While I actually agree with her statement I was a little taken aback by her abrasiveness. Few people know about my crazy, inappropriate shrink. I’m not proud of the fact that I see a shrink on a monthly basis, but apparently I need her.
I’m even less proud of the fact that she is nuttier than I am. Yet I continue to see her. Sometimes I seriously wonder if I’m on TV, and I don’t know it, a la The Truman Show with Jim Carrey.
She asked me point blank, “Are you happy?”
I responded, “No.”
Crazy, inappropriate shrink: “Why? Is it your marriage?”
Crazy, inappropriate shrink: “What’s wrong?”
Me: “I’m bored.”
We further discussed that all marriages become boring and that I have this huge problem that I apparently think that I should have it all, but not everyone can have it all.
My question is: Why not? Why can’t everyone have it all on a silver fucking platter????
According to Crazy, inappropriate shrink her mother once told her that no one can have everything they want.
Her other words of wisdom were that even though I’m completely bored with my husband chances are he’s bored with me, too, and I can walk away and find someone else and have the same thing happen in another decade – yes we’ve been together for TEN years! – Or I can work at it.
I think my generation is quick to say fuck it and to leave for “something better.” And I’m right there … thinking the grass is greener … but am trying – not only for the sake of my daughter but for ME – to be an adult for once. To not run away. To work at something as important as my marriage. As important as my family.
My mom always says I want instant gratification. And I do believe that – remember I suffer from “King Baby Syndrome” – but I also know that I’m an ambitious and hard working person. I always give 110%. So why do I think marriage should be any different? I think that I should wake up every day completely happy and in love. I should have butterflies in my stomach every time I look at my husband; I should be deliriously happy sipping wine in some god damned forest while the sun is shining, birds are chirping, my husband is feeding me grapes, and my daughter is skipping with Bambi.
But real life isn’t like that. Why? Why isn’t real life like the movies? We’ve all grown up watching these Hollywood happy endings and it fucks with our heads! Real life is fucking hard! Reminds me of Pretty Woman …. when Vivian and Kit are sitting at the hotel …. Here. Best movie quote ever. (Courtesy of http://www.movieforum.com)
Kit: “…It could work, it happens.”
Vivian: “When does it happen, Kit? When does it really happen? Who does it really work out for? Did it work out for Skinny Marie, or Rachel? No!”
Kit: “Those were very specific cases of crackheads!”
Vivian: “I just want to know who it works out for? You give me one example of somebody we know, that it happened for?”
Kit: “You want me to name someone, to name someone? You want me to give you a name, or something?”
Vivian: “Yes, I’d like a name.”
Kit: “Oh God! The pressure, of a name… Cinder-fucking-rella!”
That morning while I was applying my mascara in the bathroom I looked into the living room and my husband was on the couch watching the History channel (SNOOZE!) and holding our fussy daughter.
I thought, this is my life? Seriously. This. Is. My. Life? What happened to the butterflies and the sunshine? What happened to my hot body in a bikini sipping pina coladas on the beach?
I went upstairs to dress and barely buttoned my jeans. Holy muffin top! What the hell!?
I looked in the mirror at my pony tail. My new frumpy bod. The frown on my face. Look at me! I’m dressed like a mom!
As I’m walking out the door my husband says to me, “Why are you so mad?”
Good question. Why was I so mad?
I get stuck by not 1 – but 2! – freight trains in downtown DG. This only adds to my frustration. And the fact that at 10 a.m. Crazy, inappropriate shrink is already ½ hour behind schedule. Ugghhh!
I finally get into Crazy, inappropriate shrink’s office. I could write a book with all the crazy and inappropriate things she has said to me. But this – this takes the cake!
“You know what your problem is? You’re fucking neurotic. That’s your problem. You expect too much of people and too much of yourself. You can’t have everything you want. You’ll never be happy.”
Did Crazy, inappropriate shrink actually say something that makes fucking sense????? Besides the fact that her comment could have been one of the most inappropriate comments I’ve ever heard she’s actually right!
Holy shit! This bitch is right! At this rate I’ll never be happy. What on Earth is it going to take to make me happy?
Not my house in DG. Not my Mercedes. Money, I thought. But found out the hard way that money doesn’t make you happy as detailed in my book “Concrete Boots.”
I thought my husband who I had to fight all odds to be with.
I thought my daughter – who God, calm down Readers! – DOES make me happy, she makes me smile, and I love her with all my heart.
But now I see. Now I see that I need to make myself happy. ME.
No one else can make me happy but me.
I’m lost in this big world. I’m alone. I left Crazy, inappropriate shrink’s office with a newfound clarity, but also feeling burned. “You’re fucking neurotic” playing through my head over and over, like a broken recorder.
“You’re fucking neurotic…”
I left and went to my favorite place. The Cellar Door. There was no one there, just me. I ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio and sat down to write. Sat to write this blog.
It was quiet.
It was peaceful.
Am I in heaven?
Sitting there…writing and drinking and wondering if I’m in heaven. This IS heaven, I think. But then it occurs to me. I’m alone.
I’m on a dangerous path to being alone; to self destructing. My husband loves me. My daughter loves me. But, I don’t love myself.
And I hear “New Message.”
I look at my Sidekick to see a text message from my husband. It says “LMAO.” It’s an inside joke. It’s us. In my fucking neurotic life I have me. I have him. We have us. And we have Boo Boo.
Am I going to give this all up for Pinot Grigio and a supposed Hollywood happy ending? Or am I going to fight? Fight for my family, fight for my life; fight this post partum depression to find my own heaven, fucking neurotic as it might be.