SELF THERAPY Session 3

T:  Good morning, Nan.

N: Is it?  Morning, I mean. I know it’s not good.

T:  Sigh.

N:  Buckle up, I need you.

T: Last session you said Trump was an archetype, and that’s why he had so much power to  make so many folks stressed and depressed?

N:  It would be the Outlaw archetype, and survivors of childhood abuse would be most susceptible to his actions.

T:  And there’s no one to “yell and tell” to?

N:  No, but  I can’t talk about this too long without getting more upset.  It’s the helplessness and his manipulations, and his malignant power.

T: Okay, let’s focus on you.  What do you need to do, for you, now?

N: (Grin)  Funny you should ask.

T: Keep your sense of humor.  That’s good.  And…?

N:  A list of support people posted by the phone, to  call.

T:  But you know they’re in the same boat and you don’t want to lean on them, or complain.

N: That’s why I have you.

T: Down to the nitty gritty–what can you do?

N:  Well…get centered, I guess.

T:  You guess?

N:  I know…it’s hard to take care of myself because I wasn’t taken care of…

T: So you want to remain the needy child even when that’s–

N:  Silly. Stupid. Self-defeating. …It’ll feel lonely, tho.

T: Hogwash.  What else?

N: Inside I’m hearing Steve Zarate’s song about community tv…”You can do it too, you can do what i’m doing, you can put your message on community tv.”  But community tv died in my town…”believe in what you’re saying and your creativity.”

T: Can  you be creative during this plague?

N: I’m sure having trouble. And my judgment is off.  It all seems unreal.

T: Back to taking care of you.

N: I rescued a soft little panda bear from the dumpster.  It wasn’t dirty and it was so soft…

T: Does it love you?

N: Yes! How did you know!

T: Just a guess…So trying to be creative is another way of taking care of you…You don’t want to be a dropout from life.

N:  No, but they’re not reporting suicide rates…

T: Could starting on a task you accomplish a little bit on every day help?

N:…So at the end of the day I could say I accomplished something?…That might help, in a first grade sort of way…But I still don’t think I’ll outlive this catastrophe.

T: Could supporting your children count for something?  They’re as scared as you.

N:  Yes…I can share a little of the warmth I have left in my heart.  Thanks.

T:  Any time.

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
This entry was posted in A mixed bag, Pandemic and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Please share your own experiences here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.