Really?

<Originally posted elsewhere on August 8th, 2008>


On what was already a difficult day yesterday, I had two distinct episodes of "Really?".  A "really?" episode is defined as moment where you cannot believe the other person is exhibiting such jackassery, assfoolishness, assholeishness or some other ass-like behavior that is completely and utterly inappropriate. 

The first episode had to do with a faux therapist.  My therapist is out of town and although I'd wanted to see her before going to Burning Man, I was okay with not seeing her.  However, Aaron's suicide really threw me for a loop and I was having trouble processing it.  I thought it would be helpful to see one of the other therapists in her practice since therapeutically speaking, suicide is a standalone issue. 

My stand-in therapist sucked.  She literally flipped through my file which is really large enough to warrant a binder while I sat there sobbing on her couch.  We did talk a little bit about the suicide but she also asked me what I was seeing my therapist for, how long I'd been married, whether I had any kids, why I didn't have any kids, my life plans, why I didn't pursue a graduate degree in psychology and why I don't have a relationship with my father.  Yes.  All of that is definitely relevant to my processing a friend's decision to off himself.  


At some point, she mentioned that she's a life coach and I think my lips curled up in an unavoidable sneer.  I'm sure there are some wonderful life coaches out there and I'm sure many people have been helped by them but my general opinion of life coaches is that they've watched too many episodes of "Starting Over" and read too many Eckhart Tolle books. 

She also made the following offensive statements:

"He was probably high when he did it."  (He wasn't.  I asked C yesterday and his bloodwork came back clean.  Not even a trace of alcohol.) 

"Oh, he has a brother?  He's screwed.  He needs my card." 

"My best friend died in January and comes to me in my dreams..." which was followed by a story about her best friend and was just really far too much disclosure from a therapist I'd just met and had no intention of ever seeing again. 

The upside of seeing her is that I realized just how many coping skills I'd already had and I could deal with this on my own, thank you very much.  I did come home and scribble off a letter to my very real and qualified therapist letting her know what a wackjob she'd hired.  


My second "really?" episode was courtesy of my mom.  Her birthday was yesterday and she's a bit of a freak about it.  (To be fair, I'm a little weird about my birthday too but I don't have a fit if you don't say something to me ON the day.  On Tuesday, my father-in-law wished me happy birthday and although it's several weeks late, it was quite nice and I enjoyed it.)  In my mother's eyes, the most egregious thing you can do is NOT send a card.  In her weird little world that includes far too much TV and not enough human interaction, not sending a card means you're really hoping they get hit by a truck and eviscerated into multiple and indistinguishable pieces. 

I actually did send her a card.  I mailed it Tuesday.  By the nanny-nanny-boo-boo tone in her voice AND her repeated mention of ALL the other cards she'd gotten, it was clear that she hadn't received mine yet. 

Lest she drink the kool-aid because her daughter doesn't love her, I did tell her that I sent a card and she'd probably get it that day.  She asked me if it was a funny card. 

I responded "I honestly don't remember.  I don't remember a whole lot about Monday.  I was at Walgreens buying a card for you, buying a card for the family of my friend who killed himself and buying a card for my lifelong friend who just discovered she has Turner's Syndrome and can't ever bear children." 

My mother's response?  "Oh.  Well.  That was TMI so I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and try to just enjoy your card anyway when I get it." 

Really?!?!?!  Fucking really?!?!?! 

Perhaps I will buy her a clue for Christmas although it's not likely to help.  When my mother decides that the universe does indeed revolve around her, there's not much you can do about it. 

Really.