Waiting Room Therapy I


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“So you go to therapy too huh?”

“Used to. I don’t now, just waiting for my friend.”

“I see. Why did you stop going?”

“I know what my problem is.”

“Do tell.”

“I like change too much.” (pauses) “And I’m too hard on myself.”

“Ah, learned that from the best didn’t you? Who was it, your mom? My dad loved to point out all my mistakes, I could never do anything right, I could never be good enough, no matter how much I tried. He would come to my baseball games and shout from the sidelines what he thought to be encouragement but I was mortified and embarrassed.”

“Ha. I can’t complain about my parents really. They would tell me all the time how proud they were of me and brag to all the family and friends about my accomplishments…I don’t think of those times though when I think back. I think of how one B in 4 years of straight As forever defined me as ALMOST perfect.”

“I wish I was good with change. I’m a creature of habit. I eat the same breakfast everyday, eat lunch and dinner at the same time everyday and I always have a salad with my meals. And a glass of milk before bed. I always wake up at the same time every morning, I like to watch traffic and weather. Be prepared, you know…My mother had Bipolar. She would do crazy things like wake us kids up at the crack of dawn, pack us up in her Impala like sardines and take a road trip to Atlantic City for no reason at all. Or I would come home and she’d be painting my room a bright turquoise. They fought a lot, my parents. You never knew what you were walking into.”

“When I was about 15 my parents were both abroad and my grandmother and brother were in charge. It was summer. I did not leave my house for a month and a half, didn’t talk much to anyone most days. I read a lot. And listened to music. A lot. I ate, slept, sat, stared out the window, you know the normal teenage stuff. For a month and a half in the summer I did not leave the house. And now, the house eats at me. I don’t like to be home. I hate routines too. And silence. I particularly hate silence.”

“That doesn’t really explain why you like change though.”

“Maybe I don’t really like change. Maybe I dislike sitting still.”

“I started drinking heavily after my wife left me. And it dawned on me, it was probably because the house was too quiet. But you see, me drinking wasn’t the problem. My drink was my companion. I could always rely on it. Problem was, I didn’t want to face things changing around me, didn’t want to adapt to losing my job after 15 years, admit to failing my marriage or watch my parents get old and sick. Drinking was the only steady thing. The only thing I could control. Even when everything was falling apart I could drink to perfection. How about that?”

“I hate feeling powerless. It makes me driven to change. Change gives me a goal, something to look forward to. But sometimes it messes with things that aren’t broken, ya know? I have a dilemma as a matter of fact. A puzzle. A problem without a solution. And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. I mean, I can make the change. That’s easy, I know how to do that. Yet I’m paralyzed. What if this one doesn’t need fixing? What if this a puzzle that will reveal itself slowly, on it’s own time? Will my immobility cost me dearly?”

“There’s gotta be something in between, right? Change when you have to, sit the rest of it out. But then how do you know you’re just being lazy, coming up with excuses?”

“It’s knowing how to tell the difference that is particularly challenging.”

“So what will you do?”

(after a long pause) “I think I’ll sit this one out.”

…to be continued

 

 

 

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One Comment on “Waiting Room Therapy I”

  1. Great post…looking forward to more waiting room stories…


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