My psychiatrist says I should be a journalist because I am very investigative and I apparently “attack” him. I say he needs to sort his shit out and get his facts straight. He has noted my angry streak, which comes out a lot in our sessions and in the past he has told me to use my anger for good instead of evil. I’m not quite sure what he considers good or evil in the context of therapy but he doesn’t appear to appreciate when I call him out on his mistakes or his lack of knowledge. I wouldn’t say I am being “evil” when I do this. I am standing up for myself, which is a rare feat and this is a good thing, I think.
“Why are you so angry today?” He asks in a defeated and pissed off way. My anger makes him appear stupid and for a moment I am sure he is going to cry. I feel like a bully but I’m not going to be meek. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, especially in that tone. I might think that I shouldn’t say anything because you don’t like it when I am angry.” I answer. He tries to take it back but he still looks like he is going to cry.
“Are you going to cry?” I ask him.
“No, I’m not. How would you feel if I cried?”
“It would be awkward, I guess… I don’t want you to cry.”
“Well I haven’t cried in about ten years.”
“I think you should cry then. It’s good to let out your emotions.”
He doesn’t cry. We continue talking and arguing. I question the point of seeing him at all and he says that it’s up to me. “Would it make you cry if I didn’t see you anymore?” I ask.
“No, I wouldn’t cry. I would be worried about you though.”
“I think it would be funny if you cried.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Anything is funny if you think about it in the right way.” I say with a smile as I walk out of his office.