Peak weirdness happened in my Zoom therapy session last week.
As I was retelling my dream my therapist fell asleep.
When he awoke he shared his dream and asked what I thought.
His dream: He’s leaning over a reflecting pool staring at an image of himself while giant narcissi dance like Radio City Rockettes nearby.
I took a few notes and told him I thought he needed professional help.
He grinned, popped a few pills, checked his watch, and yawned. “Let’s set up a time next week. To discuss your recurring abandonment issues.”
“What?” I mumbled.
“Did my falling asleep while you droned on about your sad little dream trigger your unresolved childhood abandonment issues?”
“I don’t understand,” I lied.
“We know you were psychologically abandoned by your mother at a young age and the rage you feel toward her you’re projecting onto me. Here’s the thing: I’m not your mother and your subconscious would put a lot of people to sleep.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s been a long day and I haven’t been getting much sleep,” he said, “so it makes perfect sense I took a little nap. You seem angry. Are you angry?”
I was too upset to admit I wanted to gut him like a catfish. FFS how could my therapist, who I pay good money to, fall asleep while I’m sharing my darkest secrets, and then wake up and ask me to analyze his boring over-the-top narcissistic dream? Instead I lied and said, “Um no I’m feeling more like a gratitude vibe ...”
He raised one perfectly plucked mahogany-tinted eyebrow. “Go on.”
I cleared my throat. “You trusted me enough to fall asleep on me and then felt comfortable enough to blame me for it! That’s a level of trust I haven’t had for a while, not since I was married. So yeah cool.”
He smiled. “You’re making progress,” he said jotting down a grocery list. “What time next week?”
We set a time but I knew I’d ghost the jerk and never bare my boring psyche with him again.
Why pay a professional to fuck with my head when I get can it for free anytime?
So I’m struggling with quarantine insanity and intermittent depression (who isn’t?), it’s no excuse to throw good money at a not-so-covert-narcissistic therapist.
I’ll be fine, I told myself. Just need to find another therapist. Preferably an older woman with unkempt eyebrows. Then I’ll feel safe.
Hey: Is your therapist a closet narcissist? Promise I won’t fall asleep reading your comments.
Hello Everyone! Didi here.
Hope you’re enjoying summer ... escaping Zoom, getting out in the sunshine to walk, bike, maybe catch some rays.
For some super fun lite summer reading click on the Women Write Funny Blogs I've been writing every week for the past four weeks. A definite Blog-a-thon.
I #amwriting a funny #WIP: A non-fiction humor book called “The Lazy Ass Host Handbook, A Sensible Guide To Entertaining in Style.”
Most of my adult life I’ve suffered from OAHS: Over Achieving Host Syndrome, pretty common with women and a handful of men who live/die by the 3Ps:
Laziness aka “sloth” has a bad rap. Slandered since biblical times, sloth (the original term for a Lazy Ass) has been branded as one of the Seven Deadly Sins. What did a sloth or a pillow of sloths (pillow is the collective noun for sloths in case you didn’t know) ever do to be mocked and vilified by everyone and everything including the Holy Bible?
Upcoming Blog Posts: Excerpts from the Lazy Ass Host Handbook by Didi Balle.