You've Got To Therapize.

I'm going to try and get this all down before it slips away. I'm on my patio with a smoke in my mouth, typing furiously like a caricature of an overrated and not really comparable Hunter S.. Let me start by saying that I had a beer before going to the therapist, which I don't think is a terrible move.

I rolled up on my bike and locked it up and started walking to his office and bumped into him on the corner playing with his kid. You could tell that he keeps his relationship very professional with patients and saves everything for the room so we didn't talk that much and I met him at his office. It was either that or he didn't want me near his kid because he thought I was batshit crazy and just wanted his $200 for the session.

We jumped right in. I told him that I was feeling pretty good since we last met and did the sadness exercise for five minutes and then one more intense version of it while playing Tiger Woods on Xbox whilst imbibing some beers and listening to my sad playlist titled "mixt8p" on my iPod. He thought it was interesting that I could turn sadness on and off like I can. I told him that I noticed when something disturbs me I start to grin. It's creepy. I've never noticed it before. I discussed how it feels like I've always got some guy sitting in the room with me who is sad now. It's just weird knowing that he is there now. He's my elephant in my room. So, still practicing the sadness exercises in short bursts. Only 29 years to let out. The word "manic" was brought up at one point, but more pointed to a manic mechanism to deal with intense pain by smothering it with intense unpain. Pain't, if you will.

We discussed the not eating. He explored whether it was a sort of self-punishment fueled by guilt versus self-destruction. I told him that I just didn't find real pleasure in eating and found it more like fueling, however could see it being some sub-conscious self-punishment. However, after talking about it more, it may be a result of DUI commitments breaking up a routine that I relied on post-divorce for structure. Trader Joe's on Monday. Laundry on Tuesday. Tacos on Thursday. Soccer on Friday. You'll never know what I did on Wednesday. These things kept me afloat while I rebuilt my personality following the divorce. The DUI commitments broke this up and I never reestablished them. This resulted in a feeling of chaos for me. This is this week's homework: Rebuild routine.

Next, we dealt with the ex-wife. He was really impressed that I still have feelings for her. Not in a loving way, but a very deep friendship and trust. This came out when I told him that I called her after my DUI because she is one of the people that I trusted the most. This is the most ironic thing that you've ever heard, but it's true. It's not like she is invited to my birthday or anything, but if we were both stranded on an island or stuck in a Wal-Mart after closing and couldn't get out, we're not going to try to strangle each other. We'd figure our way out of it and then go back to our respective lives. You can't deny all of the reasons that got two individuals to an altar. There had to be something there in most cases. People just change and grow apart. It's okay. He said that it showed that I processed everything that happened and was able to see past the loving relationship and anger and separate that from the friendship that actually was there on some level. He commented that this showed great hope for developing another strong relationship at some point in my life. That was encouraging.

We then talked about the sad clown. I feel that I have a lot to give and share. That's the "HughVoltage Show." That is why, and I apologize, that I will dominate a conversation in some instances. I just have so much fucking shit to say and feel that it has value. This, in turn, brought up the blog and the death of Dick Steele for the old timers. I use an alter ego to express all of these things that I want to share. It's funny that HughVoltage is writing this, right? I killed my last pseudonym as a way to escape him. I created a new one to feed that beast that wasn't being fed and needed to say a bunch of stuff to someone, to anyone who would read it. I asked him if I was schizo or something and he said that it was okay to have an alter ego like this. Also, it's hella easier to say you fucked the neighbor after drinking a handle of whiskey in which she asked afterwards "Do you have AIDS?" because she was from the South and thought everyone in California had AIDS, when your real name is not attached to it. Using an alter ego, you can bend truths and extrapolate on ideas and situations that may not have necessarily happened, but may entertain others. By the way, Sea World really happened and most of this stuff has, it's the arrogant and sometimes reckless opinions that can be attributed to HughVoltage. Maybe he is the one that hates cat ladies. He's definitely the one that proposed the group DAMM (Drunks Against Mad Mothers).

We talked about the girl that reads the blog briefly and he asked if I sometimes imagine what people's reactions will be when I write. Fuckin-A right, I do. There are so many times when I write something down and there is a hidden joke in the word choice that I just hope someone is going to get. In some instances, the one person that would get it. I used to communicate with my ex through my Dick Steele column on a few occasions. Those columns were my peacock feathers. There are actually a few times, too, where I hope someone spits their coffee out on their keyboard while reading. Sometimes it just cracks me up so I've got to write it down somewhere. It's my attempt at getting someone to hear awesome falling in the woods even though they are not necessarily in the woods.

We also got back to the survivor instinct that has taken over. It's most likely related to years 20 to 21 in the city, basically on my own. This is where it really blossomed. There are also a few tinges of family dysfunction in that I looked to some type of Norman Rockwell painting idea of what family should be and didn't see it and just let it go forever. Ummm, let me see, an aunt that is never mentioned anymore who was a prostitute in Oakland and was nice enough to manage to give you an adopted brother who was born addicted to heroin. Yeah, we don't talk about it at dinner, but this never happened on Growing Pains. This was brought up when I told him that I called my dad on Father's Day after dragging my feet a bit. My dad was tending to his livestock and I left a message. Still haven't heard back. He said that I called expecting disappointment and when it happened, it had absolutely no effect. He said it was okay. He said that I didn't have to feel guilty about that.

So, I think that about covers it. He said that it seems like I know what I need to do and I just need to do it. The insight and outlook all seem to be there. I'll be completely honest, I have no idea how me talking for most of the time can make me feel so much better, but I genuinely am feeling better. I smile when I'm happy now and not just when a particularly sad lyric or a particularly bad memory trigger occurs. Rewiring, really. There actually may be a happy ending to this. I believe it now. I also believe that sasquatch exists. You never really know how it's all going to unravel, but it's no reason to ravel it back up. You've just got to sit back and watch it...and be ready for anything. Anything.