Excerpts From Imaginary Conversations With a Therapist

Fiction.

“Have you muted your ex yet?”

“I turned off the Domino’s notifications on my phone.”

“Those are not even remotely similar things.”

“Liberation sometimes begins with small steps.”

“What?”

“I heard that somewhere once.”

“It’s not a bad one. I might start using it. But seriously. Mute your ex. It’s been seven months and you’re still checking her profile every day. That’s not healthy behavior.”

“Jeez. Didn’t know you were counting.”

“It’s time to let go.”

“I’m getting there.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can do whatever you want. You’re paying for the hour.”

“Is it weird at all now that you’ve read my book?”

“Do you mean weirder?”

“Shots fired.”

“I kid. But yes. Though it did give me a glimpse into your life that I haven’t yet gotten in our sessions, if that makes sense.”

“Well, my private life has always been kind of a public joke.”

“And I think it’s time we delve into that and the effects and repercussions it might have, in both the short- and long-term.”

“Not a bad idea. Probably time to try my hand at some fiction, I guess.”

“Also, that story with all the vomit? That really was something.”

“That’s kind of you to say. Might be my magnum opus.”

“The more people in your life, the higher the potential for excruciating loss.”

“That’s one way to look at it. A pretty dark way.”

“Just because it’s dark doesn’t make it untrue.”

“You’re right. But this is the kind of thought that might benefit from some attempts at reframing.”

“I don’t disagree with that.”

“Why do you think you’re so afraid of loss? Afraid enough that you distance yourself from people so as to avoid experiencing it, even if it might never come?”

“That’s a pretty nuanced question, I think. As far as it never coming? That hasn’t been my general experience thus far — though the loss doe admittedly often come as a result of self-sabotage. And I worry so much it will only get worse as time goes on.”

“I won’t sugarcoat it and say that’s not how life often works. But I still believe you should live it with fewer limits — less holding yourself back. You may find it ends up being much more fulfilling.”

“I don’t even know where to start on that front.”

“We’ll get there.”

“Fingers crossed.”

“I canceled a date scheduled for last Friday night. On the day of.”

“And why did you do that? Did you have what you believe was a justifiable reason?”

“I had cut my sack when I was trimming the downstairs hedges and so put myself on the injured reserve for the weekend.”

“Did you tell the woman this?”

“Of course not. I lied through my teeth. Said I had a family emergency and had to travel home for a few days. Asked if she’d like to reschedule.”

“I don’t think I have to tell you that, um, really pushes some ethical and moral boundaries.”

“That’s not lost on me. I don’t feel great about it.”

“Was this…physical injury…the real reason you canceled the date?”

“Well, it did happen. And it was harrowing. But no, that’s not the whole reason or really even the main reason. I mean, you know me well enough to know I don’t have the confidence or optimism at the moment to truly believe that my nether regions are going to make any sort of appearance in the course of a first date. And yet, I still manscape beforehand anyway. Just in case.”

“So, what was it then, the actual reason for canceling?”

“I felt good about it going into the day. We were having great conversations. I was enjoying them. But then I had this crazy bout of anticipatory anxiety and got the notion that it might be better if I were to stay at home and try to reschedule for a time when I felt better and more ready to be myself. I started to panic at the prospect of the date, which is I guess something I should have been looking forward to, and I made up a fucked-up excuse to postpone.”

“Couple things here. Starting out any relationship, whether it becomes anything more than a first date or not, based on a lie, is not something I can or ever would advise you to do. Can you guess what else I might tell you?”

“If I’m feeling this anxious about dating, to the point that it’s detrimental to my well-being, then maybe I am not yet ready to date.”

“Nailed it.”

“But I also have worries about not dating and not putting myself out there and seeing what happens.”

“I think you just need to give it time. Work on some things for yourself to make you better ready to be with a potential partner if and when that time comes.”

“I don’t like the ‘if’ there.”

“Nobody does. But just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Well played. But there’s another element to all of this.”

“Being?”

“If I don’t get laid sometime soon I might lose it.”

“That’s all in your head.”

“Most things are. I think we’ve established that much in our time together. But have you ever gone from regularly having sex to having none of it?”

“I am familiar with such trials and tribulations.”

“It’s unpleasant.”

“Most things are. But hey, if you give it time, at least your sack will heal.”

“True. That’s a pretty apt silver lining.”

“Are you still in contact with this woman?”

“I am not. She pointed out that Bumble tracks location live, which I should have known by now, and discerned that I had not, in fact, traveled to my homeland.”

“How does it make you feel, that she figured that out and caught you in a lie?”

“Not great.”

“Would you have felt bad about the lie if you hadn’t been found out?”

“I hate to say it, but, you know, probably not. Or at least not as bad as I should have or do now.”

“We should probably delve more into that, but that’s our time for this week.”

“Oh, excellent. Love our little cliffhangers.”

“What if the best days of my life were in high school, and I just didn’t realize it at the time — at least not enough to enjoy it to the fullest?”

“If high school was the best time of your life then I’m going to have a very difficult time empathizing with that track of thought. But we’ll give it the ole’ college try.”

“The ‘ole’ college try’? Don’t you have, like, several doctoral degrees? Where did you even do your undergrad?”

“Harvard.”

“Okay, that’s somewhat comforting. Better than, like, University of Phoenix or the School of Hard Knocks or something.”

“That seems to be the general consensus.”

“I stepped in dog shit the other day.”

“That’s unfortunate. How did that make you feel?”

“Like people should pick up their dog’s excrement like proper citizens. I know it’s tough to believe given everything going on in the world, but we do still live in some semblance of a society.”

“That’s an appropriate reaction. But I feel like there’s more to it if you’ve brought it up here and seem so perturbed by it, what, days later? Unless of course you’re talking about it to avoid discussing something else that’s on your mind.”

“Well, it did send me into a sort of spiral. I’m sure this does not shock you.”

“Go on.”

“It got me to thinking about how crazy it is that life is so seemingly random, and that so many things have to coincide, or happen in a certain way, to get to a certain outcome.”

“Are you talking about fate?”

“I guess that’s one term people use for it — but that skews a little too much into the notion that things are pre-determined for my liking. I don’t buy that there is some grand plan for everything, if anything — and most certainly not one that has all these things happen, one after another, for the conclusion to be my stepping in a big-ass turd. Unless thee’s some entity who is plotting out all of these things and likes a good laugh at the expense of humans. Which may be true. I don’t know. You don’t know. Nobody knows. And that is, in and of itself, bothersome.”

“Maybe you’re reading too much into all of this. Maybe sometimes you just step in some poop.”

“Ha. You called the shit poop. Good stuff. But now that you bring it up, that’s part of the problem: I can’t seem to shut my brain off from overthinking absolutely everything.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“The bags under my eyes have bags under them, friend.”

“My birthday is next week.”

“That’s great.”

“I’ll be 37.”

“Are you having any feelings about that?”

“Mostly just looking forward to another fruitless year of shouting pretty much aimlessly into the unifiable void.”

“Is there anything you’re actually looking forward to?”

“Might get some Chinese takeout to celebrate the day.”

“Not hanging out with friends, doing anything to celebrate with others?”

“You may recall that I spent my 30th birthday doing nothing but eating sushi with my mom. I have not since morphed into much of a birthday person. It’s a rather inconsequential day for me. If you think about it, my mom is the one who did all the work on the day I came into the world. All I did was cry, mostly. Guess not much has really changed.”

“That’s not generally how people think about their birthday.”

“I wouldn’t be here helping keep your lights on if I thought how people generally do.”

“Fair point.”