"Our dependency makes slaves out of us, especially if this dependency is a dependency of our self-esteem. If you need encouragement, praise, pats on the back from everybody, then you make everybody your judge."~Fritz Perls (http://www.positivehealth.com/permit/Articles/Regular/litt34.htm)
I didn't get here early enough this morning to find out what was going on with Loathsome yesterday. I think I know. It involved sitting in Owner's office for 3 hours.
I stopped by Owner's office this morning to say hello and we ended up having a lengthy conversation about his kids, his brother and our young receptionist. Not all together, though. One at a time.
There's general office wide satisfaction that Golden State kicked the Mav's collective butts last night. I kept everyone's enthusiasm up by sending links from the Dallas newspaper sports section. There's nothing meaner than a disappointed Mavs fan. Especially if they're sports writers.
I've been mingling with office mates this morning. I'm already exhausted. They just take so much energy. Maybe it's just me. You know, I like to seem enthused. Sometimes I actually am enthused. Very, very tiring.
An online friend recently expressed some interest in my experiences with psychotherapy. Needless to say, I've kept some therapists in the high income bracket over the years. I was in group therapy for several years, against my will.
When I started therapy, I was young and didn't have much money. The state provided psychotherapy on a sliding fee scale. Turns out, the state wanted the most bang for its buck and virtually everyone, sooner or later, was moved from individual to group therapy. I can not tell you how many new problems that caused.
In my first group, one woman was afraid of me. She was afraid I was going to hit her. Why? Beats me. It might have had something to do with the high level of rage I was working through. Of course, on the other hand, she was afraid of her own (small) children. She was afraid to tell them what to do.
One guy wanted to date me. I was already seriously involved with the man who would eventually come to be known as Hubby. Apparently the therapist thought it would be a good idea if he asked me out while we were in group. I felt blindsided. When I was a young woman, it was not a good idea to make advances unless I had clearly indicated it would be okay. I had not so indicated. Did I mention my high level of rage? It was specifically directed towards men. (Oh just go read the archives if you want to know.) The sad thing is that, after I'd raged at him for about half an hour, in front of everyone, he still wanted to date me.
There was a woman who hated me. We were in therapy together over a long period of time and we had an interesting dynamic. She didn't think she was very attractive and, unfortunately, there were other problems, of course, Mean Girl wasn't well-liked, I guess, by anyone either in group or in the "real" world. I, on the other hand, though filled with free floating hostility, was very popular. In the way that I still am. People find me energetic, interesting, empathic, funny, passionate, intelligent. Especially the nuts. The nuts really think I'm great. Mean Girl is her own story and maybe I should tell it when I have lots more time on my hands. It is, after all, therapy day which means I get to go home early. (Doing a little happy dance in my head.)
Group also included a woman who wanted me to be her girlfriend. That didn't make me hostile because she wasn't a guy. We did not date, but I never yelled at her in group about her feelings.
I met a woman named Ramona with whom I actually had a friendship, of sorts. It was a relationship that stretched over about five years. Ramona needs her own post, too. Suffice it to say that the end of our relationship could have been predicted at the outset.
All of this occurred in the early 70's, during which time therapy was changing in nature from the strictly Freudian standard to a looser, R.D. Laing-Fritz Perls kind of groovy thing. Barriers were being broken. Some barriers should never, ever be broken because there will be unforeseeable, dire consequences if they are. The only relationship you're supposed to have with your therapist is a "therapeutic" one. It should not spill over into your personal lives.
You know how I am, though. Special. Intellectually above it all. Kinda groovy. Very persuasive. I somehow convinced my therapist that we should have a friendship. Therapist was a woman or I never would have even remotely considered it. I won't take all the responsibility, though, because she was the therapist. Here again, Barbara deserves her own post.
Ah the fun I've had, the people I've known. It positively makes my head swim. Crazy Land, in one form or another, as been a staple of my life since I was just a gleam in my parents' eyes. To this day, the last words I want to hear out of anyone's mouth is, "Who wants to work today?"
This has opened up a whole new storyline. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner. Group therapy. More to come. (That doesn't mean I'll abandon Loathsome, though.)