I have no idea how many years of education are necessary in order to become a psychiatrist. I would imagine it must take more than ten years. I have probably spent close to ten years in establishments of higher education myself although I have never been able to stay concentrated on one thing long enough to actually become anything. One thing I do know though is that if my job was intended to help other people, I would refrain from making smart-ass, misogynist comments like the one my shrink made to me when I was in treatment.
*This is where my long story (starting back here at Special Treatment and continuing into two other episodes) is supposed to get a bit racier…but if I am honest, I have to admit that really it was not all that torrid after all.
“Alors, on ne boit plus, on baise?” in English means more or less, “So you’ve stopped drinking and moved on to fucking?” My doctor spieled this lofty phrase, rich from more than a decade of university studies, out of his goatee-laden shrink’s mouth with the look of something like compassion, but not really. Something more like, “Had I have known, I would’ve been the first to bend you over my desk.” And then again maybe that is an exaggeration. There was moral judgement in his eyes which to me seemed out of place coming from a scientific spirit. He was a doctor, not a priest. At any rate, I felt acutely aware of his primary role, before being a doctor he was already a Penis-Bearing Member of Society. Not I, said the fly.
During my six-week stay in treatment, I was having a pretty rough time. When you are used to drinking down what ails you, your abstinence tends to let things rise to the surface. Like bile really. Sometimes when I write here I assume that only people who have been following my story are really reading anything I write. I don’t know if I need to explain my sexless marriage and how that affected me or not. Sexual frustration is not the only reason I drank nor the only reason I drink now. I like how alcohol takes the edge off of things. I enjoy warm and fuzzy. My emotions are not that warm or fuzzy naturally so I try like an Olympian to make it there whenever possible. I just read a phrase by Margaret Atwood that said something like, “Avoid the drowning for they will drown you trying to save themselves.” That pretty much sums up my treatment experience. Everyone in treatment is drowning and finding something to latch onto is a survival technique. A few men in treatment latched on to my round ass (a very solid anchor) and I latched on to their sexy looks and their desire to fill up all the emptiness in me.
It was not all that filling.