well friends in 22 years of un-interuppted psychotherapy i have never fired a provider, none of them have damaged me, but many have been liars, unchallenging, bored, stubborn, over their heads, grad students, upset, etc etc but i always stick til they move or die or get married or whatever b/c i don't want to hurt their feelins.

now i just fired my first psychologist right here on troublewaits. see i am turning into a monster.

it's hard when you see something and try to tell your friend and he says man i don't see what you see, but is way harder when your therapist says not only do i not see it, neither do you. uh-oh, smash-up.

someday i'll tell you about my best therapist when i know you are worthy to see her name in print, she was a harlot, junkie poet, used to step over Tom Verlaine on her steps when she came back from the un-grocery store. her name was diane. bow your head, thanks.

once i had a chickie daddy's girl therapist, emergency, 15 fast sessions just til we found someone permanent who was against puttin me in psych ward.

on my last day w/her i insulted everything she believed in now and in the future then threw my suicide notes on the desk, walked out into guadalupe street, and she's running after me hollering stop slow down, wavin my zine and goes "do this, robin, do this, don't worry about makin a livin in the straight world, put it out there, everything else will take care of itself..."

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

see? keep throwin the line in, for every hundred used tires up comes an 8 dollar an hour oracle.

this tuesday i'm goin back to dr. d. i had to quit him when the insurance switched. now the money switched back and he's on my list.

ok, 100 percent square and fuckin gets me, the artist shit.

i used to go into his office hungover and he'd go

so you were fuct up on codeine all night at the jesus and mary chain concert and now you're in here whining b/c you don't have any children, you haven't read one book by saul bellow, rolling over is all you do and when is the last time you wrote something worth reading?

i dunno.

he hangs his head, dig?

that is unfortunate, not writing, is very unfortunate.

of course you're never gonna write one thing worth a shit til you're in your mid to late 40s, but meanwhile you could use this time perfecting your craft instead of whatever the hell it is you do.

 

then he hypnotizes me, makes up stories about hope diamond with my name on it, is all mine if i can just pull it out from pile of shit it is buried under me, i guess, i don't know, i was sleepin, thanks.

welcome home dr. d. can i steal my chart now?

 

love, trouble

 

 

 

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