- 6:22 p.m.
This week I had what can only be described as “THERAPY IMPOTENCY”.
(It’s not you, it’s ME!).
This LEZZIE couldn’t get it up. (Emotionally speaking)…. During therapy.
Before now I have NOT mentioned the UNIQUE manner in which I converse with my therapist(ish), but it is an important fact to reveal in order for this to make sense. So now I’m gonna reveal.
My therapist(ish) and I do our “work” on the phone.
That’s right. You heard me. Peas and Carrots.
Not in a Voodoo-Psychic 99/cents a minute kind of way, but in a
Her entire Practice/Roster of Clients get’s therapied/head-shrunk-ed OVER THE PHONE
That’s right. You heard me.
There’s a complicated explanation of this that I won’t go into, but let’s just say that it works. It TOTALLY WORKS for all her NEUROTIC, WACKY, RAMBLING clients (mostly writers) and it works for her.
She listens. I mean, she really listens.
And, no—you don’t know if she’s watching an episode of Ryan’s Hope or doing her nails or eating chicken wings or listening to you… but you’re pretty damn sure she’s listening to you, since she asks you “what did that breath/sigh mean?” every 30 seconds.
She’s helped me thru the loss of my beautiful grandmother (Hi grandma!!!! Miss you!!!); She’s helped unblock me with my writing (hi formerly blocked writing) and most of all she’s helped me start to live again (hi life) Yep. She’s helped a lot. My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/patron-saint of all lesbians thinks its MONEY WELL SPENT and wonders why I don’t do it twice a week. I mean, come on, can you imagine living with me??? I didn’t think so. Money well spent, indeed.
So, now we’ve established that I sit in a calm, peaceful place in our home and do my best to turn all my levels down to “2” (when possible) and focus and breathe and talk on the phone to my therapist(ish) for an hour (ish) every week. Hi weekly therapy ritual! Love you (ish).
This week… it was a tough one.
I’ve mentioned before that it takes a lot of “foreplay” to get me/my head/my inner child/my inner lesbian/my inner-inner-outer in the mooood/place to begin to talk about THE HARD STUFF. This warm-up time is usually equivalent to the opening set by a cheesie MC at a Bad Comedy Show. 10-15 minutes where I torture my therapist(ish) by discussing shocking and gossipy current events in entertainment and the world. Whitney on Crack! Terror Alert at Level Orange! Scott Petersons Guilty Ass! Ben and J-Lo!
Yep, it’s true. That’s me. So, usually—like I said, 10-15 minutes.
This week, 30 minutes into it and I’m still, “Like… and I’m all… and she’s all… and Ben and J-Lo… and American Idol… and ..”
THEN… my therapist(ish) stops me and says: “I don’t feel you really connecting today. Do you want to end your session?”
Hmmm. Wow. Ouch. This had never happened to me before.
I was soooooooooooooooooooo UNFOCUSED due to lots of MAJOR DRAMA going on in the LEZZIE WORLD/ lives of closeclose friends that I care about… (Plus Sue and Bill for god’s sake) that I couldn’t focus on the stuff I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOCUSING ON: (you know, figuring out why I feel the need to fix everything/help everyone/ make it all better; forgiving my mother; being a lesbian in a everyone's not a lesbian world, etc….)
So…. Her words just sat there in the air between her phone and mine….
Then I wept. I wept because I realized that all this NOISE I create is so meant to distract me from my stuff. All that NOISE. All of the other-peoples-stuff that I make more important than mine. Come on kids, this is the problem.
So, I wept....and then I was into it. I talked...we talked... she suggested and pointed out... I balked.... she reiterrated... I compromised... then wept some more... then laughed..then we both laughed... then I thought long and hard... and suddenly I looked at the clock and I was WAAAAY OVER my session time.
She, however, MY therapist (ish) is not a taxi cab-meter-thing.
She had given me back my BULLSHIT TIME and then some.
That’s yet another reason that I know that SHE is the absolutely most awesome THERAPIST (ISH) for me.
I won’t ALWAYS be doing this. This THERAPY(ISH) thing. This I know.
I heard Carrie Fisher comment the other day about being in therapy for 30 YEARS.
That aint’a gonna be-a me-a. Promise.
I’ve got a few more itches to scratch using this THERAPY(ISH); A few more “love and forgive your Mother” lessons; A bit more “Let your girlfriend put her arm around you (gasp) and kiss you in public with Midwestern straight couples watching—and be okay with it”. lessons; And an overall--- you can’t fix everything daily mantra…. And then, THEN I’ll be done.
So, yeah… I AM trying to lower all that extra NOISE… but in the meantime—
I hope Sue and Bill are okay...
xoxoxo for now.