My therapist was trying to recall something we talked about in our last session, but she couldn’t remember what it was. “Hold on a second,” she told me. “Let me grab your folder.” She pulled out the drawer and started flipping through folders. “Where is it?” she asked herself, still flipping. “Ah ha! Here it is! I forgot – yours is the fat one.”
MINE’S “THE FAT ONE”?!
I obviously peeked at the rest of the files as soon as she said that (I couldn’t read names or anything. Calm down, HIPAA). Mine was definitely the fat one. I simultaneously felt two strangely opposing emotions: horror and pride. Horror because I am the craziest client she has, but also some pride because, hey, I’m the craziest client she has! If I’m going to be crazy, I might as well go big or go home. Looks like I win! Hoooooray me!
I would have preferred to win a different sort of competition (like maybe…um…any other one), but oh well. A win is a win. I’m going to take it. They’ve been tough to come by lately. While I’m basking in the glow of my victory…does anyone know how to put a folder on a diet? I don’t actually want to be “the fat one.” I know! I’ll stop adding so much every week and let the other people in that drawer catch up to me. Next week I’m going to say, “I have nothing to report. I am GREAT. Please write down ‘she is great’ in super tiny letters, and that’s all you need to say. You know what? You could even throw out some of those other papers, because I am so very over all of those issues. They’re not even worth keeping. Let’s do a ceremonial purging of the folder to show how over them I actually am.”
I would love to know what’s in that fat folder. Why does she write so many more notes for me? Have I been seeing her the longest of all of her clients? (That can’t be true…I’ve only been seeing her since fall. It’s barely spring. She sees some people for years). I want to break in after hours and take a look at that folder. It’s a great plan, because if I get caught I’ll say, “Officer, here’s my ID. Look at which folder is mine. See how fat it is? CLEARLY I am super crazy. This isn’t my fault.”
On second thought, if I did that then we would have a bunch of arrest paperwork to add to the folder, which wouldn’t really help my cause. Pretty soon I’d need my own frickin drawer. Perhaps I’d better skip that idea. I’ll just embrace my fatness. At least my therapist can’t say that I don’t I keep things interesting.