I'm really into this thing where I shrink myself. No, not in the fetishy way. Yes, there is a fetishy way.
No, the kind of shrinking I'm into is the kind in which I go to great lengths to imagine an in-depth conversation with a therapist that I don't actually have.
There are a few good reasons to employ an imaginary therapist:
They are very cost-effective
I'm out of good reasons
A photo of my imaginary therapist between clients
OK, so it's not that great of a coping method, but damn if it ain't affordable. I find myself visiting my imaginary therapist at least once a day, and I don't even have to consult my health insurer about it. A number of things can trigger a visit. Sometimes, I go to them (my imaginary therapist is non-binary, of course) to vent about other real people. These sessions are very "woe is me," and I like to think I.T. (you know, Imaginary Therapist) reassures me that yes, those real people are placing a lot of pressure on me, and no, not everything is my responsibility.
Other times, I swing by I.T.'s office because I've noticed myself engaging in some neuro-atypical behaviors or thought patterns. I've mentioned these to you before, actually, so I suppose you are in league with I.T. to some extent as well. Here's how a typical session like that plays out:
Me: Hi, I.T. I hope that you don't mind that I'm consulting you in the shower, while I shave my legs for the first time in three weeks.
I.T.: Actually, I'm not-
Me: So anyway, here's the thing. The other day, I was supposed to go to this networking event, right? And yeah, nobody really likes networking events, but I'd been to this particular event several times in the past, and they aren't that bad. I even have a little fun at them. Anyway. I'm running late to the event, right? I used to be punctual. Neurotically punctual. Do you think I've lost the energy to be on time? Is that depression? Or am I late these days because I married someone who is allergic to being on time? Was that mean?
I.T.: I don't-
Me: OK, so I'm late, but it's because I was cleaning up dog poop. Dog diarrhea, actually. With some mucus and blood in it, which was pretty alarming. Is my dog dying? Do you think it's my fault? Am I stressing my puppies out? Oh my gawd, what are my kids going to be like? Not that I'll ever afford them. Also, it's probably inhumane to pass on my genes to a new generation. The planet is dying, after all, and I want to pop some children into that world with DNA that will almost guarantee that they'll be mentally ill, near-sighted, and at least some variation of queer? Not that it's wrong to be queer, or mentally ill, or near-sighted, for that matter. I mean, HELLO. But it's hard, you know?
I.T.: ?
Me: Back to the poop, which the dog is now on meds for, so it's fine. Anyway, I was sick too, so I puked on the poop as I cleaned it up. Quelle horreur! Then I had to clean feces out of the dog's fur. Yippee. Maybe I'll make a Facebook post about that. Historically, my friends have enjoyed posts that feature my dogs and their bowel movements. Is it bad that I get a rush when people like my stuff and say that I'm funny? Am I a narcissist? Should I be making more posts about how our government is imploding and everyone who isn't a rich, straight, white, cis-gender, Christian man has a guillotine hanging over their necks?
I.T.: I think you nicked your toe...
Me: Yeah, I have Hobbit-level hairy toes. I think it's the PCOS. But I'm not sure I really have PCOS, except that I haven't been... uh, you know... visited by Mother Nature since Christmas. I have this joke with my wife that my body just keeps re-wallpapering my uterus in this manic, child-hungry desperation and is refusing to throw anything out. Anyway, as I was saying, dog poop, human puke, running late. But I did make it to the event, even though I had to park a block away and walk to it through the rain. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I have prosopagnosia. Face-blindness. I have an impaired ability to recognize and remember faces, even faces within my own family sometimes.
I.T.: You mention it frequently.
Me: It makes networking hard. But, hallelujah, there were name tags at the event. The meeting place was in this tiny boutique, and about three bajillion people were crammed inside, so I was fighting like a salmon during mating season to make it upstream to the name tags. All the while, I keep thinking about how I need to be here because I missed a couple days of work because of the dogs and my own health and our flooded basement because it's been raining for the past eternity. I finally get up there, and this guy, let's call him "Kevin," steps in front of me. I don't know a Kevin, but it's on his name tag. Kevin just eyeballs me. Just stares right into my garbage-fire soul. So I introduce myself, but I'm kind of thrown, and I know I look like I'm a child, not somebody who belongs at this networking event. He still doesn't speak. I start to panic. I can feel the hot, embarrassed tears in my eyes. And I straight up run away. I run away! What adult businesswoman does that?
I.T.: I-
Me: My immediate thought is social anxiety, right? But I know some of these people, and I like a lot of them! I like being around people. I'm a performer, an extrovert. Well, more of an ambivert. Sometimes being around people is draining, but sometimes being alone is, too. People or no people, I'm just drained. Is that mental illness or physical illness? Maybe I'm making all of this up.
I.T.: Maybe you should-
Me: Point is, I don't know that it was social anxiety. Probably more of a guilt complex thing. 95% of my personality is shame-based. Sometimes I wonder if all of my shame is really just a method of garnering sympathy and attention. Ick, that's kind of sad, huh? I really don't like to think about that. That's giving me some cognitive dissonance. Why did you bring that up?
I.T.: But I never-
Me: Oooh, brrrr! There goes the hot water. I'd better wrap this up. Thanks, I.T. See you in about 10 minutes when I'm nervously picking at all the acne on my jawline!
My poor therapist never really gets more than a word or two in edgewise. That's a shortcoming of the system. It's free, sure, but it's really easy to overpower someone who isn't actually there. It's also easy to get them to agree with you, and they rarely have an opinion that truly differs from yours.
Earlier this week, a coworker and I were talking about jury duty. I said that I'd been summoned three times in the past two years, but had only shown up for the first one, which got me out of the subsequent ones. She asked if I was selected, and I told her that I wasn't, and made a joke that it was probably because I straight up wrote this in the section for reasons I shouldn't be chosen: "I considered jumping off of a building a week ago, and may consider it again during the course of the trial."
My coworker didn't find the joke as funny as I did. She asked if I had a therapist. I told her that I didn't, that it seemed like a hassle, and a potentially costly one at that. I laughed it off and assured her that I'm fine now. You know, fine enough to get by.
But maybe it is something I should consider someday. It can't hurt to shop for a therapist. The worst that can happen is that I'll not find anyone covered by my insurance, or that they'll be too expensive even with my health plan.
I've heard several people say that everyone could benefit from a therapist, from an unbiased outsider's voice and ear. I agree with that. Hey, I majored in psychology, didn't I? So it's odd that I'm such a stick in the mud when it comes to considering therapy for myself.
You know what? I think I'll look into it. If not for my own sake, then for I.T.'s. The poor soul is overdue for a vacation.