Mixed Nuts

I have been through therapy for many years...and still not quite as long as I should have been. It always seemed odd to me, sitting on the proverbial couch and picking the scabs from my emotional wounds before a wide eyed stranger. Like my dear fruitofnut, I have been newly angered by a fellow blogger on this site...the only small difference being that this blogger is my brother. Together, we endured very much the same childhood, and yet just distinctly different enough to enlist opposite views of the world and our current situations. BloggerX and I have danced around many a topic in our adulthood...I thought desperately trying to avoid the conflicts that would send me into a rage, beating his head and wishing that he had never breathed his first on this peculiar little planet of ours. Recently, he has informed me in no uncertain terms that I, alone, see the world through the filter of our dysfunctional childhood. I think sometimes that I had it harder...because I am "the girl". Our parents are very irrational individuals with their own flavors of neuroses. Unfortunately, and fatefully (I presume), I have a distinct flavor of my own.
With my Fruit's gentle, maybe not quite so gentle, nudging, I saw a psychiatrist yesterday. This was the first time in a couple of years that I have seen a specialist. The last time bought me three years of sitting on a couch once or twice a week with a buffet of antidepressants that supposedly rendered me a functioning member of society. Part of me always believes that this is simply my being a hypochondriac with the ability to perceive the set of symptoms the doctor is looking for. I can't really be crazy, right? Regardless, I am still unable to make decisions...from as small as what to eat to as large as what to do with my life. Usually, I will get overwhelmed with over-thinking the complexities and opt to do nothing. Perhaps this is a product of being raised in the paranoid and self serving world of Los Angeles...and perhaps I really do have the buffet of primarily genetic mental disorders that my psycho-doctors scribble frantically on their well worn pads of paper. Perhaps my brother somehow escaped unscathed...or maybe he is in the tell-tale stages of denial. No matter, I feel that we will never truly see eye-to-eye.
Sitting down on the chair in his office, I remembered fondly the times I would sit on my last therapist's couch. Sometimes she would put her hand to her chin thinker-style and furrow her brow at what I had to say. Others, she would merrily grab her pad of paper and scribble down the dreams I was dictating or the memories I was reliving. I grew very fond of her...and I think to an extent would regale her with the most obscure of mental drudgery just to predict her ultimate reaction. This, however, was my first time sitting before the male of the psycho-doctor species. I get a different diagnosis every time. I get a different flavor of crazy with each specialist I sit before...and I spend the next series of days pondering just how the new brand of medication and number of "diagnosis party mix" will ultimately affect me. Maybe this time, the overlapping thought processes in my head will be honed down to one. Perhaps in a few months, I will be able to make simple decisions...and the more complex will follow. Maybe I will be able to count the register at work once or twice with confidence, rather than four or five times in the hopes of writing down the exact same outcome each time. Hopefully, I will be able to accompish tasks in the time it takes an average person...and respond to my brother in a timely fashion, concisely and effectively communicating my stance without self-doubt and fear of having to defend myself in a more effectual fashion.
I love my FuitofNut dearly and fervently wish that things had gone better with my ever disappointing blood. I promise, despite brain chemicles and genetic inadequacies, to right the horrific wrongs that have transpired...and to communicate more clearly and more frequently the processes that take place in this mangled mass of gray matter I possess. FruitofNut, you are my everything.