tissues for issues
I get these totally useless brainwaves. For instance, if anybody out there is planning a Tears for Fears tribute band then I have the perfect name for you. But then, sadly, how often do you hear about Tears for Fears tribute bands?
As we’ve already covered, I’m officially mental, which might go some way to explain why I’m already rehearsing for my first – as yet unbooked – session with a counsellor. The thing is, where does one start? I’m too logical, I think. In fact I think far too much, which actually might be the root of the problem. The obvious questions keep popping into my mind. And, honestly, I started writing us a Q&A, but got too distressed to continue – I mean, it makes no sense! The questions and the answers don’t add up to a reasonable, believable explanation for my actions.
I know the questions, I know the answers and round and round I go. Sometimes the human being is not logical, rational or explicable. Honestly, there’s no real reason for my bonkersness. Sure, I can list things – abuse, illness, surgery, fostering, fears of more abuse, adoption, surgery the second, insanity in the family…then the everyday normal angst that we all have: family, school, career, body image, relationships – but they don’t really add up to much.
Is it wrong that TA and I are starting to get competitive? Is it possible to play poker with our unhappy family cards? I see your religious fundamentalism and raise you a new-age fruit bat.
And the thing that’s really playing on my mind is that we might well end up with the same therapist: the therapist that has already told TA that we’re not good for each other. Seriously, I only half mentioned not wanting to see her and the GP, with evil emperor Pope from Star Wars staring at me, agreed for a moment before the force took control of her.
Wait. Perhaps this is the therapist you are looking for?
But you both see me. She’s the senior therapist here.
The conversation lasted several minutes and I didn’t say what I was really thinking because I like the GP and want, to the best of my ability, to appear normal. So, I left the room having agreed that perhaps Elizabeth (obviously not her real name) could well be the therapist I’ve been waiting for. Great.
She’ll call or write, apparently. Can’t wait.