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melindaedison@hotmail.com
Six X's & Wham!
Copyright 2002by M.A.E.
The therapist said, “You are wise for your age. Have you ever heard the term “old soul”?
“Yes, a friend that went to Stanford told me that people have told him he was an old soul. He was old when he was young. He’s 35 now. I guess he caught up.”
“You are the same way. You are aware of certain things in life that other people aren’t aware of, especially not when they are your age, some people never get to that point.”
“Okay…and is that good or bad?”
“It is whatever you think it is. Now let’s discuss your dreams. Tell me about them.”
The room is small, womblike, the walls a safe comforting beige, the carpet matches. The lights are very dim, not dark, just soft. He is dressed in brown tweed. He matches the room. I like him. He is Italian.
He is funny, his blue eyes twinkle sometimes making a series of creases at the corners. The coolest thing about him is his name…it begins with the letter “I” which seems extraordinarily unusual and surprising. I open to him. I didn't at first. On the first two sessions I sat by the door. I wanted to leave. I was afraid or him, no I think it was that I was afraid of me.
I recline on the padded chaise; he remains in his chair by the floor lamp, his leather portfolio in his hands. It has an alligator pattern and is the color of port wine. His wedding ring is the same color as his pen. I bet it is engraved…”Honey, I like your big penis.” Okay…how about “Congrats to my loveman.”
Better?
He is talking to me. I am focusing on his every word, mesmerized. I am allowing him in. Slowly my consciousness is altered. I am floating. I am away from my body. I tell him anything he wants to know. I am willing to own who I am and what I’ve done; here no one can hurt me. Yet there is another factor, my willingness to please him. So I could lie or at least embellish. He tells me things. His observations. He surprises me. He says that many of the choices I have made now would probably be the same even if my parents were alive. I need to think about that.
He brings me back and we discuss a few more things, then he says we need to meet an hour earlier next week.
(You know on teevee how hypnotists put people under and make then bark like a dog and do other stupid “tricks?” Well that is a charade. It’s not like that. You don’t lose yourself.)
Anyway, Dr. I and I (haha!) had been together in six sessions and I was starting to feel weird…trust, then love was growing inside of me, and I could tell it was building in him too. Blame it on that damn room! No one should feel that comforted. So I called Dr. I a few days later and told him I couldn’t be seeing him anymore. It didn’t go so well. He, we talked for nearly an hour (that’s a session!) and it ended with him saying, “Please don’t leave me!” Good God. That only made me worse. It was like the times when I said good-bye to boyfriends.
So no more therapy for me. It just fucks me up MORE, not LESS.
