Hanging out with the crazies can be a bitch.
Yes, it is my intention to offend as many people currently seeking mental health treatment as possible.
While a good many of us at the ole' cracker factory outlet store have been merely kicked in the teeth by life and are just trying to stop those fucking stars from spinning around our heads, others need to be dragged out back and sterilized with a rusty razor.
After having recently been to a medical doctor in the same system as my therapist and having him say to me "I see you're stressed out...as a matter of fact, I can see EVERYTHING about you. And I mean EVERYTHING," obviously referring to the fact that he was privy to my therapists notes, I am in a horribly pissy mood regarding anyone and everyone related to any medical system this side of the sun. In other words, I wasn't going into the waiting room in a "loved by Jesus" sort of mood.
Perhaps I'm being too harsh but of all the places I DON'T want to hear people discussing the reasons they are at their clinic, a mental health setting is probably top of the list. Followed closely by a proctologist. I hold no love for either end of the human body.
As I sat in the waiting room, two women who hadn't seen each other since high school had a grand reunion. They then began to catch up with each other. Both were there for their children.
Should you really, as a good and proper mother, stand next to your approximately ten year old son in the middle of the waiting room and discuss with your new found friend across the room how your son was accused by a cousin of sexual molestation?
And proceed to make every excuse under the sun for your son?
That the cousin was a liar?
That your son LOVES to follow rules and would NEVER break a rule and gets very ANGRY when people break rules?
All the while, the son is playing his hand held game, appearing to have just cheerfully drowned a sack of kittens.
In the mean time, the friend has two children who are climbing the furniture and screaming, rolling around on the floor, and racing out into the hallway in a game of tag.
I seriously looked at this young boy and without knowing truth from fiction, I could feel my hands around his neck. I just wanted to grab him by the collar and shake the shit out of him.
After slapping mommie that is.
It was all played out in front of me. My past, his future, cause, effect, shitty parents, excuses, blaming, and the overwhelming sense from a very small person that it didn't matter what he did, there would always be someone there to cover for him.
I hated him.