JPR Mental Health Support Group

Writing as therapy?

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    • #489761
      David the Gnome
      Participant
      • Total Posts: 3,532

      So, bit of a disclaimer: I’m going to share something entirely ridiculous (and brief – for me) that I wrote about an hour ago.  My therapist keeps telling me to write – and it is starting to have some affect.  What inspired this little writing exercise (not an actual story or anything) was a story I was told some years ago during my full psych eval.  The psychologist told me a story about (not naming names, details, etc.) a patient he’d had once with bipolar 1, severe stuff, during a manic phase.  It ended with the psychologist telling me he’d finally had to ask him, “What made you decide that playing your guitar, naked, in the street, was a good idea?”

      So, if you’re bored, or whatever, feel free to read!

      *************

      I was bored. That was the problem. It was what led me to decide, late one night, that I was going to play my guitar, naked, in the middle of the street in Boston. So there I was, strumming along (my guitar!) and sure enough, people stopped to stare, pulled out their cell phones and recorded me. For whatever reason, this gave me a nice little boost to my self confidence and I played it up. I struck a rockstar pose and started singing (badly) “I am just a girl in the world…! Wait, no I’m not!” (I patted myself in an entirely inappropriate place) There were guffaws, cheers, and a couple of people just shouted “Boo!”, or “Lunatic! Get off the street” how rude! Cars were honking – and I think I single-handedly created a massive traffic jam.

      It wasn’t long before a couple of cops showed up to pull me off the street. The bastards even took my guitar. “Son” started a short, balding officer with a bored look in his hazel eyes, “What exactly made you think that was a good idea?” He stuck his thumbs in his belt, awaiting my reply.

      “Well Officer, I was bored, you see. Nothing is worse than boredom for an artist, so I decided I had to create some… hmm, turbulence, in my life, you know? Did you see that though? I rocked, I mean, people even cheered. Some of them. Probably the drunk ones.” I grinned at him as his partner, a tall, lanky, seemingly annoyed fellow, grunted and cuffed my hands behind my back.

      The smaller cop frowned at me, a question in his eyes that asked “Is this guy serious?”. He sighed. “Have you been drinking? Have you taken any illicit substances?” The lanky fellow was patting me down… woah, dude, I wasn’t keeping a gun there! Also, I was naked… what the hell man?

      “Well officer, that is an interesting question. No illicit substances, you see, the shrink keeps me on a regular diet of.. uh, what are they called? Oh yeah! Anti-psychotics, anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. So, not illicit, no, they’re totally legal and all. I just took a few more of them than I normally do. As for alcohol? I mean, does beer really even count?” I did my best to appear innocent, even going for the puppy dog eyes. They had no visible affect at all. Well, except that I think the shorter officer smirked a bit.

      Officer Lanky began reading me my rights, said something about public endangerment, public indecency and so on and so forth. Clearly he had no appreciation for my artistic abilities. I sighed and let the man pull me to his waiting patrol car. “Man it smells funky in here, you guys been smoking the reefer?” I chuckled, letting myself be pushed down into the backseat. Not far down. I’m not tall, or anything. I’m about 5’7 and 150 pounds. I like my pastries and ice cream, but I also have a constant nervous energy that keeps me moving, more wiry and lean than big and buff. Oh well. Some day.

      As Officer Lanky started to drive, a voice crackled over the radio: “Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Red-haired white male, approximately 5’7 and 150 pounds..” Oh crap. What had I done last night? It was possible I’d blacked out a little. Jamesson (whiskey) and I got along well – he was my favorite shrink. The older cop frowned into the rear view mirror, the question clear in his eyes. “Uhm, you know there are lots of people that look like that, right? It could be anyone!” The radio crackled again: “Suspect last spotted on North Street… naked? Playing a guitar?” I sighed. “Well, there could be… uhh… no, I suppose I’m screwed.”

      The shorter officer, who’s name I had learned was “Thomas” started chuckling up front. Lanky just grimaced, looking constipated. Officer Tom was trying really hard to stop chuckling, but failing, as he finally broke into actual laughter, before ruining the affect by having a coughing fit. “Damn, kid, you don’t do things by half, do you?”

    • #489773
      Mindwalker
      Participant
      • Total Posts: 498

      … then “armed and dangerous” might have applied but just a regular guitar?!  At worst, this is going off half-cocked.

       

    • #489777
      HassleCat
      Participant
      • Total Posts: 9,177

      Not so constructive, but maybe therapeutic in a way. Lots of arguing, complaining, attributing bad motives, name calling, insults, etc. Venting can be good, I guess.

    • #489780
      David the Gnome
      Participant
      • Total Posts: 3,532

      Couldn’t seem to make myself stop.  Huh, maybe I’ll make something of this eventually.  Obviously needs work, but I wanted to start out with humor, because what comes next isn’t so pleasant.

      • #489796
        HassleCat
        Participant
        • Total Posts: 9,177

        Maybe not laugh out loud funny, but amusing. Stick with it. You might be the next Dorothy Parker.

    • #489906
      Ohio Barbarian
      Moderator
      • Total Posts: 25,301

      My wife swears writing things out helps with her anger and depression, so whatever works.

      Never let your morals stop you from doing the right thing.--Isaac Asimov

      The United States is also a one-party state but, with typical American extravagance, they have two of them.--Julius Nyerere

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