They have all the lettered name badges, they have all the answers.
They have all the walls filled will all of the paperwork...
All the answers.
They have the insight, in the first 15 minutes...
They peer deep into your cracks with their tongue depressors and they can see it clearly.
They can fix you. Not your physical self. No- they are gonna fix your plumbing...the stuff hidden behind painted cupboard doors.
They can't find the leak without peeking, can they?
Maybe the see a reflection of themselves in the murky puddle of your insides. Maybe they catch a glimpse of their cold, hardened stare.
Maybe they will only see it because they are self obsessed. Maybe they self medicate via proxy. Maybe you're one of their hundred proxies.
Hey, proxy- are you sick of it yet? Are you fed up with the fat, tired, aloof, detached, nuts, over analytical, chain smoking, lazy, stinking, fucked up doctors?
You see clearly. And they want to give you glasses. Nice rosy ones. They kind of glasses that cover the shit in a thick coat of saccharine. Doctors that don't even believe 1/3 of what they are saying.
Like a god they stand wielding the power of your folder, thick with charts and test results, little notes to themselves of advice they have given you; reads like scripture. Like a choir of fucking Angels singing their words.
And 15 minutes is past, and now they can see into your soul.
."..yeah sure, tai chi works" (he tells me....the crippled chick) I tell him that if I could do tai chi, I would need my wheelchair or cane.
Keep rowing your bottomless boat, and I'll keep kicking my legs to hold my head above water.
This is the reality. I don't want pills to deal with any of it. I could give a fuck about going to therapy. I am not negative, I am the reality. If anyone has a notion that negativity prompted this, you can suck it. The hard facts of life are the only prompts.
The doctor...the self proclaimed: one man wolf pack, boat rowing, martial artist, Confucius spewing- fucking whatever. He can keep quoting that horse shit to his other patients and I am sure, with the given mentality of the majority of people, he will someday be a wealth of inspiration to some poor fucker someday. The douche bag.
His coldness didn't affect me, I actually prefer it. But I think of all the poor misguided morons that believe him. They take all of his spieled shit and get all misty and inspired and empowered.
Imagine if that did it for me? ...some douche bag, Canadian doctor, working at a walk in clinic for Medicaid and Medicare patients, spewing his pearls of wisdom. Wow.
Imagine if I were mentally feeble and bought into the shit he was saying? I thought he was mystifying? I had at least 3 catharsis' by the time I got home. Nope.
Repeat what you hear/see/read. That's all we do.
As a patient that has disdain for pep talks, I am an oyster that produces its own pearls, and that doctor is no good at shucking.
I was defensive because I needed to be.
He pointed at me, sitting in my wheelchair, and said that I was depressed. Just like that. In minutes. Knowing nothing about me. First meeting. He ain't much for peeling layers. What a fucking asshole.
Bah, I am sick of venting about that ridiculous bullshit. It is thick and sticky and has a tendency to coat everything..
Btw, the super doctor only quoted great minds.