Girls and Counseling
I always imagined a psychiatrist’s office to be pristine and fancy. I pictured Picasso paintings and leather couches. To be honest, those things kind of make me nervous for the simple reason that I am just a guy. I’m not one of the types of guys who admires art or likes scented candles. If I am going to talk to somebody about deep personal feelings, I need to be comfortable in the room. And my shrink’s office was 100 percent masculine, with the exception of a flowered sofa. Prestigious degrees hung on the wall and papers were scattered every where. This doctor of mine was just like me, except she was a girl. She wore braces and was very tall. Quite attractive for a 40 something year-old lady, but I’m not here to hit on her. I’m here to get help.
After my first session, I felt so much better. She doesn’t really say much, just listens and take notes. Occasionally, she’ll interrupt and ask “and what does that mean to you?” Of course, she asks about my family relationships. She asks about other possible skeletons in the closet. I tell her everything. She says, “you are suffering from Post traumatic stress syndrome. And frankly, I am very positive about your condition. Because you recognize signs and you can vividly remember your dreams.” I then brushed my fingernails against my shirt and said well, I have read lot’s of Dostoevsky and understand the human mind. No doubt impressed that I read the great Russian author, she smiled. Little did she know that my instincts were kicking in… Without even trying, I was flirting (with my psychiatrist). While I’ve got my flirting skills back and getting girls numbers, I really need to work on me and just concentrate on the nightmares and my writing and my future.
On the second visit, I focused on the right things… not my shrink’s long legs. I told her about my latest nightmare…
I camped outside with Abby. The moon was bright and the bull frogs and crickets loud. I love the Oklahoma country. As a kid, I slept outside all the time. This time I fell asleep in the back yard within a matter of minutes. I woke up hugging a tree in the front yard, crying and yelling.
My little bro said he was looking for me in the back yard when I started yelling “get down, mother fucker. Get down, or I’ll shoot.” I was chasing him with my arms at the ready. I chased him to the house and I was yelling for my friend “Sammy,” telling him to get his weapon and that Haji is everywhere. I then proceeded into the house at 3 a.m., pounding on doors telling everybody that Haji is everywhere and that we need to go. At first, they thought I was playing a joke until they looked into my eyes… they knew I was dreaming. When I woke up with my arms wrapped around a defoliated Craped Myrtle, my parents and little bro were there. I was relieved I was just dreaming… as the experience felt real. In the dream, I manned a guard tower at my parent’s house. We had a strong perimeter set up and somehow black man dresses surrounded the area.
I don’t think the dream had any significance, because my shrink helped me deal with it.
See, just after two sessions, I feel a lot better and don’t feel as weird about what I’m going through. And I am a lot more receptive to girls hitting on me. Like the other night, a buddy and I were watching the OSU game (I hate Texas) and this girl goes “who are you rooting for?” Green light! I got her number. I won’t call her, because she was too “in to me” but I’m back and I owe it to the counseling. If anything, I’m starting to feel a lot more like I should: a single veteran with lots of money. And the girls are noticing. But, I’m very picky, so I don’t always notice them. Life is good: now if I could just wake up before noon.