I recently found an extremely competent psychoanalyst. Psychoanalysis apparently starts out like most things these days - with the ticky-box exercise. There are numerous backgrounder forms that must be completed and supplied back that for some inexplicable (to me at least) reason appeases the governing college and prevents culpability or liability that would allow the insurance company to reject a claim.
I’m not cynical enough to be saying that anyone other than my councillor is reading the content of these forms. I’m just saying that someone is saying that their completion is integral to help prevent some sort of bad outcome.
So my therapist asked me to fill out the forms and as I’m really trying not to make this a performative experience like I have every other time in the past when I’ve gone through the therapy process, I answered every question honestly. Some really good shit too. Things like under “What prompted you to seek services at this time”?, I gave the ol’ “the fact that the job left but the anxiety didn’t” and under “Please give a brief account of the history of your problem, from the beginning - I threw down “I have for forty years been anxious about work and how others perceived me and how some affectation continues” and then under the oldie but goody - “Is there any other information you think may help the therapist”?, I delivered - “I have spent my life working, toiling and playing in the matrix. I’ve always dreamt about breaking free from it and live my true life. Now that I have the chance to do this I still seem to keep my foot on the brake, afraid to pull the trigger that will free me up to do it”.
Oh and under - “Are you using any recreational drugs or alcohol for coping”?, I responded that “although coping is a big word, I do drink, primarily on the weekends and occasionally will consume a cannabis edible”.
Go ahead and guess which response seemed to illicit the strongest comment. I’m guessing you guessed it. How often are you consuming cannabis? was the closing question from my first session. Her concern and I really found it to be quaint was that it can cause psychosis. Holy fuck, do you not think that tug left the jetty a long time ago? And this was after trying to describe to her how many times as a young explorer acid provided me an immediate line to “god” and the clarity in which it described back to me how we waste almost all of the beautiful blip in the space time continuum we’ve been granted.
Vonnegut wrote: “maturity is a bitter disappointment for which no remedy exists”. Maybe I should have just written that down.
Regardless of this and myriad more subjectivity, I will endeavour to continue to veer away from the performative and offer up some faith that just talking about all this shit will aid solace as the blip dwindles.
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