Shrink-Rapping: When The Doctor Is Out, Way Out

Let me preface this by saying that I’m a strong advocate of what is called “talk therapy”, whether conducted with a psychiatrist or psychologist. Today’s mental health care community likes to throw pills at problems because insurance companies prefer it that way – for obvious reasons - but real mental health recovery occurs over time as the result of a careful blend of professional guidance, pharmacology, and personal will, labor, and fearless commitment.

Talk therapy, when done properly, is the greatest emotional and spiritual adventure anyone could ever embark on. Compared to talk therapy, the much-discussed boating expedition of Columbus was simply a hop, skip and a splash down to the corner newsstand for a pack of smokes. But, it is dangerous and scary, and only works if the traveler is in the hands of a skilled guide.

What this means to you is that the selection of a therapist or psychiatrist is unlike any other consumer decision you will ever make. You should be assertive. Patient/Whackadoomian is a very weird power dynamic and patients are quick to turn over all decision making to the healthcare provider. Mistake. Make your choice deliberately, and don’t be shy about “trading up” if things get weird or simply unproductive.

In the mental health community there is an old bromide that states; psychiatrists are every bit as crazy as their patients. This observation is viewed as odd, surprising, and above all, ironic, since they are in charge of leading the mad back to sanity.

But when you dig a little deeper it all makes sense, in an odd sort of way. To begin with, most therapists, psychologists, and psychiatrists entered the field for selfish reasons; they had a personal demon in need of taming. The process of dealing with it hooked them on the mystery itself, and then, the application of learned skills for the benefit of others.

So, yes, they’re often a bit off center to start with, and a career of working with Whackadoomians all day every day doesn’t exactly make them less unusual over time. However, and this is the main consideration, being twisted as a slinky does not necessarily disqualify them from being able to help you.

Over my long and storied career as a Whackadoomian I saw several psychiatrists and psychologists but there was one I worked with closely for many, many years. He is largely responsible for creating the paragon of sanity you have before you now. Let’s call him Chumley Incubator Frampton; Ph.D. Dr. Frampton was very, very clever. He’d gotten his degree from a university that rhymes with Shmarvard. He wore tweed jackets with patches, bow ties and buttoned-down oxford shirts. We got along famously and I made tremendous headway.

After about five years of regular sessions he surprised me one day with this odd revelation.

“Alistair,” he said, “the time has come for me to tell you about my mother. My mother was a musical prodigy, a concert pianist who traveled all over the world giving recitals. The CIA recruited her as a spy because she could move at will, even behind the iron curtain.

One day my father found her hanging by the neck from a ceiling fan in our kitchen. She was dead. There was a suicide note but the handwriting looked faked. We were both convinced the CIA did it because she knew too much.” His face betrayed no emotion of any kind.

I thought to myself, okay, if he’s putting me on that is seriously messed up. And if he is NOT putting me on that is REALLY messed up. No way it’s a true story, but it looks like he believes it is, which is EXTREMELY messed up.

Then I thought, I’ve invested five years in this guy, he’s been doing a good job…