The therapuss can see you nowSome of the semi-regular followers of my gibberish will remember I’ve been battling my natural tendency to be an arsehole, through a variety of means.
As part of thisself-absorbed narcissism brave battle I’ve been seeing a therapist on and off for a couple of months now.
It’s hard going but I think, worthwhile. Part of the strategy is to unpack my fairly disastrous family history and put in place the tools I need to ensure I don’t pass this onto my son.
But the best point is – the clinic is just opposite a pub, which for a depressive alcoholic such as myself is pure gold!
Nothing better than a couple of quiet Coopers after a hard hour of wrestling the ol’ destructive inner demons*.
Therapy rocks!
*Not the football team.
As part of this
It’s hard going but I think, worthwhile. Part of the strategy is to unpack my fairly disastrous family history and put in place the tools I need to ensure I don’t pass this onto my son.
But the best point is – the clinic is just opposite a pub, which for a depressive alcoholic such as myself is pure gold!
Nothing better than a couple of quiet Coopers after a hard hour of wrestling the ol’ destructive inner demons*.
Therapy rocks!
*Not the football team.
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18 comments:
Just don't invite the therapist for a beer.
That might be awkward, yes.
No, no, you've got it all wrong, Perseus.
Ramon, talk to your therapist in the pub. It would open up a whole new era of therapy. Your therapist could call it Piss Talk.
Jung: ...resides in the collective unconscious.
Freud: Collective unconscious my arse. Get me another fucken beer.
Jung: (muttering) Fucken pervert.
Your theory intrigues me, Bob and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.
I've been successfully treating my various psychiatric disorders with a steady diet of alcohol for some time now, and the voices say that i'm just fine and to kill them all.
Don't torture yourself, Witchie.
That's my job.
Ramon, I think it rocks that you go to therapy. My dad had a horrible upbringing (my biological grandfather was a violent prick) and just battled the demons on his own. Most of the time he managed ok, but when he couldn't ... well, there just aren't the words.
I think if he'd have thought it would have been ok to get some help, then there's a whole bunch of shit we wouldn't have been subjected to. But he's my dad and I love him anyway, even if he should have gotten some help and didn't.
Even if you don't kill the demons, your son will love you anyway, but I guess if you know how to kill demons then you can tell him how to kill demons and then if he needs to kill demons one day, he can. Because of you. Which is all kinds of good.
[I was just sitting here wondering if the flu drugs the doctor gave me were kicking in, then I re-read my comment. Oh yes, my friends. Prescription drugs are good.]
Thank you, EMS.
The O'Insertnamehere clan were a sprawling, drunken mess and I'd rather The Boy avoid that side of the family history.
And yes, prescription drugs are indeed good.
They're Irish? 'Cause, then, snap! My dad's side are Irish as well. What is it about them, eh?
My mum's side are Scottish, they're just stocky, stubborn bastards. The Irish side are skinny, drunken deviants. No wonder I am the way I am.
They're Irish?
Oooooooooooo, yeah.
I’ve been battling my natural tendency to be an arsehole
I think you're a very sweet arsehole, Ramon
I thought the pub WAS where men went for counselling.
Very sweet of you to say so, Squib.
Patchie, that's what I keep telling Mrs INH.
Whereas women go to the hairdresser.
Do you mean any-old person or any old person, Witchie?
Ramon is cat-blogging a symptom?
Yes indeed Catlick.
A sad decline into madness, depression and cat-blogging.
Awesome stuff Ramon - I too have begun the therapy trek :) and provided you have a therapist* you get along with (yes, I have also had the other kind) you can conquer all!
However I still also catch up with Witchie and a bottle or three of chardonnay as often as possible to assist my (and her) progress.
*Ooh ooh! So afterwards, at the pub, do you get thera-pissed?
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