Well, at least one last time, before I got my life together and became a docile, predictable citizen, I was able to shock the unshockable:
“So, how crazy is my story?” It was my 4th hour with my new psychotherapist, and I had finally come to the end of my story…at least as much of it as stood out in my memory. After a long pause, and with raised eyebrows, he slowly and empathetically replied,
“It’s up there. It’s up there, Jamin. I’ve seen inside hundreds of cults and at least ten thousand affairs, and…this…this is a lot.”
But maybe they all say, “This is a lot,” just to make their clients feel heard. I’ve never been one to believe easily or take a compliment at face value. So I pressed him for more, “Really, though – is this like…ten years from now…” he started nodding, already knowing exactly where I was going, “…you’re at a party where your therapist friend is recalling some crazy situation, and you’re going to think, ‘That’s nothing! I once had this crazy client named Jamin who….’” His nod grew more emphatic. “…Okay. So I’m that client for you?!”
“Let me put it this way, Jamin. I’ll never forget this story. I’m not going to have another client in the next 10 years with a story like yours. And I haven’t had one like this in the last 10 years. Or 20 years. Or 30. I’ve spent my life reading the books on sexual deviance and religious power struggles and unhealthy relationships. I can suggest a couple good books for you to read, but you’re not going to find your situation in any of those books. This is a lot. This is really a lot.”
I smirked. At least if I’m going to be screwed up, I’m going to win the prize for being the most screwed up.
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