Anthopper

It's all in how you look at it

Mr. Therapy sat back in his chair and smiled. "You know, " he said, "this is very interesting. I have been seeing similar situations with other couples of your generation."

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well, your generation gets married later in life than previous generations. Your generation is more mobile; instead of marrying your high school sweetheart, you are marrying people from other parts of the country and the world that you are meeting in college, at work and on travels. Your generation is less "couply" than others; you tend to run in packs of friends, as opposed to pairing off and socializing exclusively with other pairs."

"What's that got to do with us?"

"Well, you don't have any in-depth knowledge of one another. Your interactions are framed by your social life, meaning you fell in love with each other in the context of a group, which is very different from intimate, personal relationships. In a group, you never have to be the one carrying the conversation or providing all of the attention or suggestions. In a couple, there is just the two of you. The dynamic is very different. Basically, you two didn't really know each other like you may have thought." He rubbed his hands together like a fly. "I wonder if anyone has ever written a paper about this. I'm sure it is becoming a common phenomenon amongst your age group."

"So, let me get this straight. We are sitting here thinking we had something great but we lost it. Are you saying that we never had it to begin with?" Mr. Therapy nodded his head.

Grasshopper and I looked at each other and smiled. Somehow, it made a psychological difference.

Date? Who, her?

Mr. Therapy tried to recover. "Well," he said, "I have to say that you two are really quite...different in your approaches to life." Duh. "May I ask, how have you been navigating those differences all these years?"

"Easy," I said, "We don't talk." Grasshopper nodded his head in agreement. We sat there expectantly, as Mr. Therapy got more and more agitated.

"Well, surely you two must talk about something. How about when you go out together?"

"We do not go out. I told you that already," I said. I was starting to get annoyed.

"Well, when you used to go out, then. Grasshopper, what did you talk about on a typical date?"

"Date? Who, her?" Grasshopper looked as puzzled as Mr. Therapy. "We never really dated in the way you mean."

Mr. Therapy frowned and said, "What way do I mean? A date is a date, when you and Ant would go out together and do something, just the two of you." His brow wrinkled and he almost scowled.

"We usually went out with a group of our friends," I expained. "Well, they're his friends now, but they used to be mine too, before we lived together." Mr. Therapy just looked at me, silently. I continued, "You know, like a bunch of friends hanging out together. We both do well in crowds." I looked at Grasshopper for confirmation, and he nodded again.

Mr. Therapy sighed heavily and said, "Well, the majority of your life together is not going to be in a crowd."

"Exactly," Grasshopper exclaimed, beaming.

He works hard for the money

We had our regular session. I didn't keep my mouth shut, but that ended up being a good thing.

I very calmly said that I feel like this is a waste of time, because Grasshopper is grinning all up in the therapist's face one moment, then having a shouting match with me in the next. "Why do you think that is," said Mr. Therapy.

"I think he is embarrassed. I think he's shy...uncomfortable," I said, looking over at Grasshopper. The therapist asks Grasshopper what he thinks about what I have said.

"I dunno," he mumbles. "Maybe she's right."

The therapist nodded his head, like this was fascinating. "Ant, have you ever talked to Grasshopper about these feelings that you have?" I blinked. The quick, sarcastic comment was on the tip of my tongue because, really, what the heck else had I been talking about the last couple months?

Before I could reply, Grasshopper said, "You know, she probably has told me. Actually, I'm sure she did; she doesn't have a problem saying what she thinks."

Mr. Therapy was confused. "If Ant has expressed these emotions to you in the past, then why..." He trailed off. 

Grasshopper grinned. He said, "I just don't think about those things."

"I'm sorry; I don't understand," sputtered Mr. Therapy. Poor thing.

Grasshopper, having regained his footing, grinned some more and stretched. Yawning, he said, "I don't like unpleasant things. If what she said made me unhappy, which it probably did, I just blocked it out of my mind. I just forget about it, then I'm happy again."

The room was quiet. I wanted to jump up, pump my fist and yell, "YESSSSSSSS!!!!" Mr. Therapy looked devastated, like when you think you are going to duck out early on a Friday afternoon, but then your boss comes to you at 4:30pm with something "urgent" that you need to do right then and there. Damn, I could see him thinking. He realized now that he was going to have to earn that copay.

Therapy Schmerapy

Tomorrow is our sixth counseling session. We go every other week. Last time, I lost my temper. We never talk about the real issues we have. Grasshopper said I had no time for him or the kids (read: him), because I was always working. He's upset I'm going back to school, because that means he'll have to stay home with the kids. He also is upset that I don't run to jump into bed with him after I put the kids to bed. He told the therapist I was always on the computer or the telephone. I tried to point out that I don't watch tv, which is how he spends his evenings, but I didn't have the talking stick so I couldn't say anything. It was ridiculous:

The therapist said, "Grasshopper, what would you like from Ant?"

"I don't know," he replied. "To not be on the phone when she walks in the door." I seethe. I come in the door from work in the evening, and he's there lying on the sofa watching tv. There are toys all over the place, the kids haven't eaten and homework has not been done. If I wasn't on the phone, I'd probably stay away from him anyway, just to avoid a fight.

"Hmm," said the therapist, "maybe you'd like Ant to spend some quality time with you?"  Grasshopper nods. Yeah, sure, after I pick up the toys, feed the kids and do some laundry. Just hold on a sec, hon, let me finish scrubbing this toilet so I can hold your hand.

"Grasshopper," here the therapist pauses for a v-e-r-y long time, steepling his fingers and nodding his head. "Grasshopper, how much time would you like to spend with Ant, if you could?"

"What do you mean?" Warning sign #1 to me, but hey, I'm not the mental health professional.

"How much time would you like to spend with Ant, just the two of you? Going out, staying in; it doesn't matter."

"Oh. At least once a month, I guess." Once a MONTH?! Warning sign #2.

Therapist sadly shakes his head. Encouragingly, he says, "Grasshopper, you can say it; go ahead. How much time do you want? Speak up for what you want." Umm...yeah. Here is where I should've sat back and let Grasshopper stick his foot in his mouth, as he usually does if you talk to him for too long. Should have.

"Ha," I snorted. "He's telling you just what he means. He doesn't really want to spend time with me. I have only been working this much in the last year; before this, I was home and he never made an effort to spend time with me then. He always went off to do his thing, and left me home with the kids. Now that the shoe is on the other foot, my how it pinches." Good one, Ant. At the time, I thought it was terribly clever.

"So, basically, you have a lot of pent-up anger towards Grasshopper," the therapist said, in prosecutor mode. He turned to Grasshopper and shook his head.

"No. No! I never said that! I'm not like that!"

"Yes, well here we are trying to fix the present, while you are dwelling in the past!" He actually raised his voice at me! He's a therapist for crissakes! If the therapist loses control, what does that mean for the rest of us?

I plodded on. "Look, I was just trying to illustrate a point. I don't care about the past, really."

"So you're apathetic?"

Throughout all of this, Grasshopper is quiet. I applaud this strategy. Well played, Grasshopper. Well played. I, meanwhile, am incredulous, which in turn makes me obnoxious.

"This is f-ing ridiculous," I say, throwing my arms up in the air. "This is such bullsh*t! Stop trying to gaslight me, here, okay?!"

The therapist looks at Grasshopper, who shrugs. "Do you have anything to add to this...well...what Ant had to say?"

Grasshopper sits back, looking calm and collected, and says he doesn't know why I am unhappy, or why I get so upset, blink-blink. I was flabbergasted when the therapist bought that crap. Actually, no, because Grasshopper is damned charming. It was more that I was hurt that he was flat-out lying. I tried to explain this, and started to cry, snot and all. I rambled on about authenticity and how Grasshopper was being fake. I was like the madwoman in the attic, and the two of them just stared at me as I basically lost any  ground I had gained over the past couple months.

"Yeah, I suck! I'm the bad guy! Ant is always wrong; how could I forget that?!" The cherry on my temper tantrum sundae. Yes, I'm cringing, too.

Tomorrow, I'm not going to say a word. Well, maybe a few words...but no raving! I promise.