a bad job of sweeping

a whole year following the divorce of my parents, my mom decided we [her, my brother, and i] needed to see a psychiatrist. so we did. for about three sessions. it's forever cemented in my mind the absolute hatred of psychiatrists. not the people themselves, but what they do. i hated that lady because she made my mom cry and my little brother cry and she made me cry and i was only eleven and i hated how we all cried...we never got anything out of it...

now i know it's in the nature, and job description, of a psychiatrist to ask questions about feelings and such, but i don't like giving away my feelings to just anyone. believe, you'd know if i trusted you if i just suddenly blurted out what i was feeling.

anyway, this psychiatrist lady kept telling me that it was bad to hide feelings. it was like sweeping a room, but instead of sweeping all the dirt into a dustpan and dumping that in the trash, sweeping it under a rug instead. and each time you'd sweep the room, you'd sweep all that dirt under the rug until eventually, people would notice the huge lump in the rug. or worse, someone would step on it. she said it's not emotionally healthy to push your feelings deep down inside all the time. when you do let them all go, when somebody steps on the rug, it's going to spell bad news for you and your psyche.

well three sessions and my mom pretty much hitting the lady's house with her car did nothing good for my psyche, cause i still do that. i try so hard to be myself.

most people, i hope, don't view me as an angry, hateful person. and i'm not. but sometimes i want to push all this anger and frustration down inside of me where no one will find it. and most of that anger and frustration is directed towards myself, which i'm sure is just emotionally spiffy.

so in short, you'd have to really, i mean really get me pissed off to see the explosion of an atom bomb and live to tell the tale.

-d