Wednesday, 9 November 2005


In the not-so-very-far future, I will decide to go to a shrink. The name of the shrink will be Dr. Margaret. It is a woman obviously as I hate male shrinks – she’s around 35, pretty and motherly. She has quite a posh accent but is very accessible and ‘interested’. She always wears hues of green, and white flowery tops. Her make up is smooth and natural bringing out her beautiful eyes. Margaret ‘understands’. And she will be my new obsession/mother figure/mother-I-never-had type of thing with an obvious perverted sexual attraction towards her for at least a couple of years. This is how it will go. (add soothing female voice for DrM and detached robotic male voice for Mrk)
DrM: So why did you feel like you needed a… psychologist?
Mrk: I’m addicted to you guys, you give that false but wonderful feeling of reassurement and comfort.
DrM: You’ve seeked psychological help in the past?
Mrk: Well despite the fact that my mother was basically like my shrink during my childhood, I was first sent to professional “help” around the age of 15 to ‘cure’ my homosexuality. Obviously my parents needed the help and not me, but I used the time to talk about my general teenage problems and depression. Later on when my mother was going through a suicidal phase, I had to go through psychological support as well as disturbing group family sessions. When I arrived in England I quickly signed up on the university counselling service where I kind of got over the stuff with the suicides and all. And now you.
DrM: So your mother attempted suicide?
Mrk: Yes, a number of times. She took a box of Xanax, she tried to hang her self, slit her wrists, jump off several buildings, and burnt herself completely deforming her body.
DrM: (maintaining her calm) I am so sorry… That must have been a great burden for you.
Mrk: Yes, well, I’m getting over it and so is she.
DrM: How do you feel when you talk about it now?
Mrk: I still find it quite disturbing, but in a detached sort of way, like a very scary tv show that I watched 5 years ago and I still can’t get it completely off my head.
DrM: You don’t feel angry, or sad?
Mrk: No its just that general feeling of numbness, a bit sombre, gloomy…
DrM: So is there something that is bothering you now?
Mrk: Well it’s just that! That gloomy feeling that I have in my life. Kind of like a dark mist weighing down on me. The futility of it all.
DrM: You think that everything is futile?
Mrk: Well yea. I honestly don’t see the point in anything. Why work? Why live? I seem to have lost any objective or motive to go on. Yet I don’t mind living, it’s not that I want to die – if only there was some valid goal I could have my mind occupied with.
DrM: What would be a valid goal?
Mrk: Something that I feel has a purpose. A purpose for what? Can anything have a purpose? I’m confused.
DrM: You mean, you need something to keep you going, a purpose in life.
Mrk: Yes.
DrM: Isn’t there something that you feel strongly about, something you could pursue?
Mrk: Well I like creating. I create just for the sake of creating, for example this imaginary dialogue is a form of creation, but I may also draw, illustrate, write other more interesting stuff etc… But I don’t see creation as a purpose, I only see it as a means to procrastinate, fill all this empty time really.
DrM: Creation can be a very fulfilling experience.
Mrk: I know but only when you achieve recognition, and even then I will feel probably more empty than before.
DrM: You keep repeating the word empty.
Mrk: Yea it seems to run as a theme in this imaginary dialogue/monologue hybrid.
DrM: What about LOVE?
Mrk: (laughs hysterically)
DrM: (makes cutesy wondering look)
Mrk: Well, does it exist? It is more imaginary than this dialogue.
DrM: Time’s up I’m afraid. We will continue this another time.
Mrk: I LOVE YOU… ehm… I mean thank you heh.
DrM: That will be £180 please. (ed. inflation)
Mrk: I have it already in direct debit no worries.
DrM: Well, thank you very much Mrk it was very nice meeting you. (gives hand for handshake)
Mrk: (takes hand and affectionately caresses it) No, the pleasure was all mine Margaret.

Clearly, I miss a good ol’ shrink.

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