I was thinking about feeling sorry for myself today, and then I met D. I was at the gym riding one of those incredibly boring recumbent bikes. Believe me, it wasn’t by choice. I’m still healing from my hip surgery and it’s all my uber-conservative physical therapist will allow me to do. Anyway, I was pedaling away when a 13-year-old girl plopped down in the one next to me. I was reading “How to Spot a Narcissist” in this month’s issue of Psychology Today. Just as I was getting good at spotting all the narcissists in my life, D interrupted me, “What are you reading?” I turned to a head of spiky, blond hair and a chubby, smiling face. I also noticed a pair of very well-developed breasts that hung low and could have been tied in a knot or tied in a bow. I flashed my magazine cover to the nosy teen and she didn’t take a breath before balking, “That’s not a very nice article. All therapists label people and think everyone is bipolar or something.”
(FYI: I’m a therapist).
Hi, I’m Meghan and I attract people with minimal boundaries who want therapeutic services without actually paying for them. D, being so young and using the exercise bike like a couch doesn’t bother me so much, but this shit happens to me all of the time.
Not only do people want to tell me their life story at the gym, but also in the line at the supermarket while I’m standing there, minding my own business. I mean, I’m totally avoiding eye contact, holding my basket of greek yogurt, apples and tampons, flipping through trashy lady mags when said annoying person interrupts. Pretty soon I’m hearing a sappy story about how they haven’t seen their son in over 12 years because he’s a meth addict and stole over $5,000 from them, or how their spouse of 20 years had been cheating on them for 10 and they finally found out so they’re freshly divorced and have been trying OK Cupid, but you know, it’s just not working. So what do I think they should do?
Listen people, I don’t go to Trader Joe’s to feel crappy. If I really wanted to have a bad day, I’d eat a tub of buttered popcorn, sprinkled with M&Ms and watch Precious, or call my sister. All I want to do is buy some groceries and go home. Okay, and maybe try a few samples. But really, can you blame me? I deal with people’s personal crap all day at work, plus I have more than enough of my own.
Oh, and this stuff doesn’t stop at the grocery line. It follows me on dates. I hear all about fabulous ex-girlfriends. Sometimes I feel like I’m at their funeral. If only I’d prepared a eulogy.
Okay, enough bitching. Back to D. I listened as she told me about her time in CPS custody, her mom’s poor health, her gay brother who was under investigation for sexually abusing her, her uncontrollable rage, the mysterious fires that repeatedly burned down her home, and her homeless godfather who brings her to the gym so he can take “long” showers. Of course everything D blabbed to me, touched me in some way, but what really made me wipe the “sweat” out of my eyes was when she told me about how she gets up periodically throughout the night.
At first D explained it was because she gets hungry. Come on, I know better and it’s not because I read Psychology Today. Unless the girl was taking handfuls of Ambien, there’s an underlying reason she roams the hallways during the night, and it’s not for a ham sandwich. After some gentle probing, D told me it’s because she checks on her family, “We don’t live in a safe neighborhood and I want to make sure everyone is okay.” What the fuck.
What 13-year-old should have to worry about the safety of her entire family? I can understand worrying about the safety of her dolls or designer clothes when nighttime falls, but goddammit, family? This really got me going because my life has always been pretty easy to navigate, kind of like the internet. I mean, until the last few years, I had it pretty easy. And I can’t really complain, even now because, well, I’m 32 and not 13.
Let’s face it, D hasn’t got much of a chance and that pisses me off. I wanted to scoop her off the bike and take her home with me. Let her allow me to keep her safe for a while. But, that was a fleeting moment. I mean, seriously, this chick is street smart. For all I know, she was having fun with me. So, really I’d probably be the unsafe one. I guess I’ll have to wait until next month’s Psychology Today…maybe there will be an article on “How to Spot an Over-sharer” and I’ll know when to run like hell.
FOR KREIN OUT LOUD 