I honestly never thought this day would come but I’m glad I made the decision. Soo therapeutic!
Click click click!
[Disclaimer: I changed some of the details to protect the innocent, namely me. There’s a lot of freaks out there and the third world is such a small town where everyone knows everyone.]
We all know I’m a night owl. I’m a creature of the night. I love it when it’s dark. Silence is music to my ears. Midnight is when I’m at my most productive and I like “working” when everyone is asleep. I don’t usually go to sleep until brunch.
It’s extremely rare for me to do morning appointments because they require a shitload of willpower, caffeine and red bull so imagine all the effort I had to go through just to pop by at my shrink’s clinic yesterday morning.
Imagine all the effort I had to go through EVERY TIME I met up with him over the past year.
My shrink is no different than your stereoypical third world doc. He’s one of those medical professionals who has an office in every top-notch hospital. In fact, he’s got an office in 3 hospitals in Manila.
His schedule is so fucked up that he’s only available at my hospital twice or thrice a week for 2-4 hours. Something like Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
God knows the number of times when it felt like it was easier to get an appointment with the pope.
Also, his receptionist is the biggest bitch on the history of the planet.
I’m always, always, always a coupleof minutes early (for the most part at least) whenever it comes to my appointments. I don’t mind waiting. That’s what old and outdated magazines are for. Think Carmen Kass on the cover of American Vogue August 2000 with a 25-page editorial called "State of the Suit" by Robin Givhan.
I know my shrink’s time is valuable — and so is mine.
I once confronted the receptionist why our appointments always, always start at LEAST 30-40 minutes late. She told me how it’s always "first-come, first-serve" basis.
Yep, even with appointments.
So what’s the point of making them in the first place?
Not only she overbooks appointments, she also accepts "walk-in" lunatics as she see fit. There was this time when some retarded old man on a wheelchair with his tongue literally sticking out got priority over me. And no, he didn’t have an appointment.
I swear to god I fucking hate her guts.
A couple of weeks ago, I popped by the clinic about 10 minutes late. As soon as I walked inside the room, the first thing she told me was that our appointment was cancelled because my shrink was out GOLFING.
I kept my silence and rescheduled a week later.
My shrink’s excuse?
Some of his old classmates in New York visited the third world on the last minute and he had to show them around.
Fuck me with a fruitcake.
Enough dilly dally. That’s nothing compared to what I experienced yesterday morning.
I went to his office as scheduled. Surprisingly, our session started on time. I told him I’m making progress blah blah blah and how I gained 10 pounds in the past two weeks blah blah blah. Everything went fine and dandy until he said something like:
"By the way, I showed your blog and some of your pictures to a couple of colleagues of mine at XXX XXX XXX and what they have to say is XXX, XXX, XXX, XXX blah blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda. I also told them about XXX, XXX, XXX (what we discussed on the last session) and blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda."
What the fuck?
Now I know my blog is open to the public and anyone can access it but it has no relevance whatsoever to the issue we’re tackling. Not only that, he also shared some of my "problems" with other people.
Whatever happened to client confidentiality?
I go to a licensed medical professional to seek professional help, away from the world around me and the cunt goes around telling the world about my issues?
I don’t think it can get any worse than that.
Isn’t that like illegal?
Right then and there, I clearly told him I do not appreciate what he did and then he gave me this litany on how the other people are also doctors and he needed their professional opinion.
I wanted to smack the guy’s face really bad but he’s one telephone call away from security so I told him I’ve had enough.
I remember exactly I said to the bastard in that fugly gray suit.
"Why don’t you fuck off and go golfing with your faggot friends. I’m done. SCREW YOU!"
I swear to mother fucking god it was like a scene out of a telenovela.
As I walked out of his room, I opened my bag, grabbed this wad of cash (my payment for "therapy") and threw it to the receptionist’s face.
It was the BEST DAMN THING I EVER DID THIS YEAR!!!!!!!
Oh the satisfaction. Priceless.
We all have our boiling points…
I know I should’ve done that AGES AGO and god knows how I managed to keep it all inside.
Maybe, just maybe, a temporary bout of insanity is what exactly I need to keep my sanity intact.
Email me and tell me you love me. My email address is firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63.915.785.1492.
I love you all!