I saw Dr. X. today, and told her about my discovery that her husband and my daughter both sang on the same children's CD a mutual friend made several years ago. She asked how the discovery made me feel, and I said that I didn't really know. She pressed, and I told her it made me feel strange, but I couldn't really identify the feeling and that I certainly couldn't explain in. And that really was the truth. She kept on and on, asking me to just try to express my feelings. She said, "You say it doesn't matter that much to you, but I think it does."
I answered, "I think it matters to you."
"I think it matters to both of us, but we're talking about you here," was her smooth analyst comeback.
We ended up talking about many things - mostly about where my mind went after I made the discovery. And I think it turned out to be a pretty good session, but I never did explain why finding out that we have friends in common bothers me. I didn't explain it because I can't explain it. I just know that I don't like whatever it is I'm feeling. And I sense that the whole thing bothers her too. Come to think of it, the idea that she's bothered by it might be one of the things that's troubling to me. I worry that I'll do something - who knows what? - to make her stop seeing me. Maybe knowing some of the people she knows - even having some of them as friends - could be one of those things. It's an irrational thought, I know. But it's there just the same.
I don't understand this part at all, but there's also this crazy, almost jealous feeling. But it's not just a jealousy of the relationship Dr. X. and her husband have with my friends; it's some sort of crazy envy of...I don't know...maybe their lives? Only that's not exactly it either. Not that I know a thing in the world about Dr. X's life besides she's doing something cool, something I sort of wish I had done. And she's hanging out with my friends, and with people who were my friends, or could have been my friends - people I'll probably never get to spend much time with again. And, even if she was the craziest person on earth, in our relationship I'm the crazy one. I'm the loser who needs her help. I'm the stupid, fat, ghetto dwelling "breeder" who's sold her soul to avoid having to prove herself. I'm the moron who let herself become dependent on her husband; who threw away what little talent she had; who watched as her family fell deeper and deeper into this shit life, where there's not even enough money to go on a simple camping trip, or let the kids take the lessons they want to take, or buy them shoes when they need them, or pay for school photos, or fix broken windows, or move into a decent school district, or feed the family without government assistance. Yeah, I suck. And Dr. X. knows it. And she can pretend with her neutral analyst act that she doesn't, but she does. I mean, seriously, what half way intelligent person wouldn't look at me and the life I'm living and think, "What the fuck did she think she was doing?" Hell, I think it all the time.
And I must end here because I'm too tired to go on.
