The Therapist

I understand that it has been quite a while since I have posted and I have been planning for a while what to post. I figure an update on my desk and the concerts I’ve been attending recently should be featured at some point. However, I’ve been having some issues lately with a recurring theme in my life.

I am training to become a psychologist. No, not an MFT, not a marriage and family therapist, just a psychologist. I am not even remotely training to become a therapist. Yet, my friends have begun to think this way. I am not qualified to provide adequate advice to everyone at every time for any given situation, much less would I like to. My friends are more than well aware that my true intentions of my career are to become a psychologist that studies murderers. The only form of therapy I would become engaged in is when counseling criminals in jail cells or with children who are already on the pathology spectrum. Essentially. I intend to study criminals. That is what I have always wanted to do.

I have a handful of friends. Roughly four or five that I consider to be my best friends. While I love them, each and every one of them, to pieces, I am not here to solve every one of their needs or listen to every one of their mundane problems. While that may sound terrible, I pride myself in being quite blunt. With this being said, I will not willingly allow my friends to walk themselves down a path of destruction or to any form of flames. Furthermore, if I see danger, I will bluntly tell them of the stupid decision they are attempting to make. When this advice does not work and they get burnt, they come back asking for advice and help. Because I am “the therapist” of the group. If I do not provide the answers that they so desire, I am written off for roughly two weeks until they make another mistake that they would like me to fix. That sounds horrendous, but it is true. I am  not a miracle worker, nor am I a therapist. I will give you advice when it is warranted and necessary, prior to a mess. After a mess has been made, it is not my job to clean it up for you. I am more than willing to help you pick up a mess, but I shall not do it for you and provide clean-cut, black and white solutions. Life does not work that way.

Additionally, I cannot be expected to be full of the answers everyone so desperately wants all at the same time. Naturally, my friends are not all one person, and, therefore, they have different opinions on what “help” is, what “advice” is, and so on and so forth. Why am I to be expected to cater to all these whims and expectations at the drop of a hat? I am an exceptionally emotionally distant person and I do not dish out apologies very easily. Not at the expense of a romantic relationship that was likely not going to last (I’m sorry, the signs were there entirely). Do not value my opinion as a “therapist” once you’ve exhausted all hope. That’s unfortunate for you and an insult to my intelligence. I am not here as a last resort and if someone wanted advice from me, it should have been respected when first given out. Not because it felt necessary now that we were in pain.

I completely understand that I sound rude and quite pretentious, and I do not mean to. Not in any way. However, I cannot be expected to consistently agree with everyone’s opinions at every time and provide adequate advice, as a therapist would, when A.) I am not a therapist and B.) my answers will not match up with the ones you believe you need. This may be wrong of me, but it is truly how I feel.


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