Thanks

Thank you journal?   What the fucking hell good would that do?   Oh, yeah.   That’s gotta be the solution.   You know as a CEO, I don’t have enough shit on my plate, let’s add more?   How long have you beend a shrink?   Sorry.  Psychiatrist?   And you still think a gratitude log would help me?   What?   A story?   No, I don’t want a sthory, I want to stop feeling like shit.   I want to stop having fucking fights with my family and friends and to be calm, happy, and at fucking peace.  A gratitude log will give me that?   So would a few more hours of sleep.   And . . . set a time limit?   Ok?   What if I can’t think of shit?  Make stuff up?   What the hell would be the point of that?   To be happy?   Yea, and I could go to my competitor’s business and kick my competitor’s asses and I bet that would make me happy until the mother fucking cops came.  I could go to Nevada and buy a whore for a few hours, there’d be something to be grateful for.   But, if I got an STD, I’d have to tell my nuclear family.   That’d be fucking fun.   Right?

    TV shows?   You think I have time for TV.  I barely fucking have time to wash up in the morning.   Yes, I know I make time for these appointments.   My company pays for it and my nuclear family thought it was a great idea.  

    Start with one the first week?   I have to go out and buy a fucking diary now, right?   Use my phone?   This thing can be hacked into.   

    What am I hoping to get out of therapy?   I don’t know.   Purpose, peace, a sounding board, someone who’ll actively listen.   Not just listen to me but hear me.   You know?  

Do I?   I don’t know.  Some days it feels like you are listening and some days it feels like you’re just listening to my insurance company and trying to fix me quickly.   No, I’m not asking to switch therapists, what I’m asking for is . . . A joke?   Why would I want you to tell me a joke?   Sure, why the fuck not?   Tell me a joke?   I don’t know.  How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb?   Cute.  

     What I need is to be listened to.   My god, it’s like I’m talking to my friends and family who don’t listen to me.   Isn’t that you’re supposed to do as a shrink?   No?   What do you mean, no?   Why not?   Yea, well I’ll have to call up the goddamn insurance company.   Maybe they’ll fucking listen to what I have to say.   I know shit changes, but if the therapy ain’t broken don’t fix it.  

      New theories?   What new theories?   EFT?  CBT?   What the fuck are those?   Right.   Next thing you’ll know they’ll have THC as a fucking therapy.   It’s pot, the old school kind that got us high.  No shit it was illegal.  They’re working on experiments to prove it helps depression.   Bill Clinton’s funding it, right?  

     You don’t even remember who Clinton was?   How about Lewinsky?   When were you born?   Ok.   So I need to tell you all of my goddamn problems and you can’t even tell me how old you are?   Wow.   Are you speaking to my family when I’m not in therapy?   Then why do you keep defending them?  

      Well, you’re the therapist.  What do you think I should talk about?   Gratitude.   What am I grateful for?   Why?   If I wanted to say something I was grateful for, I’d talk to God.   Why you want to know my religion now?   For the sake of my therapy?   What?   Is a Jewish schizophrenic different from a Buddhist schizophrenic?   What the hell difference would that make?   Guilt?   I thought we were just talking about some bullshit gratitude.   Where did guilt come from?   No, I don’t feel guilty, I feel crammed.   I feel like you ain’t listening to me.   I feel pissed.   You’re the one who should be feeling guilty for not fucking listening to me.   Yes, I see the degrees on the goddamn wall.  I know you know what you’re talking about but I wish you knew what you were listening about.  

     No studies have shown that talk therapy by itself helps.   Who told you that bullshit?   Talk therapy saved my life, but the bitch listened.   

     Yes, I know there are male therapists too.   Wait, why the fuck am I having to correct my speech?   Ain’t I paying you to hear my problems?   If I wanted new age gratitude bullshit I could go to any bookstore and look at the self-help section.   

     What am I hoping to get out of these sessions.  You ain’t listening.   I just want you to listen to me.   To really hear what I’m saying without offering solutions.   No, I don’t think I could just talk to my friends about it.   Why not?   ‘Cause I ain’t got no friends, moron.  That’s what I’m paying you for.  To be a friend who listens and cares.  

    It ain’t.  That’s not your job?   Are you paying me to listen to you or vice versa?   What do you think I’m paying you for?   Positivity training?   No, I don’t want that.