Now it’s my second stab at therapy. I’m meeting with Dr. John cause in San Francisco they all seem to use their first name after the word doctor. This time I am paying for the visits because now that I work at the bar I can afford it. I also have a day job right now working for an online startup as a publicist. Between that job, the bar and my drinking schedule I’m working 80 hours a week. In terms of money I am making it rain. In terms of life I am more lost than ever. I have always tried to plan out my life and my path to success but my concept of that changes every 6-months. Overwhelmed is the correct description. I don’t have time really to date or socialize outside of the occasional cocktail after, at work and the random fling. I say fling because I am too busy to focus on any one man. I have had trust issues with the world since I was born. As a kid at camp, everyone would line up for snacks and I would just sit putting cookie dough flavored chap-stick on my hand and licking it off. I assumed that if I lined up, by the time it was my turn to get a snack the camp would be out. Maybe the distrust was from all the stories my family told me about the old country and relatives disappearing because friends turned them in for stupid things or abandonment crap from my dad moving out when I was 6. Who knows? The point is that I am overwhelmed with life. I feel like I have no voice in the world, no control of my life and can’t trust anyone completely as a result. I figure that if I trust anyone too much, lean on them emotionally, then I will get hurt and more so disappointed. On the upside I somehow have become everyone’s confidant. The guy people just spill their guts to for some reason because I just listen. My whole life I was everyone’s buddy who they loved to talk to but no romantic feelings for. For this reason, on the outside I look very “together.” I feel that with therapy I can become a real person or at least better at playing one.
.
Dr. John asks me to explain why I’ve decided to see him? Why now? I told him I don’t know. Then he said “Hmm,” for like 30 seconds and I tell him, a few days before this appointment I just lost it. What else can I say? I went full on loony. I was walking home with several paper bags filled with groceries. I have one bag in one hand and 2 in the other. I slept a mere few hours the night before and am tired. I get a text message asking me to go to the bar because someone called in sick. This all happens one block before I get home. I all of a sudden loose control. I feel like screaming. While I try to nothing comes out. I then drop both of my bags. Eggs are all over the sidewalk; I have tears racing down my face because it’s just too much. I have to go to work in the morning at 8am; don’t really feel like working tonight until 3am. I’m physically so exhausted from everything that I am energetic. I need a break. I start having that flop-sweat where my pit-stains instantly look like I’ve just come from a wet T-shirt contest. In the middle full-on break down, a homeless person walks up and asks me for a dollar. I politely tell him to go fuck himself because I am a gentleman. As I am telling Dr. John this story he just jots notes on his pad and says “hmmm.”
He asks, “Have you thought of cutting the stress in your life?”
“Yeah but then I couldn’t do what I do. I strive on stress and anxiety. It makes me get things done.”
“What is that?”
“I take care.”
“How?”
“I grew up on food stamps and self-loathing. I can’t go back there.”
“Hmmm. Why is that?”
“I grew up knowing how much everything in our apartment cost. My mom told me everything and spoke to me as an adult. As a result I was like a 45-year old in a 5-year old’s body. For the most part it was just my mom and me. Both my parents had awful financial problems which changed the tone of their personal lives as well. My dad once bought me a stuffed dog I called my $12 doggie. I grew up mostly with my mom in San Diego. As a result of a shitty situation, divorce and stuff I learned not to answer the phone when bill collectors rang. I have it different. At 21 I’ve made more money than my mother did in the past 2 years and in cash! I actually have savings and like being able to do nice things when I visit my mom because frankly she deserves it. No one else will do those nice things for her either. Like when we’re in public places I’ll give her a roll of a few hundred-dollar bills when her husband isn’t looking. Then she grumbles at me in Russian to take it back because her husband doesn’t speak it. Then I ask her if she wants to make a scene and embarrass her husband? Her eyes tear up and we move on.”
“So she’s married?”
“I’m 22 now. She got married when I was 20. Very quickly after I moved out to a nice guy she met on JDate.com after at least 10 years of being single.”
“Why do you take on so much? You seem to be addicted to stress.”
“I guess. It’s not like I’m freebasing stress. I just don’t want to be stuck. I want to be a success and have meaning in this life. I want to do something bigger with my life but don’t know how or what. I want to be remembered.”
“Remembered? Are you easily forgotten?”
“For most of my life, I’ve just been that guy a lot of people had seen around but couldn’t remember much about.”
“In an ideal world what do you see yourself doing?”
“Traveling the world on someone else’s dime with an endless supply of reefer and a handsome man in every town.”
“Hmmm… Let me rephrase that. What career choice would you pick?”
“I don’t know. I like writing. I like stand up comedy. I always got great reviews for my writing in school. I used to want to be a famous writer but I could never have that career cause the odds are not in my favor. With comedy, well, I don’t have a shtick and am not funny. What would my act be? Besides, comedy isn’t a real job that people like me get.”
“Have you ever thought of a blog?”
“No, my life is as interesting as watching paint dry. Why would I subject others to my boring life? Besides, I always got horrible marks for my grammar because I’m dyslexic. No one will read that shit.”
“Hamm. You never know. I think it will be a great exercise for you, your anxiety and wanting to make a mark on the world. Every time you feel overwhelmed, just write without a goal other than to clear your head.”
Right after the appointment I called my mom and told her about Dr. John. She is shocked I am seeing a therapist. “Did he ask you about me?”
“No but I promise when he does I will describe you as 50 pounds lighter.”
She then tells me that the blog idea is great. I could be a famous Jewish writer like Shell Silverstein, Dr. Seuss or one of the 10 other people she rattles off. My mom likes to give what I call her weekly Jew Report conversations. This is where she lists famous Jews in given topics. “Did you know Robin Williams isn’t Jewish?”
“Yes. I got to go.”
The following day I am laid off from that day job. It’s nine-months since the day I started that job. I should be upset. I start crying as I am leaving the office with my “Mr. T” Chiai Pet and box of pen I have stolen from my desk. It’s the type of crying that looks painful but feels relieving, like that pee after 4 beers soothing. I get home with this sense of urgency; it’s my night off from the Lab. I look up how blogs work and words just flow out of me. I type of a story about how my dad thinks he’s black, then an entry a night for the next week until I see Dr. John. I write random stories about my daily life like how coffee is my favorite drug. I post comments for pop-culture articles I read and lots of random stuff.
I get to my next appointment with Dr. John to tell him that I had blogged all week and while writing feels great but no one read my blog. I’m a nobody. He tells me to keep up the work for the next month and just let out my energy in a healthy way by writing. I tell him that I should focus on getting another job that leads somewhere. He tells me that my time is up. That’s therapy. Every time you get to a point where you’re making progress, your session is over. It’s like watching a soap opera. Every time you think something is going to happen, little does. As I leave Dr. John’s office I get coffee from the shop on his block. The barista then offers me a free drink. I have never met him before. He then says, “I loved the part when you talk about how your father was the only 5’7’’ Jew that was in the middle of the LA-riots for no reason! It cracked my shit up!” I am sipping my coffee and for the first time in my life, like on a sitcom, I do a spit-take.
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