Stories tagged psychotherapy

Morir SoƱando

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While Erik rubs my back, I fall asleep. I'm not lying on my bed in Florida - I'm face down on the pavement outside Brooklyn Pharmacy. And it's not Erik's hand smoothing oil of cassis into my skin, but that Officer Green's meaty one gripping me . . .

Sapperstein

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"Gosh, Simon, you should talk to another professional. You're out of my league."

The Cough

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"I'm an accountant when I should have been a novelist. I know, I know, Kafka was both. But he was a genius. I'm no genius. I'm Henry Neeble, Failure."

The Diary of Anne Frank's Daughter 4. Psychotherapy, God and Me

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The therapist started to seem increasingly far away, his head a tiny potato head, across the ignorant universe of his dustless desk that seemed to get bigger and bigger as the session progressed, like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

Make that a Double

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He was the Novicaine of emotional trauma.

Resistance

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"There are no bad therapists. There are only resistant patients."

The Relativity of Therapeutic Time

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Every clock in our clinic shows a different time, probably due to the constant negotiations about time on the parts of patients and their mental health providers.

To Make a Long Story Short

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"It's a long story."

Forgiveness

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where teenage mothers sat in the waiting room feeding babies from bottles filled with Coca-Cola and Group 13 was filled with the unluckiest women in the world.

The Weary Therapist

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The fascination was gone. Everything that was going to happen had already happened to someone else.

Salsa

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"I'm pushing myself too hard," he thought. "It only happens when I'm exhausted, on these long days. My brain is telling me to cut down, that I'm getting too old for this."

False Alarm

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"The rhubarb grew like seaweed blotting out the underwater house, the tangle of giant leaves making it impossible to get out the front door, like in The Day of the Triffids." Ziggy Zimmerman was lying on his analyst's…

The Weary Therapist

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The Diary of Anne Frank's Daughter 4. Psychotherapy, God and Me

22 views00 comments00 favs

The therapist started to seem increasingly far away, his head a tiny potato head, across the ignorant universe of his dustless desk that seemed to get bigger and bigger as the session progressed, like something out of Alice in Wonderland.