this is a long one. I owed you! 🙂
I chose him on purpose. He’s an African one at that. I wasn’t surprised when I heard myself blurt to the front desk attendant, “I need a black man.” Lol She paused and looked at me kinda funny like, Beech wut? Which prompted me to further explain my statement. “I’m saying I just want a black doctor. All black.” She blinked blank on me before taking a deep breath…exhaling an “ok.”
There was a reason for that. Let’s just be real. We all have issues that we battle on a regular basis. All of us. The thing that differentiates us is the way in which we handle those issues. Some swallow them in whatever coke or liquor they can find. Others ignore them all together but can often be caught scratching their head wondering why their lives are so phuked up. Then there are those, like me, who want to become better people and are willing to face their deep rooted fears for the sake of a better quality of life.
A couple of weeks past and I’m at my first visit. I get to the office (on time for a change) and dared myself to back out of it all the way there. I even stopped at Starbuck’s to give myself time to ‘rationally think about this.’ See, the last time I tried therapy 4 or so years back it was a nightmare. I was a young mom with two small children in college and working a day AND night job. Need I say more? Back to the nightmare, this doctor was white. He had a tall flanky older lady as an assistant who asked me all of these crazy azz questions. She dug deep under the principal that it was for, “background gathering purposes.” Yea eefin right. So, we got through the whole questions thing and the actual therapist dude comes in with starch white hair. He sits down and says hello before he instructs the flanky lady to “in one minute or less tell me about black girl’s life.” This bitch blurts the facts plain and unaltered from the beginning to that point, the words hurled toward me like bullets. The truth was going to eat through my skin at any moment. In one minute this lady was able to summarize my entire life leaving me a wounded soldier lying helplessly in the ambush. I’d never heard someone else tell me about the life that I knew and I remember. I was thinking, “damn my shyt was phuked up!” lol. I never went back because the experience was so painful.
Nevertheless I got over that and have pretty much entered into a new set of ‘thangs to address’. Kinda like being promoted from Jedi to Jedi Master (or however you say it). Now that I have been able to focus on myself and truly get to know me I’ve grown to dig the chick in my skin. She’s pretty cool if I say so myself! So, when you’re diggin someone -you invest in them no? Investing in me had grown to become a priority as my life as mommy became more and more flexible. Part of that being addressing my issues, facing them one by one, and getting to the heart of it all…
Dr. Amenyori (name changed) pulled a rolling chair from around his desk, swung it in front of me and sat in it. He was tall and thin with blue black flawless skin. All motherlandish and stuff. He was dressed casually and his office seemed very modern compared to my usual perception of high back chairs and antique paintings hung over piles of dusty books. Amenyori’s office, on the other hand, was filled with bright color combinations and square plum colored furniture. The couch was my home. He reached out to shake my hand. It was strong and firm. “Pleasure.” His accent sounded British, but I only knew it was African because it was the same as Leonardo DeCaprio’s dialect in ‘Blood Diamond’. LMAO! Yea I need to get out more.
Amenyori smiled to reveal a huge picture perfect grin. I searched for my father somewhere in his eyes but…nothing. Wasn’t surprised.
Before he could get the first sentence out I said, “You know why I chose you right?” I was bold and confident. All defenses on go.
He laughed and said, “Because I’m one of the best in my field and come highly recommended?”
I snarfed a, “uh no.” Shrugged my shoulders and crossed my legs at the knee. “Because you’re black,” I huffed.
“What is the difference between a white specialist and a black specialist?” I could tell he was going into quizzical mode. He began tapping his pencil on his thick raggedy notepad that was frayed at the ends.
“The difference is that I can identify more with one than I can the other,” I answered.
“So you have to be able to identify with someone you talk about your life to.”
I shook my head a few times quickly and gave a frustrated, “Noooo. I’m not just talking about my life to you. A white man doesn’t know a black woman. I don’t care how it’s argued, they don’t really know. I want to get to the bottom of some shyt. A black man needs to help a black woman get to the bottom of her shyt every now and then.” I unpeeld about four layers of my consciousness when I said that.
He paused for a second before nodding with a smile. “Ok, ok. I got you.” His voice became a little more laxed and he took the ‘we’re just cool shootin the breeze’ approach. I admit it made me a bit more comfortable in his presence; I just hoped it would not backfire to my disliking.
“Let’s get to the bottom of your shyt.” I heard a click and noticed him reaching over to turn off a small tape recorder that I never even knew was recording our convo. That’s what I get for not reading the paperwork before I sign it lol. The good thing is he turned it off. I felt a sense that he really wanted to help me be an even better me, like sincerely. That in itself was rarely a given thing in the parts of my life I remember.
“I don’t know where to start.” I tossed my right palm out and shook my head.
“Start anywhere, what was the last thing you thought about before you stepped into my office?”
“Sex,” he repeated.
“Yes. Sex!” I snorted.
“Of all of the things in the world you could be thinking about why would it be sex?” he probed.
“I don’t know. I just like it and like to have it as often as I can. Is that a crime?” I was getting aggy already.
“Sex is a natural thing. It’s cool. Are you seeing anybody special right now?”
“Hell no.” I folded my arms and glanced past him. Started doing that dangling thing with my high heel on the tip of my feet.
“Why so mad about it?”
“I’m not mad.” But you wouldn’t have been able to tell the way my bottom lip was poked out.
“Ok frustrated. Annoyed. Irritated. Better?”
“Good,” he continued, “So why are you frustrated about being without someone?”
I shook my head and unfolded my arms again. I was on some fidgety stuff for real. “Being by myself is not my frustration. I’m really just annoyed with having the desire to eventually want to get to that point thus going skating and busting my ass over and over and jacking myself up. I just don’t want to want it anymore so I can stop hurting myself.” I’m not even gonna lie, I was about to cry.
“So let me get this straight. You don’t want to want something because you can’t get it right away and perhaps may take a little work and time acquiring,” he interpreted.
“You twisted my words.”
“Not really The difference between what I said and what you said is that one is the truth and the other is in wonderland somewhere. You’re a spoiled brat black girl.”
WTF did he just say? This was so about to be over.
“Who the hell are you to tell me that I’m in wonderland and am a spoiled brat?” I jolted.
He didn’t say anything. Just pointed to the thick black framed degrees neatly arranged on a brick wall. Four of them to be exact, the most notable being Stanford. I saw Alabama A&M too. When I think back on this part I laugh because he went so G-Style on me. Didn’t say anything, just pointed to the wall shawty. Lol
I fell back into my comfort spot. “Those degrees don’t mean shyt to me. Do you even remember half of what was in those textbooks or have you mostly learned through real world experience?”
“Both compliment each other. Stop diverting the topic. Listen,” his mannerisms were less challenging and more sincere, “Do you see what just happened?”
“What?” My eyebrows gathered toward the middle of my head.
“I challenged you with the truth. First you got uncomfortable, then you got angry, and then you lashed out. Finally you tried to change the topic all together by psychologically diverting the conversation. Playing dumb won’t work with me. Mind games are pointless, I know the mind. I know how highly intelligent you are.”
“Ok,” I nodded. I see what you’re saying.” The pill was huge and thick. I’d need a lot more than water to swallow it.
“What are you saying?” There was that challenging thing that pissed me off so much.
I took a deep breath. “I’m saying that I’m running from the truths about me on overtime and I don’t like anyone else telling me about myself and how I should do me. I’m know I’m here talking to you for a reason.”
“To conquer your fears.”
“Among other things,” I said in a near whisper.
“Realizing my strengths. And honestly, I just think a lot. I think I should be talking about these things vs. internalizing them.”
“I see. Think back to my initial question and now here is the second. How is your relationship with your father?”
I shook my head and looked down at my freshly tanned legs. “Shyt, yo. Let’s skip to the next thing.”
I guess its like Mary said, we’re all a work in progress.
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