider me to be a loss of time and energy, a zero gain too. It just seems stupid to go through all of that for nothing, when instead I could’ve just been listening to music and writing happy stories and The Therapist could be doing his hair or whatever the fuck he’d do if he didn’t have to read my tortured fucked up reviews and posts about him and count how many times I’ve called him hot or sexy on the internet.
The Therapist is fucking hot.
There you go, Therapist, there’s one more for you.
I’m so glad you and I met instead of me skipping over you and meeting your brother, isn’t it awesome? Yes, we love this stupid therapy fake friendship pretend relationship emotional bullshit with the therapist brother who made me his enemy instead of music with the musical brother who I’m a fan of. It’s such a good deal, Therapist, thank you so much.