Chapter 15
Next up on the wheel of my very bad fortune is a psychiatrist named Dr. Cuckoo. Yes! A light at the end of a very long tunnel. The appointment is anon. Seems like an eternity to me, but mayhap I see my savior on the horizon? Then again, after trusting in the aged wisdom of the great Oz, Dr. King Kong, mayhap I’m being a idiot.
The big question of the day is, how am I going to make that appointment standing on two feet? My confidence level is lower than a grave dug in hell. Anything could trigger a switch; the phone ringing, a thunderstorm for the ages, or maybe even walking from one room to another. Any amount of stress and I'm probably going to lose it. And then it’s, bon voyage, Liz, enjoy your little cruise into the twilight zone of madness.
But all is not totally lost. I have a bit of cheery news on the insanity front. First, the “psychotic episodes” are finally lessening in number, though not in intensity; the voices still emerge in an atonal symphony of cacophonous sound, and incoherent ramblings as I crawl aimlessly around the house looking for a safe place to hibernate.
Secondly, I discovered a brilliant way to ward off my flight into psychosis. One day, I happened to turn the TV on just as the panic button went off. Lo and behold my eyes did fasten hungrily on the rather amusing shenanigans of one, Hopalong Cassidy. Though Mr. Cassidy was before my time, I watched with great fascination as he lassoed in his enemies, then rode off into the sunset on a white horse, a veritable hero.
This is certainly an interestin’ development, given that I've always hated westerns with a passion. The whole cowboys vs. indians, turns me off completely. Not to mention in the plot redundancy department, good guys always win, bad guys always lose. To me, that gets real old and boring.
So, what is it about watching good guy Hopalong Cassidy slay the bad guy, that keeps me focused long enough to ride out a switch? Don’t know. I'm just verrrry grateful it's keeping me off the floor. Which basically means in the foreseeable future, all I want for Christmas is a good western to watch.
Indeed, as my appointment with Dr. Cuckoo draws ever nearer, I completely immerse myself in watching westerns. Bad westerns, good westerns, it doesn’t matter. And boy do I revel in the testosterone-driven exploits of everybody's favorite kickass cowboy stars, like Randolph Scott, Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, and John Wayne.
Gee, I wonder what my favorite psychiatrist, Dr. Sigmund Freud, would say about all of this.
Dr. Freud: So. You are hearing voices, ja?
Me: Not really. I speak in different voices . . . well, ok, there is this one annoying voice inside—
Dr. Freud: Aha! So. You are not hearing voices, but you are speaking in different voices. That is not so unusual, my dear. I myself, do a great impression of my colleague, Dr. Jung. And sometimes, Anna, my daughter, has accused me of talking like Mama. But that is neither here nor there. Now, my dear, are you having delusions that you are someone else?
Me: No. Look, Dr. Freud, I know who I am. The problem is, I can’t control the talking in different voices, and the annoying—
Dr. Freud: Aha! So. You are not having delusions. That is a very, very good sign, my dear. Now, vhen you are talking in these different voices, do you recognize them. Perhaps you hav heard these voices many times before, ja?
Me: No. I don’t recognize these voices because I’ve never heard them before. They come right out of the—
Dr. Freud: Aha! Vell, my dear, I hav pinpointed the problem. You do not recognize these voices because you do not realize vhere they are coming from. It is my job to tell you vhere they are coming from. Your subconscious mind. The subconscious mind is a fertile breeding ground for the bacteria that all our bad experiences vill become. Do you understand this?
Me: I’m not sure, Dr. Freud. Are you saying my subconscious mind is full of shit?
Dr. Freud: Yes, yes, yes! You are very smart, my dear.
Me: And you’re like expensive toilet paper.
Dr. Freud: Vhat? . . . No, no, no! You see, my dear, vhen you vere a child, your subconscious mind vas like a tape that recorded all the voices vhich vere the most discordant and disruptive in your life. You are now playing the tape back. That is all. Once ve erase the tape, you vill be fine. But first ve must identify those voices that are causing you the most problems. To do that ve must start vit the mama voice, ja?”
Me: I . . . I don’t know, Dr. Freud, I had more than one. Mama’s I mean.
Dr. Freud: I see. And how many Papa’s did you hav?
Me: Hmm, let me think . . .
Dr. Freud: You hav to think about it? Oh, my dear, that is bad. I see ve hav a lot of vork to do. I am sorry to tell you this.
Me: Oh . . . F**K!
Dr. Freud: VHAT?
