a word or two of remembrance to you counselors

If the help line counts as counseling of any type

Then you sucked ass.

I’m guessing you were trained for not much more

than answering a telephone.

Maybe you should stick to that,

but move to collecting stats.

 

Then there was little lady, Blondie Jane.

Your training included the then in thing,

“lets dig and recall”.

You seemed to know

and like what you were doing

You dug, and you informed.

 

The free dude from the good will place.

Used to working with more derelict types.

Not to condescending,

but definite boundary issues.

Funding ran out,

and I moved on.

 

Then there was the fill in lady:

brown hair, about 12 years old looking.

You were on the soft and mooshy tip.

You asked for a poem

to recollect my feelings.

And then you howled your eyes out.

You might need some more training

me thinks.

 

Then the dude, to fill in the fill in.

Brucey, think your name was.

Controlled and logical, methodical.

I got your jist and understood your logic.

You apparently felt uncomfortable though,

and thought I should go somewhere else.

‘Referred On’.

 

Then there was the Dutch catholic dude:

the child psychologist, he was.

You dug about and found Borderline Personality Disorder,

PTSD,

Depression.

Oh and Oppositional Defiance Disorder for my girl.

Whilst you were full of knowledge,

and way ahead of your time,

you didn’t ‘treat’.

You just, talked.

 

Then there was the psycho drama lady:

that smelt funny.

With big dolls and little dolls,

to talk to.

Think you were ahead of your time too.

But you wanted to dig around far too much.

Looking for stuff that just wasn’t

there.

 

Then the lady with the extremely hairy legs:

With the tapping technique.

You were more interested in marriage guidance.

I wasn’t interested in marriage though.

You said I was a runner,

wanting to be there, but not.

The essence of a sexual abuse victim, victim.

But then what?

 

Then theres the little pregnant lady from Germany:

Nice disposition,

not good at being blunt though.

You ‘discovered’ the panic and anxiety.

Then you became to busy,

and referred on to a Psychiatrist,

that didn’t happen.

 

Then came the short stumpy one:

You didn’t like being questioned,

as you believed your night course certificate

was all the information you needed.

Your theories aren’t real world honey.

Next.

 

Then the culturally appropriate lady:

who turned down her ass music

because it hurt my ears.

Thank you.

You had no theories. No logic really.

But you did realize you couldn’t help, and you were kind.

You referred on,

to a Psychiatrist or Psychologist.

That didn’t happen.

 

Eventually –

The Psychiatrist.

Short and sharp and straight to the $500 an hour point.

PTSD, post Borderline Personality Disorder, post Depression.

Heres some pills.

Next.

 

Eventually –

The Psychologist.

Honest:

as honest as your ethical centre will let you be.

Realistic:

I can appreciate that.

You get paid well for your knowledge though.

 

But what Now?

 

You all added to my knowledge.

You all added to my distrust in the mental health system.

All systems.

You all added to my experience.

 

The End.

First Publish on: Jul 28, 2015 @ 11:47 ❤

 

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