My Therapist pt 1
Introduction:
Walk in for a session, walk out nothing but awkward
First, details I guess. My name…well…let’s call me Kincaid. I’m your typical nerdy guy. I’m about 5’10” and I’ve always been a big guy. It runs in my family. See, everyone I’m related to is built like a biker. We’re all chunky, but under that bit’o’flab is pure muscle. The guy who grabbed my mother’s arm on Black Friday wasn’t expecting that. I’m getting off track already, I apologize…
Right, details. I have brown hair and grey eyes. My lookers are probably my best feature. I’ve never really liked anything else body-wise, so they’re kinda the only thing I like besides one OTHER thing…
Anyway, on with this story…
A while back I was having some personal issues. I was forgetting long spans of time, getting into arguments, blacking out and then later learning I was just in an angry rage. It took one really serious event to kick me in the ass and snap me out of that funk. I drank myself into a stupor, beat the crap out of two people at a bar, and finally tried to kill myself. After all that bullshit, I decided to look into getting some help.
My family therapist was always a hard ass about every little thing that would comipse flying out of my mouth. A friend of mine, let’s call her patch, kept telling me that a therapist who was that hard on a person was doing their job wrong and that I should stop seeing him.
“You should have a shrink who listens to EVERYTHING first, then sort of molds it so It’s still very similar, but isn’t entirely different.” Patch would say. After we’d speak, she’d tell me how much she missed me, then we’d be silent for a week. See, I had met patch in art school. She was a person who I regret ever letting go if I could help it. She is quite tall, with shorter red-dyed hair. The reason I was so pulled to her is because of her demeanor. Shes one of those girls who will tell you thats she’s “a dude with boobs”. She’s a complete tomboy through and through and as a friend, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Another thing was that patch’s right eye was gone. When she was in the womb, it had never developed. I had always been attracted to “broken people”, but patch never viewed it as broken. I love that about her. When I thought about asking her out on a date, I had learned something that sorta knocked the wind out of my gut.
Patch is a lesbian. She had never really picked up on guys and had decided that it was okay.
It crushed me when I had found this out, but I have no problem with the homosexual crowd. I believe that marrige and relationships only depend on one true factor: love. She loves women more than men. I was okay with that. I still am and I don’t think I can be rocked from that position.
Anyway, patch left art school and we hadn’t talked for a while after until “the serious event” happened. I was happy to find out that patch went back to another school which was a few blocks from mine. She had finished a degree in psychology and was already doing the whole therapy thing. She offered me a reduced rate when I would cone over to her home for sessions (or I’d cook), and we’d be hunky-dory. I was just really happy to be able to see my friend again.
Since I’ve been able to see her for my mental health, I’ve become a lot better. I even went and apologized to people I had wronged when I had lost my cool. I am still doing pretty good to be honest.
Now, I told that story to get to this one.
Two nights ago a friend’s boyfriend started talking about making a blog just to show off my friend’s chest. I completely lost it and was seething with anger. Patch noticed ny Facebook and Twitter blowing up. She texted ne and ordered me to come over right away. Needless to say, I listened.
I drove to her place, threw open the door, and began my rant.
“I have a SUPREME dislike for human beings right now patch! How could any one person be such a fucking selfish pig?!” I shouted, wanting to punch a wall. I sat on her couch…
And patch put an arm around me. She started to cuddle with me. I was confused as all hell, but it just…well, it felt GOOD to be cuddled. I haven’t been treated like that in over a year. We talked about my issue for about an hour after that. Somehow I ended up asleep.
I woke up three hours later to patch still laying there, asking me how I felt. I was honest, I felt 300 times better than earlier. She smiled, then asked me the strangest thing.
“hey…um…I’m just curious…but um…how big is your…thing?”
“my thing?” I asked back, confused.
“yeah, your thing, you dolt!” She yelled back playfully. At this point, she grabbed the crotch of my pants.
