Master Bastard
Classtard

Popular Irony unfinished

My Incriminating Bioethical Violation


Welcome to my anonymous blog.  I am a 38 year old female Psychiatrist living on the east coast.  I am married without children, and my husband tells me I look like a cross between Dr. Phil and Angelina Jolie.  He is such a sweetheart.  A sexually repressed self-loathing closet homosexual with a gym sock fetish, but still a sweetheart.

Alright, I am writing this blog post because I am in desperate need of an outlet to complain about my patients.  You see, I spend every day of my life listening to other people whine about their problems.  I maintain a professional demeanor the whole time, but in the back of my head I am thinking "Holy fuck, lady.  Why are you so worried about your husband gambling all the time when you have a MOLE THE SIZE OF A FUCKING NICKEL ON YOUR FOREHEAD!"  And don't fool yourself.  Anybody that is paid to care for you hates your guts.  It's just the way it works.  It is for this reason that I refuse to go to a Psychiatrist myself.  And perhaps it is an ego issue, but I couldn't keep from mentally criticizing any of my peers every moment of the session.

So let me start by detailing my least favorite weekly appointment.  I can't give any identifiable information here for obvious reasons, but I think this forum is anonymous enough that I won't run into any problems.  His name is "Sam", and he has been visiting my office for eight months.  Sam is 24, has a very slight build, and is as polite as punch to everyone in the office.  Everyone except me.  Sam claims to have an uncontrollable urge to masturbate at inappropriate times, like during meetings with his Psychiatrist. 

I say he "claims" to have these urges for a couple of reasons.  First, how convenient is it that you have to visit a female Psychiatrist for your masturbation condition?  Second, what 24 year old male doesn't have uncontrollable urges to masturbate constantly?  All I know is that I have had to resort to seating him in a metal folding chair on a barn tarp.  I have a hard time effectively counseling a person when I have to sit 20 feet away from them for fear of having to throw away another soiled blouse.

I also have a woman that I see somewhat regularly, whenever she can afford my services.  She doesn't get paid much at her job working for Parking Authority in our area.  She seeks my services to help her cope with crippling social anxiety, to the point that she cries whenever I accidentally make eye contact with her.  I have no fucking CLUE how she makes it through her daily job giving parking tickets.  I imagine she scares away anyone that challenges her with her shrieking cries and torrent of tears.  I fully expect to hear that she killed herself anytime now, and frankly I don't really give a shit.  I already have a mental list of answers to the questions the police ask a mental health professional that was seeing a suicide case.  "No, officer.  She seemed stable the last time I saw her."  Yeah right.

Well I already feel better.  Maybe I will do this again.  God knows I have enough material shambling into my office everyday, and tomorrow I have to see another pedophile.  I fucking hate the government.  They ALWAYS find a way to send perverts my way.  Maybe I will make him use the folding chair and barn tarp, too...