S1, EP1 - pilot - free association
Brown hair, shirt, pants, and - teeth.
Free association is a clinical psychotherapeutic tool to speak out freely whatever internal dialogue. It’s like turning on the faucet—doesn’t matter what comes out, but let’s get you used to vocalizing, and who knows, maybe eventually you’ll discover a clue that will help unravel why you're such a sad, worthless, dysfunctional human being—which is why you need therapy—and put you on a path to self-improvement. Just let it go, whatever comes, don’t be afraid.
I’m familiar with free association. I’ve been encouraged to free associate since I was six years old with my very own psychiatrist (you also remember your first) that I saw a few times a week. Dr. Lessor, who ended up wearing shin guards to our sessions because I liked to kick him real hard.
Moving through my teen years, I got used to the drill with numerous therapists. A short list:
Dr. Underhill: (around 9 years old for about three years) Caretaker, kind and patient, brown clothes and frumpy, Frank Lloyd Wright-esque home tucked away in the trees of Cranbrook. I’d eat endless chocolate candies wrapped in Christmas-colored foil off her tree and received extravagant gifts that my dad wouldn’t think of giving (cheapness being among the many weaponized aspects of home life). Hello, Coleco handheld football game! My siblings wanted therapists, too.
Dr. Rodriguez: (9th grade, 4x a week) Mexican, psychiatrist. He tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. I needed to experience the danger myself. Like any good Freudian child psychiatrist, he wasn’t in a hurry and was happy to have me four times a week for a possible minimum of three years. My appetite for destruction was on a much shorter schedule. Smart, funny, and provided much-needed affection, which made 4x/week tolerable. I’d beg to have my back rubbed/tickled. He called me phallic—which I found confusing and extremely insulting. We smoked my dad’s weed once. Stole it from his closet. Best session I ever had! I finally cried. Hard. Just visceral, nonverbal release. How foreign and scary it was to feel safe. I wanted to do it more. He said it was oregano.
Frederick A. (at DeSisto, 15–19 years old) Worthless, truly worthless—like I was helping him to become a better therapist. His supervisor said so. If I had had a different therapist, I would have gotten out a year early. Three years instead of four. A beard that never filled in, five sole gray hairs. Smelled of mildew. If there is therapeutic value in zero chemistry, check. I wasn’t gonna dumb down my neurosis so he could feel helpful. He lived on campus, frequently overheard screaming obscenities at his wife and kids, venting his frustration from me, no doubt.
Part and parcel of a cast of characters in my life for a reason. Save Jeffrey before he gets killed or kills himself. A chosen birth out of infinite possibilities that would give me the greatest opportunity to make an association with the free.