The Scolai

“Just a Good Guy…With a Few Bad Habits”


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“Why are you here? You’re definitely A.D.D. Describe your childhood. How would you describe your work life? Tell me about your wife. Tell me about your children. Why do you ride motorcycles? Why did you become a Firefighter? Are you happy? Where did you grow up? How much alcohol do you consume in a week? Have you ever taken illegal drugs? What’s your diet like? If you were a color, what would it be? Are you making a statement by not wearing a helmet? How do you feel? How do you feel about your Mother?”

My first instinct for answering any of the above questions in a clinical setting is:   


That attitude certainly hasn’t made my life any easier, especially not the times I’ve had to take psych exams as part of a hiring process. My life’s an open book to my friends and family, it’s closed pretty tight when it comes to people I don’t know.   

At the behest of others, I have investigated and endured Therapy, both individual and couples. The various counselors were very nice and well meaning; however, I don’t think my personality lends itself to therapy (I guess I’m just too twisted to be analyzed).  Like anything else I do, I threw myself into it and quickly exhausted my patience and that of every professional that agreed to see me. I’m not good at keeping appointments during riding season and I have a tendency to blow up if I’m asked the wrong question. Is there a lot of anger just below the surface? You bet. At my core, I’m a violent person. Some of the times I’ve felt most alive have been in the middle of good fist fights. Try explaining that bit of philosophy to a therapist, they would (and have) recommend Thorazine.  (I’m not ashamed to say I’m running about 60/40 in the fighting department, mainly because I’m too stubborn to walk away from bad situations. Anyone who tells you they’ve never lost a fight probably stopped fighting after they beat up their sister in the third grade. Anyone who has had more than a few has had their ass handed to them at least once.)   

Sitting down and talking to a stranger about what pissed me off as a child or what makes me angry as an adult holds no allure for me. I’ve done it, but it’s always felt like I’m passing a barbed wire tapeworm. I care nothing for the opinions of people who don’t know me, and there are only a handful of people I know whose opinion I value. One thing that therapy did re-enforce with me is the belief that certain ethnic characteristics are passed down genetically. I believe I have received a full measure of my Irish heritage whenever I read Dr. Freud’s comment that the Irish are “one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever.” I feel that telling your stories, or your troubles, to a friend over a pint is more therapeutic and about $200 an hour cheaper than seeing a psychiatrist.



Written by thescolai

January 25, 2007 at 7:47 am

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