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And now: Therapy

And - forgive me - why, again?

This is Dark Cloud on Wednesday, March 22, 1995.

By the time you hear this, I'll have undergone therapy. This is no laughing matter, because I am ordered by the court to have therapy and to pay for it. Nobody, not the court, not my probation officer, not my case manager, can tell me what the therapy is for. It seems it is the thing to do when nothing else, like prison, suggests itself to our overheated courts. Therapy is supposed to be for the benefit of the patient, or at least society, but people under court ordered therapy are, in reality, testifying, since they are not protected by patient-therapist confidentiality. Who, under those circumstances, would say anything beyond what I plan to say. To wit, what am I doing here? And why am I being charged for this above and beyond all other expenses?

Now, I cannot, and would not, bore you with the mechanics or the facts of my altogether boring case, but to bring you up to speed, I owe lots of money and was sent to jail for bouncing checks. Now I am in a half-way house where I am one of seven grown men in a two bedroom apartment in a building of seven men in two bedroom apartments here in Boulder. It is crowded and it can get tense. The anger is palpable if those wanting to watch Hot Shots, the movie, come up against those who want to watch something else. But that is about the extent of the horror I live with. There is no danger, there are no security concerns, or much of them in any case. I have an utterly boring job to pay for these accommodations and not much else. But one of the things that I have to pay for is the therapy, and I hate therapy.

Actually, its the people who go to therapy I hate. I know lots of people on therapy, and most of them are my friends, and I know for a fact that they are all hypochondriacs, which is the biggest budget concern in any discussion about health care. People go to therapists for the stupidest things, and with about as much concern as they would self-medicate with aspirin. If people are at the intellectual level that they have different over the counter pain killers for different types of headaches and muscle spasms, they cannot be take seriously while they wax poetic on the different types of therapy they have undergone. Especially when they are still betraying their lovers, still trying to find an excuse for no ambition, still trying to grasp universal truths without having to read anything that might shatter their prejudices, which are that it hasn't been their fault for the state of their current life.

It may come as a shock, but to be a Psycho-Therapist in Colorado does not require a medical degree. It does not require any advanced degree. It requires no academic credentials whatsoever. Not even Lucy in Peanuts with her 'The Doctor is In' sign, can be prevented from practicing in the State of Colorado.

Now I am to go, at my own expense, to a therapist. This is the state to which legal recourse has sunk- I WOULD rather have a high colonic on the corner of Broadway and Canyon than share my shallow thoughts on the great Mandela with these people.

If you notice any improvement in my mood next week, let me know.