Ask the Therapist
End of My Rope
Persona:
Male
44 yrs.
physically healthy and fit
german living in Germany
cosmopolitan background
in therapy from 1994 to 1999
diagnosis: "you are psychotic, but on the neurotic side, so you can function"
all erstwhile talents have been supplanted by sexual obsessions
my present situation can be summed up as follows:
No job (thank God!)
No partner (never had one and good riddance as well)
No money
No social contacts (who needs 'em, anyway)
Chevrolet Camaro z28
Sentenced to 90 days community service in 2001 for flashing in front of children, dressed as a latex whore
2 running investigations by district attorney for similar acts
Now good relations with family. But I only love my 94-year old granny
my father died last August, aged 90 (he was an old bastard by and large, anyway)
my erstwhile analyst left me in the lurch back in '99, when she (bitch!) went back to the 'old country' (USA)
Why am I writing to you, of all people?
Because I'm at the end of my rope, and I couldn't find ANYBODY, even in the Internet.
Not that I'm feeling decidedly worse than in the last years, but now, at age 44, I start getting the feeling that time is running out. Time for what? When people talk about 'plans' and 'goals' it just makes me sick. They're all a bunch of boring cases anyway. 'Getting ahead' HAH! Towards what? At the end, only death awaits us all.
I've been feeling really shitty for approx. 30 years. Before that I can't remember all the bad times. When I feel good, I wouldn't want to live any other way. The concept of normal life bores me to distraction. I observe the normal folks going about their
doily lives. They are as worms unto me.
I am extremely attracted to women. I really hate them. They're all so boring and well-behaved and prissy. They have no interest in sex at all, let alone the kinky variety.
What do I want to achieve with this E-mail?
I want you to write me a long, empathic letter, telling me my life isn't over. Telling me there's hope. But I'm so pissed off with everyone and everything. I won't trust any analysts any more. I trust you because you have a lot of fancy degrees and I don't know you at all. Why should you want to bullshit me.
In your reply, you will tell me: "Dear Sir, I don't know what it is you want. You seem to be enjoying your trip very nicely without me..."
I always squeaked by in everything I did. Of late I get the feeling, though, that things don't seem to be clicking into place like they used to. Time flies. I work hard on not growing up. I engage in sports to counteract aging and to keep a good figure, so that all the women will be really frustrated, but they either laugh at me or don't even notice me.
The world will still be turning when I'm gone. The Others are going about their daily lives and doing quite well without me. Even better so. I prefer to stay at home pining to go out, rather than immerse my self in their
society, which I couldn't do anyway. They have nothing to offer me. I get my kicks atr night, cruising around Mainz in my Camaro. But even my perverse sexual encounters give me less and less.
My problem in a nutshell: my fodder is running out, and there are no alternatives but their lives, and I hate that. The old life is outmoded and any other is unappealing. To become like my married, successful businessman jerk of a brother? Yeccchhhh. I never saw anyone of whom I could say: 'Yeah! That's it! That's how I'd like to live.,." They say life is a precious gift. Yecchhh.
I get the feeling I've seen it all, been everywhere, experienced everything halfway interesting, and now it's just blaahhh, blaaahhh, blaaahhh. The only thing I craved my whole life long, was to have a sexy girlfriend. Having now clearly seen how boring women are, what is there left? You know what I did, thanks to my superior intellect? I turned my self into the woman of my dreams! Isn't that novel? You should see me when I pose in front of my 2 x 1 meter mirror, or when I go out dressed to the nines. Of course I'm innocent of exhibiting in front of kids! But these blockhead Germans in this catholic province can't differentiate between a seedy old geezer who lets his willy out in front of schoolchildren and a sexy, rubber-clad whore showing her favors.
But all this bores me more and more, too.
I've restarted drinking and smoking pot after some 8 years of near complete abstinence. It was really nifty at first, now it really bores me. I still go on my hikes in the woods, but it's just a chore. But I still require my physique for the abovementioned reasons.
Dr. A. was a really shitty analyst. She torn wounds in my soul and left before we could heal them. We quit the
treatment from one day to the next, because I couldn't pay the hours anymore. I still owe her about 2000 $. HAH! She knows better than to try and get her cash. For what? She knows she goofed real bad. She antagonized me 2-3 times a week for 5 years, and then had the audacity to write in her fare-well letter, that "I assure you, this is not a part of it (the therapy)". What can you say. She was one of them. There's no one in here but us. Me, my self, and I. Just the way we like it!
Dear Mr. Formica, say the magic word:
"WANKER!"
There is hope, but you need to find it for yourself. In the meantime, I would suggest that you work on the issues that are confronting you...most specifically your rage.
