Reckmonster Nails Head; Psycho Therapy Sucks


So. I’m a real mixed bag of tricks today. My psycho therapy has been delving deep into my deep-seated anger and hostility at the man who raped me, and that’s two deeps too many. OK, three deeps if you count the one I used in my effort to explain. Therapy isn’t any fun when you work on shit that makes you uncomfortable.

The yang to my miserable therapy yin is my excitement over my pending trip and also the fact that people are actually buying my silly fucking book. I’m fast discovering that the book all and unto its ownself is a yinner/yangy dealio.

Holy fucking shit, I am all over the damned place and I have yet to hit 125 words on the word counter. OK, wait, that last sentence hit 128 words. I’m totally discombobulated, but I hope you can see the efforts I’m making to maintain my integrity. Clarity, in my mind, is an important part of honesty. It isn’t enough, as an example, to say, “I was down to the Whole Foods Market and ran into Pastor Browningwell,” when what should have been also said was, “… and I didn’t get arrested but you might hear about it Sunday morning.”

What I’m attempting to say is that my mood is dichotomous in nature, and I might need to say “in natures”, plural, because one or more of my dichotomies is dichotomous in, and of, its ownself. My overall mental health is stable and mostly happy, my psycho therapy is driving me nuts, I am totally pumped about my blogger roadie trip, and my book sits on both sides of the fence.

So let’s talk about the book.

I am very happy and excited that my book is finally out and for sale. I am ecstatic that people are actually buying it. And while I’m at it, ecstatic needs an “x” in it. It was a tremendous effort to get from blank pages of paper to a published book and I am proud enough of myself for that, that I might just shit myself. Again.

But there are downsides. What if nobody likes it? I write better now than when I actually wrote the fucking book, so it isn’t my best efforts. And because of my selfish choices, it’s a tad expensive to buy in paper-printed form, and it wastes a bunch of trees. I wanted it to be readable so I had it printed in large font size—almost like a children’s book. If you will click onto this linkster:

and then click the dealie that let’s you read some of it, you’ll see what I mean. Larger print means larger pages and more, larger pages at that. I hate wasting stuff, and my book is a definite waste of stuff.

In this morning’s early session, Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson said to me, she said, “Look, Mooner sweetie, we don’t need to talk about your book. Those issues will take care of themselves. Let’s get to the meat of your problems. I appreciate what the Reckmonster said to you. But your therapy isn’t about the man who raped you, it’s about you.”

See what I mean about dichotomousses? Dichotomoussi, maybe? What the Reckster said is that just because someone rapes you doesn’t give you the right to rape another. And she was dead right to have said that. The chain of abused-to-abuser, victim-to-perpetrator will never be broken until victims break it. Breaking that chain is the single thing I am most proud of in my life.

I think what Sammy is saying is that I wouldn’t be forgiving the rapist to make him feel better, I’d be doing it for me, or myself maybe. My initial sense is that I would be throwing the burden back at that asshole, like maybe if I forgive him I’ll feel better and he will feel worse. I know my ex-wife and therapist won’t see that as actual forgiveness, but I say, “Baby steps.”

And have you noticed that Dr. Sam I. Am still calls me “sweetie”[?] She says don’t read anything into it, but I know better. But that underscores my point again about these fucking dichotomusses.

Look. Please buy my book, if nothing else it will make you laugh or it will piss you off. Maybe both, and I can give you a guarantee on at least that much.

Ugh. Self promotion makes me thirsty, so I’m cracking a Carta Blanca beer. Manana, y’all.

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6 Responses to “Reckmonster Nails Head; Psycho Therapy Sucks”

  1. bj says:

    Since yer BRINGIN’ me a hard copy of ‘Full Rising Mooner'( (You ARE bringin’ me a copy … gratis … RIGHT?) I’ma wait till the Kindle thingy comes out so’s I kin d/l it to Ms. Baby’s Kindle machine…A’ight?

  2. BJ. Yep, gratis and free too. But I can only gratis the paper copy so you’ll need to not stain it too bad before passing it along.

  3. Yes, Mooner, psychotherapy sux. If it makes you feel any better, I’m re-vamping my own skillz and revisiting therapy again too. Mostly because I was sucking at managing my stress levels at work, but, as all therapists end up pointing out…what’s going on today usually has something to do with some un-fixed shit from yesterday. *sigh* So…onward to fixing a few leftover things from yesterday…fuuuuuuuuck!

    I’m sure you’ve heard that ole saying about forgiveness NOT being for the other person, but being for you – it’s like like when you finally find the key to the treasure chest – you’ve had the “goodies” locked away for so long – it’s like a big, fat, “YAYYYYYY!” when you open it and see what’s inside. Forgiveness is the key – and all of the goodies in the treasure chest? ALL FOR YOU!!!!

  4. BTW…is “Head” a person? You said I nailed “Head.” I just wanted to know if I was bangin’ someone new now. BAHAHAHAHA!

  5. Squatlo says:

    Reck, if Mooner can’t explain what it means to nail “head” please call me. I’m an expert on the subject, especially when I’m allowed to rate various folks on their ability to ‘give’ and not ‘nail’ said head. I once moved in with a cranky woman just because she was the uncontested Headmonster of all time. Not until the boxes were unpacked did I find out that certain special talent had been depleted in the “capture” phase of our courtship, never to return again during the actual cohabitation. But my god, did she have skills. But I digress…

    Mooner, you need to let go of that ‘forgiveness’ bullshit all the therapists are encouraging you to develop for your molester. I’m a firm believer in keeping some grudges active and alive at all costs. For instance, I’ll never been to old or tired to carry a grudge against the referee (Allamah Mathews, who once played receiver for Vandy) who ruled a dropped pass in the end zone a touchdown for the hated Florida Gators one season when we had a National Title in our grasps in Knoxville. Never forgive that one.
    And I’ll have a tough time letting go of the chip on my shoulder I feel for your former Gubner Dubya, for the stolen election, the lies and deceit used to seduce the world into going along with the Iraq invasion, torture of innocents, murder of hundreds of thousands. Can’t let that go and don’t intend to waste Psycho Therapy time working on it. Some bastards need to be despised.
    The real trick is to let it go ENOUGH so that it doesn’t eat you up inside, or keep you from travelling to meet new people and pee in their sinks.

    Bring beer.

  6. admin says:

    My Dearest, and Darling, Reckmonster. Might I have a peek inside your treasure chest? I promise to look but not touch. As for psycho therapy–as the song goes, “Good… bad…good… bad… good/bad/goo/ba…”

    I miss Harry Neilsen. The nail dealie was my lamo attempt at punny humor.

    Squat. Have beer–will travel. Have pecker–will stain porcelin. Don Henley’s song keeps playing in my head, even if you don’t love me, anymore. I hate when my bitch analyst scrapes my mental scabs right before important events. But I have a plan. I’m not even talking to her until I get back to the house. Then I’m lying about shit.

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