HEALTH & LIFESTYLE
The Double Meaning of ‘D. R.’LOS ANGELES 11 June 2009 |
|
I’d just woken up when the phone rang. It was my friend Sophia, or so I’ll refer to her.
“Duke,” she said, immediately after saying hello, “I have to warn you: I’ve had a couple of vodkas.”
“This early in the day? What’s the problem?”
I’ve gotten fairly good at this kind of thing, because I’ve slowly transformed from Duke, oft-depressed and occasionally-suicidal writer, to Dr. Duke, the go-to guy if you’re as oft-depressed and occasionally suicidal as the doctor himself.
Sophia’s problem, as I should have anticipated, was her ex, who’s been threatening to remove their young son from her custody. They’ve been involved in a nasty divorce for a while now, and it’s lately taken a turn for the worse. Angry e-mails. Intimidating letters from Sophia’s attorney. A scene in Sophia’s front yard. All this evokes the turmoil of my parents’ divorce when I was a child. And then I wonder why I’m unmarried.
Sophia cried. She sobbed, in fact. She apologized for sobbing, and I told her it was okay, as any shrink would. Then I tried to advise her.
“You’re antagonizing your ex,” I said. “I mean, I know he’s an asshole, but that’s all the more reason why you shouldn’t run straight to your attorney when he sends you a threatening e-mail.”
She ultimately decided I was right, more or less. She hung up sounding relatively cheerful, and I asked myself if I would later hear from the friend I’ll call Ethan. He went broke during the winter, due to the worldwide financial crisis, and for a period I would daily spend hours on the phone with him, mostly listening as he deliberated his options, which appeared to be few.
“Well,” he would say, “if the bank comes to throw me out of my house, I’m going to stand on the porch with a flare gun and shoot it at the sky and scream ‘THEY’RE THROWING ME OUT OF MY HOUSE!’ Because I want everyone in this neighborhood to know about it. And maybe then I’ll go live in a trailer. Yes, I think I might find a trailer somewhere in the desert, because I don’t think I’ll be in a position to rent anything in the city, and, besides, I don’t want to live next to noisy people blasting awful music. And I honestly don’t think I’d mind living in a trailer. I think it would be an adventure, you know? Or maybe I’ll just kill myself. I mean, I’ll save that as a last option, if I can’t even afford a trailer, but I’m not afraid to kill myself, because I’ve had a good run, you know? I mean, I am certainly not going to spend the last chapter of my life working at a Denny’s—if I could even get a job at Denny’s! I’m not qualified to do anything.”
At that point, which arose more than once, I reminded Ethan that, like him, I wasn’t qualified to do anything, aside in my case from writing; and also, like him, I was broke to the point of desperation.
“Yes, I know you are. Well, I’ll tell you what: if I don’t kill myself and I do get a trailer, you can come live with me in the desert. I mean, you’ll have to pitch a tent in the yard, because we both know it’ll never work if you live in the trailer. But it wouldn’t be so bad to live in a tent, would it? You could write in the tent all day, and then at night you could come inside and we could have dinner, and then you could go sleep in the tent. It would be an adventure, you know?”
He was flippant, yet serious. I told him I’d consider it. Any shrink—even a lay shrink—knows that you don’t swat down the ideas of desperate people, which would only make them feel worse. Besides, Ethan has always been generous with me, loaning or giving me money when I was short. And he would still, if he could, but he can’t.
Sometimes, even a casual call can lead to an intake session. I recently phoned an acquaintance to invite her to a reading from my novel, and she instantly announced that she couldn’t attend because she’d just been served with divorce papers.
“He’s been living part-time in Texas,” she volunteered about her husband (whom I’ve never met), “and he’s been having an affair, and I think he’s had a private detective spying on me so he can get a better deal in court. And he put out a restraining order on me! I mean, I’ve never done a thing to him! Not one thing! And we have a child! Oh my God, how am I going to support my child?!”
This went on for at least an hour, which I’d say is about average for an intake session. I offered to put Sophia in touch with her, figuring the two would have a lot to discuss. Unfortunately, I didn’t know anybody to whom I could refer the woman I’ll call Amy, who’s the wife of an ex-roommate from my New York days. They moved to L.A. shortly after I did, and had two children, and Amy was wearing herself out with constant worry about them. She’d arranged to send them to a private school that she and her husband could ill afford, though she insisted, since, among other reasons, the children at the school would all be wearing uniforms and so her two children, both girls, wouldn’t come home demanding that she buy them Hannah Montana T-shirts and the like. Amy doesn’t even let her girls watch TV, she’s so concerned they’ll start pining for this ridiculous thing or that one, just as they might start imitating Hannah Montana. A highbrow artist who’s more than earned her many accolades, Amy loathes pop culture, which is one reason we jibe. I mean, I love underground pop culture, but I generally dislike the TV kind.
Amy’s anxiety increasingly overtook her. She tried a number of psychotropic drugs, none of which did the trick. Eventually, she called me while I was browsing one night at Amoeba Records to tell me she was in the hospital.
“I’m having electroshock therapy,” she said in the calmest voice I’d ever heard, at least from her. “I know what you’re thinking—it’s bad—but electroshock therapy has come a long ways in recent years. I can’t even tell you how much better I feel.”
How and when did I become Dr. Duke? I have no idea. Maybe it started fifteen years ago, when a childhood friend rang me up to announce that he was going to off himself because his fiancée had called off their engagement to go work on a pig farm. He was certain she was diddling another employee at the pig farm, and, sure enough, in very short order, she married her fellow pig-farmer—the ultimate slap in the face. And I managed to talk my friend down. He’s now married himself, though I claim no credit for it, and he’s recently bought a farm of his own, where he plans to raise horses.
I suppose I give good advice. It never seems as though I give good advice, because it never seems to get followed, though a few times I’ve had people tell me that they left such-and-such job or moved to such-and-such city because of something I’d said, in some cases years before. I just wish I could give good advice to myself. Therapy, for me, was a bust. The only half-effective therapist I ever had turned out to be a would-be novelist—a novelist who, by his own proud admission, never read novels—and our sessions concluded soon after he asked me to read his manuscript and I failed to sufficiently praise it. Meantime, I was once so low that, at four in the morning, I called the Suicide Hotline to pull me back from the brink. A surly male voice answered. I froze.
“Hello?” repeated the surly voice.
I was about to say something when the line went dead with a click.
I’d been hung up on. By the Suicide Hotline. Even I, a novice, would never do something like that.
|
||
Related Posts |
Original comment thread:
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-11 00:36:56
Sometimes that network of friends turns into more of a net, catching us right before we slip over the edge and down into the void. When everything narrows down to a dark, hopeless point and the only light at the end of the tunnel looks like it’s an oncoming train, you need someone to tell you, not necessarily that you’ve got the option to pull yourself up by the boostraps because, no matter what the movies say, that ain’t always the case, but that you’ve got the option of someone to turn to. Someone to support you so you can get two heads working on the problem, and you don’t have to be so damn alone.
You sound like a good man for people to have in their corner, D.R. And hey. When you get that book deal you can use the advance against the cost of a four am phone call to me in Australia. Eerily, I’m looking at an Amoeba Music beanie right now.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 01:25:51
Well, my book is now in print, though I wouldn’t say I have what is what the world at large would consider a book deal — not one that would make headlines. But, hey, a book like the one I just published was never destined for such a thing. Royalty isn’t achieved by those of common origins, though even commoners, I trust and hope, are entitled in the end to royalties.
Meantime, I’d like to think that I am indeed a good person to have in another’s corner, and the offer you make to me is easily returned, should you ever find yourself in need of a listener. I hope this isn’t giving you diabetes.
Yes, you’d know about Amoeba, having lived in SF. I only passed the branch there, which was smaller, on the outside at least, than the one in LA. It’s a freaking warehouse! And it’s put almost all the independent record stores in LA out of business, because it’s so damned good, but in the last few months small-time vinyl-only stores have opened, and I hope that trend will continue.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-11 01:21:46
If I ever have breakdown, I want your number.
I don’t think I will though. I don’t really open up about myself, I don’t think I have enough bottled up rage for a meaningful explosion anyway.
Amoeba Records is awesome, I went to the one in San Francisco and bought a load of Grateful Dead albums. Although mostly I just wandered about in wonderment. Britain doesn’t have any big, independent record stores.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 01:34:13
Yes, I just commented about the SF Amoeba store, which I never entered. It seemed superfluous, seeing that I’ve practically lived at the one in LA.
If I had to predict, being an amateur shrink and all, I’d say you’ll likely end up with a woman who’s very open, as well as being prone to explosions. That seems to be a common pattern, in my experience. The old opposites-attract.
On the other hand, I’m open and prone to explosions, and I’ve largely ended up with more of the same. So what the hell do I know? I am an amateur, as I said.
Thanks for weighing in, and if I can ever do you a good turn, I stand at the ready.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-11 01:56:44
Isn’t the one in LA the biggest record store in the world or something? My local record store was about the size of a cubicle, but it closed down because no one wanted to buy vinyl Clapton albums and they could only compete with the chain stores to a point.
That store was awesome too, they never asked for my ID, the chain store asked for my ID once, I was buying some awesome 18 rated dvd (I forget what) a few days after my 19th birthday. I handed it over and they still refused to sell it to me, because they couldn’t fucking do the maths.
I think you’re probably right, I don’t talk much unless prompted, so I’d guess she’ll introduce herself first, be the one to strike up conversation.
If I’m ever in Los Angeles I’ll rest easy knowing who to call if the urge to jump out the hotel window ever comes.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 02:09:21
I don’t know the stats, but the Amoeba in LA is huge. I mean, I was blown away the first time I walked inside. It was a candy store for a music geek.
I do hope you find yourself in LA at some recent point (as I wish the same for Simon, even if it’s not the result of his hand having been promised to one of LA’s tempting exports), and I hope you’ll call me even if you’re not on the ledge. I promise, if you call me as soon as you arrive, it will never come to such a thing.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-11 02:17:14
I’m hoping to visit LA fairly soon. I have a kind of list in my head of things I want to do and writing a novel and visiting LA are pretty much the only things left (it needs updating.)
I can afford it too, but I’m waiting to pick the right moment.
I’d like to think I would call out of politeness first, suicidal frenzy second.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 02:20:22
Then your call would be especially welcome. I’ve recently had more than enough of the second type already, though I don’t say that by way of disparagement. We live in trying times.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-11 11:10:56
Of course you must understand that I’m terrible on the phone, I only really function well in casual face-to-face conversation.
I’m terrible at talking, thats why I love the internet, it’s much easier to be eloquent, loquacious and generally charming in text.
But, y’know, at least I won’t be sobbing, hyperventilating or anything. Stilted niceties are still better to receive than problems.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 19:01:45
That’s very true, your last remark. And not to shoot it down, but I think it’s also the way problems are presented and at what length. Some people have a gift for being endlessly entertaining as they present their woes, stand-up comics among them, as well as, I daresay, a few writers and bloggers. It’s all in the telling.
I used to think I gave pretty good phone, but then I had a few people complain by way of making little “jokes” about having been kept on the line too long, so I’ve come to shorten my phone conversation. In fact, I find talking on the phone kind of draining these days, as I don’t in face-to-face talks.
As to my old, lengthier habits — I’m obviously guilty of the very things that I mention about my friends here. In fact, “Ethan” has had to listen to me moan quite a bit, so it’s tit for tat.
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-06-11 02:01:22
Nice piece, D.R.
I feel like I’ve taken the astrology tack lately, but you clearly have a lot of water in your chart. Pisces, maybe Scorpio.
I just finished reading “The Alchemist,” so the adventure in the desert with the tent sounds appealing to me. But you’d be better off getting your MSW and getting paid for doing what you’re doing anyway, seems to me.
I like the title…although the coffee hasn’t kicked in, and it took me till the end to realize what it meant.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 02:17:15
Is Cancer a water symbol? I’m usually classified as a Cancer, born on the cusp, and sometimes as a Gemini. I know I have a Leo mid-heaven, or so I was told the only time I had my charts done, and that’s supposed to account for my dramatic side.
Oh, and, please, call me Duke. I was at a loss as to what entitle this thing, and I finally settled on a poor pun referring to my initials. But my friends mostly call me Duke, and so I introduce myself, though you and I were technically introduced before.
Comment by Ben Loory
2009-06-11 03:12:21
yes, cancer is a water symbol. little awesome crabs scuttling across the floors of silent seas and all.
i have a similar problem with the people coming to me with their problems. it’s so strange because i am about the last person on the planet to be telling anyone what to do. so i don’t. generally i just sit there and stare at them, or, if we’re on the phone, i stare at the wall until they stop talking and go away. seems to work for them.
the worst one is when i have two “clients” that are dating. they both call me up and complain about each other, come over to my house and sit on my couch and complain about each other. i stare at them, this time in total fear as well as bewilderment, i mean what the fuck am i supposed to do? until eventually they go away like the others.
maybe if i get my shit together people will stop asking me for help. just thought of that.
anyway, i feel your pain, or what have you.
never called a suicide hotline. i went completely insane one time but i didn’t call anyone because i thought they’d think i’d gone crazy. they probably would have, too. bastards.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 03:53:26
I called a Suicide Hotline twice, and the first time, in NYC, the guy pretty much confirmed that I was insane. I already reported the second outcome. Your prejudice was, and is, justified.
I think, though, that you’re probably someone people turn to because you have your shit together, or so you appear, and not because of the opposite. I don’t know where people have gotten that idea about me, because some know I struggle through life with as much difficulty as they do.
But being a good, or in any case, decent listener also figures, I think. So many people are never simply heard, and that’s all they finally want. A case in point: a few years ago, I found myself yelling at my dad. He shouted back, “Why are you yelling?!” Only then did I realize why: because I felt he wasn’t listening, and by raising my voice, I thought it might be heard.
Comment by Gina Frangello
2009-06-11 03:34:10
Duke, I seem to be living a parallel universe to yours in terms of despondent friends here in Chicago. I, too, am a Cancer on the cusp of Gemini (June 22, when are you?) and though I don’t generally put much stock in that sort of thing . . . well, who knows, maybe there’s something to it that makes us magnets for the late-night dysfunction of others.
Alas, Ben (above), getting your shit together will not likely have any impact on the fact that all your friends go to you for help. I’m 40 and my friends have been doing this with me since I was 12. At times I was in worse shape than any of them, with chronic pain/illnesses, a painkiller addiction, a cutting habit and bouts of raging mania–at other times I’ve been “the stable” one who is now married with 3 kids and has been more or less in a good place for the past 10 years. Whether or not I was happy and stable myself seemed to have little (if any) impact on the fact that I’m the shrink of our group. I think it has way more to do with something about mannerisms and receptivity, and a lot less to do with whether or not we have any real business offering advice (or are in any real position to do so.)
Duke, I hope your friends don’t read TNB! Otherwise they may be miffed at you. I have an awesome (tragic-funny) story I’m dying to tell in a post of my own, about a friend’s situation, but I’m too chicken-shit that I may be busted, so I commend you this one.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 04:09:52
Yes, I’m taking a chance here, because I only recently had a fearsome exchange about privacy and so on.
However, after dashing this thing off, I went over it a couple of times and even fudged a few minor details so as to further conceal any possible identification, and I finally decided to risk the fallout.
I think the main thing is that it may appear that I’m mocking these people, who are all, except in one case, dear friends, when in fact, if anything, I’m mocking myself, and also those circumstances that make us all momentarily less than we are, or we’re capable of being. It’s life itself I find funny, and so do all the people I mentioned, who all have prominent dark sides, though perhaps, for the time being, they’re apt to find their situations serious in the extreme. And they ARE serious. But so is mine. I’m just trying to get a jump on the future tense, fingering my rosary that there is one.
I already agreed to your point about having one’s shit together in my follow-up comment to Ben’s. As to the Cancer/Gemini thing, I was born on June 21st, egad. One of my brothers shares your birthday, however. All four of my siblings were born in the spring and/or summer. Curious.
Meantime, if any of the people I here sketched–and that’s all this post amounts to: quick, highly inexact and childishly executed sketches–read even one comment following the post itself (as people rarely do, in their haste to punch the reply button), I hope this is the one they read. Again fingering my rosary.
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-06-11 04:10:36
Duke it is, then. That’s an awesome name.
Cancer is the third water sign, yes. And there are no cusps. You’re either one or the other.
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore’s Mom)
2009-06-11 04:10:56
Duke,
First, I am appalled that the suicide hot line hung up on you! What kind of sadist was manning the phones that night?
Second, People come to a person you really listens to them. It’s rare. If you really listen for a long time, sometimes you don’t even have to say much and they can work it out themselves.
Third, I’m proud of you for being a good listener.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 04:16:56
Thanks, Irene.
I agree with you about listening: I think that’s the thing people want most, and they largely work out their problems without much heavy input.
I also agree about that guy at the Suicide Hotline. Jesus F. Christ!
Oh, and I met your daughter the other night, who’s every bit as smart and as lovely as I’d anticipated. We talked paraphilias, briefly.
The below comment, which I wrote as yours was arriving, and may further be moved downward should you reply to this one, was intended for Greg.
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore’s Mom)
2009-06-11 07:12:00
That “you” is supposed to be “who.”
People come to a person WHO really listens to them.
I should try proof-reading.
Lenore’s doctorate is in Paraphelias. That’s all she EVER wants to talk about. I’m hoping it lets up a bit after she finishes her degree.
Heck, I was going to say something else, but my comment is covering up your comment and I forgot all that you said.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 10:39:24
Well, the TNB comment board is a bit of a cluster-fuck. Case in point: I only just noticed this remark, after checking the board constantly this morning, anticipating responses from that cold-ass Brin.
But maybe that’s all my fault.
And Lenore’s a very interesting young woman, and with or without her talk of paraphilias, as I’m sure she’ll continue to be. I was charmed right off my feet. Not to make it sound all weird or something!
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore’s Mom)
2009-06-11 12:41:19
You should just take a look at what, seemingly passive and normal, Brin thought about my photo. Seriously, just look. You won’t vomit, but I almost did.
Whoa. Yeah. Lenore is Interesting. Charming. Talented. You forgot SCARY.
Just saying.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-13 00:08:41
Just noticing this. Again, the cluster-fuck. However: all smart people are scary. That’s why they’re largely eschewed in a culture as timid as America currently. But here I’m only doling out a preview of some of the underlying ideas in my book, which, as per your comment below, has been sent to you two-for-the-price and so is BEGGING you to read it.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 04:12:09
And how do you classify June 21st? I more often than not find it in the Cancer file, not the Gemini, which is — an air sign?
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-06-11 10:06:28
June 21 is usually Cancer, but it can depend on the exact time and location of your birth. Drop me a line and let me know and I’ll be happy to plug it into the program and let you know for sure.
Greg
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 18:56:29
It shall be done.
Comment by Brin Friesen |
2009-06-11 04:54:27
My dad worked for a suicide hotline during university. He quit after he found out they didn’t make any measurable difference in preventing suicides and didn’t especially care either. Their first priority was to tally all the callers so the hotline could demand more funds.
This was another great piece, Duke.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 06:58:34
Yes, I remember us having an exchange about suicide earlier, and your dad’s experience being cited in it.
Honestly, though I never said so in the piece, I think I might well have some aptitude for manning a for-real hotline.
Now, read the comments on your own new piece, maestro, and let me know how you respond. Here, preferably. Or must I always trek to your house? (This is, of course, said in fun.)
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore’s Mom)
2009-06-11 07:13:17
That is SO cold, Brin.
Comment by Rich Ferguson
2009-06-11 05:14:22
Nice one, Doc Rock. Good to know that I’ve got some solid medical assistance close by, should I ever need it. But seeing as I stopped doing any kind of psychotropics a good few years ago, and I’m not a heavy drinker, my life can sometimes tend toward the quiet side. We’ll see, though. Maybe some night I’ll call you while experiencing a severe boredom attack.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 07:04:11
The last, I daresay, would be right up my alley. Let’s make it happen.
What a party we’d have, if only we could import all the off-shore TNBers to LA for a night or two. As it is, I believe we could have a good party with the locals only. And it seems we’re close to doing so.
Lenore, ready with the whip?
Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-06-11 14:00:57
i am always ready for the whip.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-13 00:09:33
Belatedly noticing this, too. Man, you really ARE scary!
Comment by Brin Friesen
2009-06-11 07:17:06
You’re on, Duke. It’s a worthy challenge. Maybe we’ve set a little precedent here. I want us to have the same title though. What do you think? You can even have dibs on what that is. There’s a hell of a head start.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 07:37:58
Oh, no. We’ll confer by private e-mail until we’ve worked out the title between ourselves, and we’ll set a date on which to post our pieces simultaneously — within minutes of one another.
Glad to see you’re on board, you COLD Canadian, you. I think this’ll be a hoot — which word conjures an owl, and your fabled forests are surely full of owls, no?
However, to settle one detail here first: Can we or can we not use the real name of your accompanying cold Canadian?
Comment by Irene Zion (Lenore’s Mom)
2009-06-11 07:18:57
Hey, Duke,
I forgot to tell you.
I ordered “Banned for Life” and got two instead of one. This book REALLY wants me to read it.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 07:33:51
Then, OBEY, Irene! And please give the second copy to the androgynous, mucus-spewing midget who assaulted your daughter. I have a feeling s/he’ll like it, even if you don’t.
But I guess you can’t, can you? Not now that you’re no longer living in Illinois.
Ah, well. Give it to the first androgynous, mucus-spewing midget you see.
But I’ll have you know that Lorene said, based on my description, that you’d like my humble book, as it appears to recognize.
Comment by Brin Friesen
2009-06-11 07:52:03
We keep this up we’ll both drop Brad’s heavyweight title of comments faster than Glass Joe.
A week is good. And I totally agree. They should be posted simultaneously. Same title. It’ll be fun.
I say we call *him* “Frosty”. Or we can roll Cockney with something like “Wendy’s”.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 07:56:56
I just agreed to Frosty at your igloo.
It’s, unfortunately, a very apt name. Poor guy. Yet he had a lot of unrealized potential.
I wonder if anyone is even going to notice this exchange? I’ll be shocked (he said by way of encouraging comments) if anyone does.
Wait.
Nope. Brad’s still in the restroom.
Comment by Brin Friesen
2009-06-11 07:59:19
How would we stage it as an event? Besides the tweet wankfest?
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 08:08:26
This will all be determined by e-mail.
In the meantime, if you don’t immediately tweet this shit, I will. I mean, what the hell else is tweeting good for?
Please be first. I dare you. But only because I’m exhausted and have to click off this geriatric computer or I’m going to die.
Consider it a “Survivor” challenge.
More soon by e-mail.
Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-06-11 10:27:21
oh man. me too. and i don’t know why anyone comes to me, anyone at all. because i swear i am frequently at the point of interruption in functioning. just no one notices. instead they think i can help them.
but you know what? i think we do help them. and i think that only people like us could help them. who the hell wants to take their fucked up life to someone with a pretty perfect life? no way no how. i want someone else who’s like “oh god, yeah, i totally think the government is planting microchips in my toilet to spy on me.” those are the best people.
crazies going to the nutsos. it could go on forever, god willing.
next time i melt down, i’m coming straight to you, but instead of a meltdown, i’m gonna make you go get late night coffee with me. i know you like that.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 18:55:48
This got me to thinking about a friend who did, for a period, think the government was spying on him. He was convinced that his phone was tapped and that agents were snapping photos and monitoring his MySpace page. This all came as he was putting a stop to his years-long, many-smokes-a-day pot habit, but anyway, even though he’s still a bit touched, as they say, he gives pretty good advice.
And you’re absolutely on it with the late-night coffee thing. What, are you spying on me? How’d you know that? This is really freaking me out.
Comment by Reno
2009-06-11 10:29:41
(said in a rough gym-teacher voice)
haney! like you, i’ve been known to suffer fom depression. mild depressions that range in levels, or categories. they go from 1-5.
if i was suffering from a 1 or a 2 i’d call you up. i’d like to hear what you’d say, see if you had the goods to get me straight. anything above a 2 i’d have to seek someone w/ some medical credentials.
or i’d get a bottle of hooch.
for a practicing shrink i think it’s good that you can go long w/ your advice and have a good stash of people around you that can need your services. you may be onto something. parlay this is into cash. that’s what i’d do.
funny read, man. good tone.
so deserving,
reno romero
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 18:51:44
I so undeserving of this comment.
If only there were a way of making money at this kind of thing! Though I think there is, and it’s called practicing licensed psychotherapist. Alas, I lack the credentials.
But I think hooch probably works best, anyway. At least temporarily. Which reminds me of a funny remark made by the publisher of Drunk magazine: “People always say that if you get drunk, your problems will still be there in the morning, but that’s like saying there was no point in taking a trip to Hawaii because you still have to go back to work in two weeks.”
Something like that.
Comment by jmblaine
2009-06-11 11:54:49
I could have sworn I left a comment and then checked back to find none.
Nonetheless - you’ve stirred us all to think and
I think I requested you post all your phone numbers
so members can call the TNB crisis line anytime.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 18:45:23
Ah. And will you be assisting me in manning the line? You’re much more experienced than I am.
Comment by Zara
2009-06-11 14:35:04
I want to know how much you charge, Duke.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 18:47:18
Well, seeing that I’m as broke as I am, I should probably charge a nominal fee; but as you’re all fellow TNBers, my services are gratis.
Hey, don’t hear the phone ringing! Come on, people, let’s have some breakdowns and hit them phones! Yeah!
Comment by Marni Grossman
2009-06-11 21:50:54
In college, I knew a handful of people who dropped out to go crazy. In fact, I think my school should rank number 1 in emotional instability on the U.S. News and World Report list. This, of course, is why I went there. Like attracts like, after all.
But because of this, I ended up with incredibly wonderful, incredibly histrionic, incredibly insane friends. Many of whom come to me to complain and talk things out. Which is great. It makes me feel wanted.*
But.
I am no paragon of stability. I have the scars to prove it. And when I’m awake at 3:00 am, freaking out, there never seems to be anyone for me to call. Because I don’t want to alienate my friends. I don’t want to out myself as self-involved and selfish. There’s nothing duller than depression. “I hate myself and I want to die.” What does one say to that? Rinse, lather, and repeat.
You are a good egg for putting up with this shit.
*I have two friends who don’t do this and it actually makes me incredibly anxious. Don’t they like me enough to confide in me? Do they hate me? (I tend to think everyone hates me unless otherwise specified.)
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-11 22:26:45
When you say that you acquired a set of wonderful, histrionic, insane friends and that’s it great to have them come to you and complain and talk things out, you’ve hit on the very reason that I don’t at all consider it a favor to listen to the same, as maybe the piece unfortunately makes it sound. I consider bitch-and-moan sessions, simply, a part of friendship, and it’s nice to know that my friends have a pulse. Meantime, there are others I know who are so disaffected, so seemingly numb, that I’m utterly perplexed by them, because I always figure there’s got to be more than the little they’re sharing, and yet I rarely see signs of it. And when they don’t turn to me in moments of trouble, I, apparently like you, take it personally. I feel like, What, do I not count? Does my friendship mean that little to you?
Conversation is the very heart of friendship. There are shared experiences that have, at first glance, nothing to do with conversation — sporting events and travel, for instance — but there’s always the inevitable wrap-up that follows, and meantime, who wants to do stuff with people whose conversation you don’t enjoy?
Stendahl once defined love as a conversation that doesn’t end — that is, there’s never any shortage of things to be discussed with the beloved. And a good friend to me is very much someone beloved.
And, oh yes, the three AM blues — it’s a horror, isn’t it? I’m a night owl, and there’s nothing worse than knowing that, should you feel an urgent need to speak to someone, you’re not going to find it at that hour. And yet you’re also right when you say that, past a certain point, listening to someone depressed becomes just plain dull — but only, I think, when you feel that your input isn’t being heard. That’s the problem: everything you say is immediately shot down with “I know, but…” And so it continues.
Comment by Brad Listi
2009-06-12 09:46:08
I think I have this too. I get a lot of it, though thankfully no near-suicides lately. What is it? Listening? Maybe it’s listening. Maybe it’s some vibe we give off. Strangers are often unusually forthcoming with me. I have students, too. Students will sometimes tell me stuff at school. I suppose that’s kind of normal.
My problem is that I sometimes try to answer them. They’ll have a question, and I’ll answer it, or attempt to, even though I really don’t know the answer. And so I’ll answer it as a matter of compulsion, and then once I’m done answering it I’ll second-guess myself and qualify my response by saying that my answer isn’t really an answer because I don’t actually know the answer. But I want to help.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-12 14:47:08
I think the altruistic impulse is hard-wired into all of us, to a lesser or greater degree. I wouldn’t characterize myself as excesssively altruistic. I mean, I haven’t devoted my life to charity or any other noble cause, and it requires, perhaps, more-than-average selfishness to take, as a friend of mine used to put it, the artistic route. But I do see myself as empathetic, and I think that may be THE quality that others recognize that impells them to confess to us.
I now see that I’m not alone, among TNBers, as a latter-day Ann Landers, or a Miss Lonelyhearts, who, as you know, was in fact a man. (Great book!) And last night I got a long message from an online friend in Australia who’s been following my blog, and it seems he’s also a go-to guy in matters of emotional distress. I wish he’d posted a comment here. Daniel, if you read this, sign in and state your approval publicly! I’m vain that way!
Well, that way and a few others.
Comment by oksana marafioti
2009-06-13 17:10:41
It is definitely all about listening. See, most people believe themselves to be great listeners, but it is a talent that many of us lack. Duke, I am glad you’re still around. After all, if we don’t like what’s on the other side, there won’t be a hotline to call and complain to.
Great story.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-14 01:10:23
Well, since we don’t know what’s there, or if there’s even any form of other side in the first place, who’s to say? But I’d tend to agree with you: no hotlines once the final step is taken.
I’ve been thinking a lot about mortality this evening, but not in a morbid way.
Also, I sometimes wonder if I really am a good listener. Last year I did a radio show, and I later listened to a podcast of it, and there were numerous comments made during the show that had flown right past me but, apparently, everyone else in the studio heard. I was shocked! And humbled.
Thanks for commenting.