Friday, December 18, 2009

I'm Insane Here's Why

Seeing a psychiatrist is not how it is portrayed in the movies. Thank god.

There's something incredibly awkward about lying down as you spill out your emotions to a stranger. I'm not talking about the emotions-spill that's awkward; I'm talking about the lying down part. I don't like lying down in front of people. Come on. It's weird and you know it. I can't really explain here. So I'm not going to.

...okay, I'll try.

When you lie down, it's like anyone could pounce on you at any second. Which makes you feel very afraid. And your face dips down into your neck giving you double chins. Which makes you feel very self-conscious. And large. Which makes you wonder if any skinny people are named "Marge," because that's just not a name for a small person. And you don't know what to do with your legs. If you cross them woman-style, your leg will fall asleep; if you cross them man-style, your foot will fall asleep; and if you don't cross them at all, you'll just look odd. And this whole time you're contemplating what the hell you should do with your legs, you're wondering if your shrink can tell that you're indecisive about how to position your own body when simply lying down, and then they will most likely analyze you on your final decision, which you know because as you're just lying there, not even saying anything, just thinking about your legs, they'll start vigorously writing something down. Which makes you feel paranoid.

"Patient has crossed legs in a feminine manner...could possibly be showing their insecurity of the double chins that appeared once they lied down, and so they believe they must balance out the chins by the seductive pose of crossing their legs...or could possibly have to urinate quite badly but are too timid and shy to ask since they were abused as a child and so they are trying to hold in the urine as best they can..."

"Patient has crossed legs in a manly manner...could possibly be trying to overcompensate for the father figure they never had, and so they must look manly at all times...or could be a potential sex addict and must always have a nice view of their crotch area...most likely mentally preparing it for the sex to come by getting to discreetly catch their own glimpse of it whenever they wish..."

"Patient has not crossed legs...instead they are side by side, straight forward on the couch

...looks very odd...I do not know what to think of this...except how odd it looks..."

But it's not like that. Thank god.

Today I saw a psychiatrist and I got to sit up like a normal person. Which is pretty ironic that I felt very normal as I sat in a shrink's office. I sporadically make appointments with her to talk about my insomnia, since according to my doctor, insomnia is a reason to see a shrink. I really don't mind it at all; she's a very nice woman who sincerely listens to me and I enjoy getting to talk about whatever I want. With other people, you have to "take turns" on talking. It's polite. You vent your thoughts; they vent theirs. But NOT with a psychiatrist! All the attention is on ME! I get to feel self-centered without even feeling GUILTY about it! CHEERS TO SELFISHNESS! (This must be why many celebrities see shrinks.)

However, when I DO go, I must be very aware that one slip of the tongue could deem me "insane." This is the problem with the shrink-patient relationship. We, the patients, are aware that we're out of our minds, but do not want someone else to tell us so, and therefore we keep certain thoughts to ourselves. Lucky for you, I'm tired of holding these in and have compiled a list of said thoughts that just cannot be held in any longer. I have titled this list:

I'm Insane Here's Why

Reason #1---I've been thinking about rubber duckies a lot lately. Not really thinking about them, more of a random mental image of a rubber ducky will flash into my mind. Like today, for instance. I was driving in my car. Jamming out to some Weezer. And a rubber ducky popped into my head. (Yellow, of course.) And I thought to myself that rubber duckies don't really have anything to do with someone's name being Jonas, and therefore I must be going crazy.

Reason #2---Unlike every other young woman in the world, I do not dream of having babies. I dream of killing babies. They scare me. They have giant heads and those heads are bald.

Reason#3---I have a crush...

...on Jack Nicholson.

He's not so young anymore, I know...

...and sometimes he forgets to shave certain spots...

...and sometimes people make fun of him...

...but no matter what, I still love him for who he is.


Reason #4---Three bald men sitting in a row is a sign of good luck. I figured this out years ago but have never told anyone.

Reason #5---I constantly lose my keys. This is normal, I know, and not insane. The thing is, I always put them in my pockets. So I shouldn't lose them at all. And when I lose them, I always check my pockets. So I shouldn't be looking for them at all. But they're never in my pockets until the 14th time I check those pockets. We're talking about the same pockets I've been checking this whole time, not different pockets. The same pockets. So basically, it takes 13 times of checking in my pockets to find my keys suddenly in my pockets on the 14th try. And I don't know who's putting them there but I wish you'd stop because reaching in and out of your pockets 14 times is quite annoying, not to mention bad for the skin.

I didn't tell my psychiatrist any of these things, of course, so she wouldn't diagnose me as a nutjob. I just told her about school...and not sleeping...and my plan for improving my work ethic...and the whole time I thought it was going very well. Until my father came in to hear her opinion on my well-being.

"Ha! Well, Natasha's dad, I'm not sure what to tell you; your daughter is VERY complicated."

I should've told her about the rubber duckies.

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