At The Psychologist's Feet - part 1

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I've been talking to a psychologist. 

Many of you are sighing with relief, "Thank God!  We were worried about you.  Please continue.  You have issues.  I mean you're a cute guy and all, and funny and nice, and emotionally available, pero dios mío, tienes suficiente equipaje para llenar al menos un camión en movimiento de 26 pies."

And from the Tonight Show in Heaven, Joan Rivers rolls her eyes at all of you, "OH GROW UP.  HALF OF YOU ARE WATCHING THE HALLMARK CHANNEL 7 NIGHTS A WEEK AND THE REST OF YOU IT'S SEX IN THE CITY WHILE YOU WHITE KNUCKLE YOUR VIBRATORS UNTIL THE NEXT OPENING NIGHT OF 50 SHADES OF GREY. "

Nothing but "baggage porn" of all genres.  But here is an honest man taking stock of his in some other than the limp wristed Hallmark way, and "Oh...that's too much for me to handle. You need therapy.  Lots.  Oh, but you are cute.   Call me when you've healed and have learned to love yourself."

Am I wrong?  As Joan would say?

For any of you with particular concern, please know that I subscribe to "The Pact", meaning that I will never put a weapon to my own head and pull the trigger.   So if you read in the Herald (...Who reads that crap...I've been in Miami since November and even I know not to read their crap...but I digress..)    or come across news of El Viejo Gringo with his brains splattered on the inside of his Escalade's windshield, I just want you to know that IT WAS NOT SUICIDE, it was the Cuban Mafia that got him after El Viejo Gringo torched their Miami and Coral Gables brothels / money laundering operations.

Stop.   I know I just confused most of you.  "Brothel in Coral Gables ?  I thought we were talking about you seeing a psychologist?"

Bear with me.  It ties in.  It does.  And more than the Psychologist being Cuban.  

Pause.......I see you.  Your eyes just got wider, Your pulse quickened and you moved forward in your seat.  This is probably why the psychologist asked me, with a nervous laugh "You are not a sociopath are you?!"

No.  I'm just highly empathetic towards people in general, but to women even more so and as a 100% heterosexual male, with high testosterone I can absolutely fixate on a woman's eyes and mouth and just watch and listen.   I don't hurt women.  But I do over-whelm them.  Overwhelm them with the completely different and alien, but arguably wonderful something they've never really had but claimed they always wanted, a "confessional relationship".....which would require an honest man.   

And in the 15 + hours of telephone calls, texting and review of my online postings, they are aware that I've been in Alcoholics Anonymous for 30 years applying How It Works,

"...There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest. Our stories disclose in a general way what we used to be like, what happened, and what we are like now..."

The capacity to be honest with oneself and forming relationships built upon honesty with others is critical to happiness.  If I'm going to spend time on the psychologist's couch, I want found everything  I don't see, or am not honest about.  I want the dysfunction in my Cummins broken down and re-built, with new rings, values, seals, and a high performance turbo able to haul 26 feet and 26,000 lbs of matrimonial baggage, 1340 miles from Ann Arbor, MI where it can be unloaded, unpacked and sorted out in MIAMI with the finest "financially independent", "dealt with my neurosis's in post divorce therapy" and "not just loving myself, but uplifting myself, with......nicely updated saline implants", as profiled on Match dot Com and with whom I can fall deeply, madly and passionately into a bi-cultural, provocative affair between Un Viejo Gringo enamorada del aroma y el sabor de las latinas de sabor tropical y ellas también con ese primer sabor de gringo del norte, como el jarabe de arce con sabor a chile que fluye por sus labios, endulza su boca y calienta su beso mientras se desliza por su garganta humedecida.

Keep the Gucci.  Keep the mink.  Say yes to the dress - Carolina Herrera!  Just rolls off the tongue... 

Mother in laws estate "antiques"?  Dialing Goodwill.  

Guest bedroom mattress with the stain that preceded the ex's nieces day trip to the women's clinic to clear up the little mess up over the last Christmas visit where she was visited by her college BFFL and the BFFL's ex's 17 year old charge with tattoos, dread locks and gold tooth.  I call the 17 year old "her charge" as he is from an "undocumented" relationship, a WHATIZIT left with the BFFL when the BFFL's lesbian lover violated parole and had to leave her fatherless son with someone with a roof over their head.  Apologies.  I need to stop here and acknowledge that  Whatizit is one of God's children and that I am glad he was not deposited in a Waste Management dumpster behind a Planned Parenthood, as was his unborn child.

Stepson's collection of bongs and psychedelic crystals?   Off to a storage facility. Write the check for three months and FedEx the key to his latest drug rehab facility with a note that "NOTHING IS WITH STEP DAD IN FLORIDA.  ALL IN STORAGE BACK IN MICHIGAN WHERE YOU CAN ACCESS IT 24-7. CALL ME WITH ANY QUESTIONS!"    I'll send that note and a copy of the unit key for three months to the rehab facility.  And a copy of the same note and key to the he Psychiatrists Office.  The name on the note and the name on the note will be that of the limp wristed shrink that whimpered to the kid's mom, "oh, but your son is in so much suffering and we are just so concerned so let's go ahead and put him on the Risperdal....and I'm ssssssshhhhhuuureee he'll be feeling better soon."   

And upon release from treatment, let the Risperdal junkie call or show up at their office asking why "....uh when the storage facility set my stuff out for auction....aren't you supposed to let them know I'm on medication and that someone is supposed to take care of my stuff, cause I like need it or I'm goin' to be more anxious than I already am?   Uh....so they sent you the notice and you had a key and you didn't like go get my stuff and keep if for me when I get out?  Uh.....you just let them throw away my stuff?    Uh....But you are my doctor?   Uh.....why would you do that to me.  My stuff.  Uh....my stuff.....   Uh....why ?"

Let the Doctors that proscribed them, 

Be the ones that guide them.

IN ALL OF THEIR FUCKING CO-DEPENDENT TRIAD OF "ISN'T EVERYONE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF ME - PATIENTS",  PHARMA PROSCRIBING PUTAS,  AND TRAFICANTES DE NARCO OF SELECTIVE SERETONIN REUTAKE INHIBITORS !!!"

Please watch this and then re-read the above after watching.   

To be continued




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