The Troubled Therapist

April 13, 2010

Michele Bachmann, Newt Gingrich and Boners

Let me be upfront, Bipolar disorder is not a mental illness manifesting somewhere between the North and South Pole [Brazil or Alaska was initially studied {I don’t know why} for the study I refuse to study]. But I do know that Bipolar Disorder involves periods of excitability [mania] alternating with periods of depression [a real sucky feeling]. The “mood swings” between mania and depression can be very abrupt—sometimes not. That’s why I’d rather discuss Tentative-Primordial-Priapism-Interuptus, or TPPIx2 to the 1⁄4 square root of an apple pie. So let’s be cautious and get on the same page.

TPPIx2 blah…blah…blah is considered a medical emergency, and a distressed patient should receive proper treatment by a qualified medical practitioner [me]. Early treatment can be beneficial for a functional recovery and my financial well-being. Medical advice [ha!] should be sought immediately for cases of TPPIx2 blah…blah…blah lasting beyond four hours. Generally, this is done at an emergency department or Target store. Orally administered pseudoephedrine [or orange soda] may be effective. Otherwise, the therapy at this stage is to aspirate aspirations from the corpus cavernosum under local anaesthetic [I suggest minimally cut cocaine]. If this is still insufficient, then intracavernosal injections of phenylephrine along with a salve consisting of chocolate milk, granola bars [generic is okay] and Michele Bachmann’s saliva are administered—applied. [Note] This should only be performed by a trained urologist, gymnast, a priest well versed in apologetic verbiage, anthropologist or Newt Gingrich, and with the patient under constant hemodynamic monitoring, as phenylephrine can cause severe hypertension, bradycardia, tachycardia, and arrhythmia [Michele Bachman’s saliva has been known to cause causal causiligia in a causative cavalcade way {ask Sean Hannity post-boner}].

Do I see hope in the treatment of TPPIx2 blah…blah…blah? Maybe—at least I hope so. Bipolar Disorder was once thought to be unmanageable if not manageable. Manic signs and symptoms such as restlessness and increased energy, irritability, thoughts racing, failure to sleep, substandard judgment, abuse of drugs, increased sex desires, wild spending sprees and aggressive or violent behavior exist while depressive episodes of sadness, hopelessness, feelings of worthlessness or guilt, no more interest or pleasure in activities or sexual experience, decreased energy and fatigue, over sleeping, or thoughts of suicide also exist, if not continue to be a source of alternate equations unsolved by the divide of the polar ice caps and Heineken Beer. Then again, there’s always hypo-masturbation.


February 25, 2010

Silly Putty, Mitch McConnell and Roto Rooter

In the spectrum of diseases mental and imagined, one manages to cross paths with my pathological need to treat patients in need of nothing more than nothing less concerning a hypochondriac’s nightmare: non-attention to their attentive needs. Silly you might say; silly ass disease [not to be confused with celiac disease] is precisely what I say. This disorder is as new as my imagined need to pretend I can maintain a helium-free diet. But make no mistake [or postpone you prostate or blocked clitoris exam] silly ass disease is as real as celiac disease symptoms: digestive problems [abdominal bloating, pain, gas, diarrhea, pale stools, weight loss and a need to puke on Mitch McConnell’s loafers], a severe skin rash called dermatitis herpetiformis, iron deficiency anemia [low blood count caused by overexposure to Brit Hume], muscular-skeletal problems [muscle cramps, joint and boner pain], growth problems and failure to thrive [in all things except watching American Idol], seizures and foreclosures, tingling sensation in the legs [Chris Matthews Syndrome], aphthous ulcers [sores in the mouth and other orifices many speak out of] and missed menstrual periods and semi-colons. The difference in deference to silly ass disease is that all symptoms are silly—sophomoric in a moronic way.

So how does a therapist treat silly ass disease? Must you ask that question? Must I? Indeed, if I must, then inside-patient therapy, classes in Rotor Rooter theory [applied and supplied] and collection of multi-colored pharmaceuticals carefully prescribed for the colorblind [liquid form for the blind and hard of hearing or those who question global warming and Roger Ailes’ waistline] is suggested, if not ridiculed—which ever comes first. It’s kind of like the chicken and the egg. Go with it. Really. I did.

Successful treatment and resolution concerning silly ass disease is debatable, further complicating said disorder making said disorder disjointed and out of order. Research does prove that reconciliation of any sort concerning the resolution I put forth in this treatise tremendous is certainly silly if not Silly Putty.

February 15, 2010

Charles Krauthammer, Polar Bear Poop and Ex-lax

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 5:11 PM
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The eating disorder bulimia is most common among female adolescents and young adults. People with bulimia typically eat large amounts of high-calorie foods, usually in secret. After this binge eating they often, force themselves to vomit. They have feelings of guilt or depression. It isn’t my intention to use a Sharpie to draw attention to this disorder; instead, compulsivity and compressed fractures of the metacarpals [I complained to Vic about the vig] have me digesting the complex disorder: bullshit epididymis-epidemiology—crapola for short.

Complications from long-term bulimia include: electrolyte abnormalities, esophagitis, gastric dilatation, lung (pulmonary) aspiration, pancreatitis, pharyngitis, tooth decay, constipation and hemorrhoids, interestingly enough, have nothing to do with bullshit epididymis-epidemiology [bad breath and predilections for predisposition of suppository support do], but crap is crap unless said crap morphs into crapola and polar bear poop. It takes a trained medical professional [a gay minister who claims deity-intervention cured his gayness and genital oozing is not such a professional] to identify, identify with, and have indemnity from ideological discussions concerning identities to discuss polar bear poop as it might pertain to political poop from which there is seemingly no immunity. Moose poop is a different animal.

The cause for bullshit epididymis-epidemiology is unknown. However, one suffering from bullshit epididymis-epidemiology might just be a bullshitter pooping genetic nonsense. Testing in this area is still in the formative stages as constipation and free airfare to Constantinople have kept said testing from engaging in anything specific beyond specified bullshit identified [political punditry, puritanical pungency and Rush Limbaugh’s larynx dipped in Ex-lax] to be tested. However, many researchers grade on a curve, easing patients’ anxieties concerning stepping in polar bear poop [moose poop somehow isn’t as traumatic. Go figure… I’ll wait and digress].

Treatment is complicated and time sensitive [it’s best to catch a bullshitter pre-meal]. I find that my patients respond well to ABBA songs, making faces at pictures of Charles Krauthammer and journaling about disingenuous indigenous indigestible indignation. Medication is usually not needed for this disorder. However, psychedelics sprinkled on your Frosted Flakes can’t hurt; your doctor may prescribe antidepressants, but that’s really a bullshit option unless a patient steps in poop of any kind.

February 9, 2010

Freud, Sarah Palin and Tootsie Roll Pops

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 4:04 PM
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Imagine not being able to imagine images imagined while processing the stimuli of the real world in an imagined state. Freud understood that the ego mediates among the id, the super-ego and the external world. Its task is to find a balance between primitive drives and reality [the Ego devoid of morality and super majorities] while satisfying the id and super-ego. Its main concern is with the individual’s safety and allows some of the id’s desires to be expressed, but only when consequences of these actions are marginal and best served as margarine on scones or saltine crackers with no salt. It could mean one’s self-esteem, an inflated sense of self-worth, or in philosophical terms, one’s self would certainly be deflated and devalued in these uncertain times. However, according to Freud, the ego is the part of the mind that contains the consciousness constructed with Lincoln Logs, Legos and a set of psychic functions such as judgment, tolerance, reality-testing, control, planning, defense, synthesis of information, intellectual functioning, and memory [remembering all of this is key] while the ego is depicted to be half in the consciousness, while a quarter is in the preconscious and the other quarter [75%] lies in the unconscious consciousness of the unconscious. The imagery is staggering unless one can’t imagine said imagery or any flavor of Tootsie Roll Pops.

Overcoming non-imagination relies on forgetting about the id and the ego and focusing on the super-ego, wiffle balls and marshmallow fluff. The super-ego aims for perfection. It comprises that organized part of the personality structure, mainly but not entirely unconscious [unless you are comatose or freaked out with roid rage], that includes the individual’s ego ideals, spiritual goals, and the psychic agency [commonly called paranormal Panamanian pizza delivery] that criticizes and prohibits one’s drives, fantasies, feelings, and actions—especially actions that are non-reactive. The super-ego can be thought of as a type of conscience that punishes misbehavior with feelings of guilt, if said misbehavior causes disbelief, mischief or naked bungee jumping. For those suffering from not being able to imagine imagined images, be thankful, as naked bungee jumping can be gross.

What to do…  Treatment for non-imagination imagination requires that the super-ego work in contradiction to the id. The super-ego strives to act in a socially appropriate manner, whereas the id just wants instant self-gratification [masturbation or marinated meatballs if one is considering celibacy]. The super-ego controls our sense of right and wrong and guilt. It helps us fit into society by getting us to act in socially acceptable ways [think Sarah Palin making sense… yes, it’s difficult to imagine]. The super-ego’s demands that symbolic cymbals clash with the internalization of the father figure and cultural regulations is non-essential. The super-ego tends to stand in opposition to the desires of the id because of conflicting objectives, and aggressiveness towards the ego and Eggo waffles. Said super-ego is egocentric, acting as the conscience, maintaining our sense of morality and proscription from taboos and fungus toenails. Successful treatment requires strong pharmaceutical intervention, watching reruns of Family Guy and of course singing the song Imagine in a false falsetto with a tinge of titillating vibrato. Again… imagine Sarah Palin making sense… it’s easy… it isn’t hard to do. Well, yes, it is, but the imagery is unimaginable.

February 4, 2010

Political Dysmorphia, Walmart and Proctology

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 1:12 PM
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I hesitate discussing the disease: political dysmorphic syndrome, otherwise known as convoluted convulsive rhetoric disorder. Somehow, my mind is diverging on diluted thoughts concerning Walmart’s disgusting practice of closing checkout lines when a conglomerate of customers converge on apathetic sales associates [male, female and gender nonspecific] dedicated to preserving their extra long brightly colored press-on nails while scanning various commodities [Beijing bargain basement prices] that cry out sometimes, nearly-never American made. But my digression digresses so I redirect my thoughts to transient translucent episodic episodes.

Political dysmorphic syndrome is a growing anxiety disorder in which the affected person is excessively concerned about and preoccupied with perceived defects in the political spectrum concerning the inner-self and political affiliations. Political dysmorphia seemingly manifests as one reaches voting age; leanings towards progressive thoughts are most likely to occur unless the young voter has been indoctrinated by conservative ideology [conservative parents] thus rendering progressive tendencies tenesmus —except for those catheterized or colostomy-bagged. Factored into this treatise is the early voter who leans towards political non-affiliation. Generally, this patient shows signs of indifference and constipation; a high fiber diatribe diet is recommended. Root cause maybe quasi-quenched with root beer—non-diet. I need not continue this paragraph.

The mutation of political dysmorphia seemingly happens as one progresses through minimum wage, anemic academia, non-union unionization, corporate copulation and tax bracket awareness [have you seen my taxes? Seriously… I don’t know where my CPA resides within the federal penal system] leading to a renewed interest in Jesus, Republican ideology centered around talking points of serious verbose verbiage verboten of construct concerning concern and constructionist non-contemplation. One can also consider the damage of UV tanning rays, but I won’t. That’s another disease [Boehnerbozoism] I’ll reserve discussion on for anther time. This blog has yet to generate interest beyond five hundred words. So, on to treatment….

Patients diagnosed with this disorder [do I have to mention the name again? Seriously…] may be treated with psychotherapy, medication, or both. Research has shown cognitive behavioral therapy is successful. I’ve noticed a noticeable decrease in political confusion with patients who participate in said cognitive behavior therapies such as: proctology, pizza delivery in low-income high crime rate areas, Mennonite mediation, and greeting shoppers at Walmart.

February 1, 2010

Ethics, Wii Bowling, Big Pharma and Butterfingers

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 4:13 PM
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Should a therapist be worried about morals and standards pertaining to the doctor patient relationship?  Unless one who practices Freud’s madness has good legal counsel on retainer, or high visibility as a cult figure fueled by patient transference, ethics are non-problematic. This conclusion is conclusive; I look upon my patients as nothing more than food feeding the psychometrics of my curiosity pertaining to psychobabble fueled by a psychogenesis that I transfer back to my patients via psychological dependence and psychoneurosis. And if my cult of personality comes into question, I’ve got the key to psychotomimetic psychosis—samples of various pills heaped upon me by Big Pharma sales representatives, or a prescription pad and verifiable DEA number.

Now I’m sure that skeptics of psychiatry [non-scientologists and Tom Cruise junkies who think his acting skills are worthy of recognition beyond a Thetan buzz generated by an over indulgence of Butterfingers laced with tetahydrocannabinol don’t count beyond the number two] will decry my methods—my ethics. But since I’m ethically challenged and ethnically ethnocentristic with no regard for ethonohistrionics or an ability to score well at Wii bowling, I maintain that my patients will welcome a real cool buzz or fuzzy feeling that will help further isolate and detach them from their feelings. That one extra pill [class II narcotic or any variation of benzodiazepine] prescribed as needed, added to an array of mind numbing antipsychotic and anti-depression meds is often called for in matters that really matter. Now perhaps if I try Wii bowling left-handed wearing 3-D glasses….

January 29, 2010

HIPAA and Play-Doh Huffing

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 4:36 PM
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Sometimes I need to remind myself that the HIPAA laws have nothing to do with hippopotamus’ or hip replacement surgery. Imagine my surprise when of my former patients filed suit against me for revealing sensitive information concerning said patients addiction to huffing Play-Doh while simultaneously masturbating and listening to the Canadian National Anthem sung in Mandarin. Hey… I thought it would make for great comedy at the Please Say Something Funny Comedy Club and Sex Rehab Clinic’s open mike—held each Wednesday evening after the Nymphomaniac Poetry Slam. I was wrong.

The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996 [HIPAA] Privacy and Security Rules has many rules I would have read had I not been concerned with not reading them. Patient confidentiality? Hey, I respect the doctor/patient privilege. I make all of my patients sign confidentiality forms concerning my confidentiality as it pertains to my ex-wives, ex-lovers, ex-secretaries [ex-wives and ex-lovers] and the occasional midget mud-wrestler who wanders into my office just to disrupt the disruption of the chaos that is serious psycho-analysis. Like I said, hippos and hip replacement surgery—I’m not perfect. I know I shouldn’t have used Peter Swerk’s real name when joking about his Play-Doh huffing while simultaneously masturbating and listening to the Canadian National Anthem sung in Mandarin.  It’s not like I said he was the same Peter Swerk who owned and operated Sewrk’s Swedish Massage and Barber College in Hartford. Oops…!

January 27, 2010

The Fear of Fearing Fear or Mick Jagger

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 3:25 PM
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Treating phobias are annoying unless they are dogging a patient with good medical insurance or a hefty trust fund. Let’s not forget potential patients who also willing to pay me $175 an hour for a forty-five minute session I usually start ten minutes late. Their criterion for treatment is the ability to pay in cash—no credit cards [American Express and Visa have contracted a hit on me]—or grape juice bars.

Now phobia is just an irrational fear of fear: attach a suffix and you can fear most anything. Arachnophobia. Hydrophobia. Sexphobia. Coca Cola-phobia. Mick Jagger-phobia. You get the idea. I do, but I fear fearing not understanding.

Drugs [preferably prescribed], alcohol [preferably micro-brewed beer or anything bourbon] and other distractions not listed in the DSM-IV [see: 292.0 thru 292.9] are a good start in conquering anything phobic. But if you fear anything in the previous sentence, I’m here to assist you. I understand that fearing fear can be fearful and downright frightening. My ability to remain objective despite a subjective conclusion to the contrary makes me as a therapist the ideal solution. And if you’re agoraphobic, I’ll come to you. Just remember that my fees are non-inclusive of traveling expenses [chauffeured limos]. If I must travel by bus… well forget it. I’m bus-phobic.

My practice is open.

January 26, 2010

A Bouncy Ball of Confusion

Filed under: comedy,humor,Uncategorized — Chuck A Stetson @ 7:55 PM
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Have you ever thought you were out of touch with reality—you know walking through life tripping over your shoelaces while wearing loafers? No problem… just wear sandals. Barefooting it will also work, except when you realize that you’re germ-phobic with OCD tendencies for clean feet and Bette Midler posters. Then you wear sneakers and seek out the services of a good therapist. Me? Maybe. Freud? Shit no, he’s dead; but Jung does offer his services to those who believe in disbelief.

A warning must be issued—the AMA and the Benevolent Association for Captain Kangaroo insists—my ability to diagnose and treat the foibles of mental illness is to be considered carefully before digesting any of my advice or Crayola crayons dipped in milk chocolate accented with horseradish and SSRs. That said, I’m here to help….

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