Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Shrinking Heads - Part Two

Most people wouldn't want others to know they'd been to a family therpist/ My mother would certainly prefer that we keep it to ourselves. My mother, however, doesn't have to complete one more blog bfore midnight, so our visit to the family shrink is fair game. As I stated earlier, we left twin brother out of this visit. We didn't even tell him where we were going. I don't know if that was because it will give him time to plan his defense when he is forced to tag along on the next visit, or if my mom simply didn't want him telling the entire Western Hemisphere that both of his parents and his sister are bat-shit crazy, and he has the shrink visit to prove it.

As I ended Part One, each of us had spoken individually with the therapist, my parents had spoken together with him, and my parents were entering for our group session. To sat that I was apprehensive would be expressing my state of mind in the mildest possible terms. as my parents entered, I pondered the word therapist. Surely I'm not the first person to have thought of this, but if oe were to leave a space between the e and the r in therapist, it would instead read the rapist. Perhaps there is something significant in that, as a therapist is a rapist of one's mind. I know, it's a ridiculous thought. I was grasping at things about which to think so I wouldn't have to think about what would shortly transpire.

My parents came in and sat on a small sofa, smewhere between the size of a sofa and a loveseat, directly across from me. The thera[ist asked me, "Do you understand why we're all here?"

"I thought for a brief moment, then anwered, "I assume it's because we have roughly one more year that we need to remain under the same roof, and my parents would prefer that we get through the year without one of us killing another one, presumabbly one of them killing me, since I've never been prone to violence of any sort."

My mom looked angry but said nothing. My dad looked as though he was trying not to laugh.

"That's one way of looking at it, " the therapist commented, 'but that wasn't what your mother mentioned when she called me to make the appointment.

"I can keep guessing until I finally get it right, at a rate of I don't know how many dollars an hour, or someone can just tell me," I bluntly said.

"I told you earlier, " the therapist responded, "that your parents felt you were having difficulty dealing with some of the things that had happened to you.'

He waited for a response. "Yes, you did," I responded.

"We also know that there have been areas of difficulty since you were a baby," he said, lifting from his desk printed copies of what I recognized to be the blogs I had authored and to which my parents had responded.


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