my life reconfigured (i fire my psychiatrist)

Things look different in the new year.

The two men — almost, really, the two people — who knew most about my private life between late June and mid-December 2007 are gone.

THE PAST

As you know if you’ve been reading recent posts (and if not, read this one, this one , this one and this one) a romance of almost six months’ duration, one I thought was going to be a permanent, final romance, ended on Sunday 16 December at 5:35 pm. The story — not all of it, but much of it — is in those posts.

The abrupt ending of the romance made me rethink the value of my psychiatrist, whose words of ‘wisdom’ about matters to do with Performer were subject to much criticism in the Comments section of one post.

In my three most recent visits to the psychiatrist, I reminded him of four issues I brought up in our sessions, none of which he explored or took seriously; all of which, in fact, he dismissed rather breezily:

1) Performer had told me on our first date that he and Becky would be telling their children about the imminent divorce at the end of August, when the kids came back from camp; as that event failed to happen by the end of September, and then the end of October, and then Thanksgiving, I grew sceptical (but alas not enough) and impatient: “these things must take their time,” said Dr. J.

2) In October, when Performer was in the throes of his divorce and his difficult, troubled teenage son was having a breakdown, he was quite unpleasant to me on a number of occasions: “he needs your support,” said Dr. J., not seeking to determine if perhaps I was already “supporting” Performer, or whether this “unpleasantness” was perhaps a sign of other problems.

3) In November, I mentioned to the psychiatrist that Performer was still sleeping in the same bed as his almost-ex-wife: “that often happens, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” said Dr. J., not exploring how upset I was by this or considering the fact that maybe, when “that” “happens,” it’s a sign of a lingering attachment. Again, blog-readers felt strongly that this was a very bad sign.

4) And finally, unlike every friend of mine, male and female, and every blog reader, and both my children, Dr. J. approved of Performer’s idea of lying to his children on Thanksgiving, bringing them to my house for the dinner but telling them I was “just a friend.”

When I pointed out these issues to Dr. J. he had 3 “excuses” — 1) I was looking for someone to blame and blamed him; 2) he was so invested in this romance, wanted (for my sake) so much for it to work, that he had brushed potential problems aside; and 3) nothing in Performer’s character had indicated the likelihood of such an outcome to the romance.

* * *

For this I’m paying good money, much of it not covered by insurance??

No more. No way.

* * *
I pointed out to him that if he had just brushed aside one such matter, or even two, I could — with generosity — understand it. But so many?! And I pointed out to him also that the four matters together were significant clues that Performer was keeping his family unit intact, that he and his wife did not really want to split up, and that they were in effect preserving their relationship and their family. I wasn’t saying that he should have predicted this outcome, but simply that when I brought up those problems, he should have probed, been sceptical, explored and questioned my concerns, rather than accepting Performer’s assertions at face value.

* * *

And beyond the three excuses, at no point did Dr. J. express genuine sorrow for his errors; he didn’t say how bad he felt about his mistakes. Au contraire, he was defensive and repeated that I was simply looking for someone to blame.

* * *
That’s the last of him. I’ll find a replacement.

And so disappear, into the past, two men I’ve relied on, one for 14 months (Dr. J.) and one for 6 months.

THE PRESENT

And why don’t I feel worse?

I hate to use this hackneyed phrase, but it’s my extended ’support system,’ which includes not only many good friends I’ve known for years, some of them for half a century or more, but also those I’ve met in cyberspace: Rolly for one, who talked these changes over with me the evening after my colonoscopy, who recommended the gastroenterologist, and who now, at my request, has given me his psychiatrist’s name and number. So as soon as an appointment can be scheduled, I’ll see his shrink — not, I hasten to say, to make him my regular guy, but so he can see what I’m like and then recommend an appropriate shrink for me. We’ll ‘consult.’ I’ve googled him a bit, and he sounds good.

And also my blog friends, whose comments you can read after the posts of the last few weeks. My almost-ex-shrink didn’t understand how comforting and beyond-virtual such voices could be.

And I love January, a month with no pressures — no major holidays, no deadlines (for me), and no need to be outdoors in the sunshine. I can hibernate happily, and my accident on Tuesday has given me time without dates, but with lots of male attention. My Inbox has been full of messages from Rolly, from L, and from RB.

THE FUTURE

Here’s an update on the ‘pipeline’ of men flowing into my life.

I’ve decided it’s not worth wasting my time, or his, meeting AM2, the second arts guy, so I’ve sent him a polite email message. I don’t think his heart will be broken.

* * *

L (lawyer) and I had a good — pretty good — phone conversation and talked about meeting soon. His recovery from surgery and my bruised face indicated there was no rush. Looking in the mirror this morning, I thought I seemed a lighter purple, so I emailed and suggested some time in the middle of this coming week. However, “this week isn’t good,” he wrote back; he’s still exhausted and has to schedule sessions with a physical therapist. “Later,” he wrote….

That’s not promising.

That’s what happened last January with him, also: at that time we were supposed to graduate from email to telephone, and he decided he didn’t want to talk. Now we were supposed to graduate from phone to in-person….

Hmmmm.

* * *

Meanwhile, a new one, FG (Film Guy), has appeared on the scene. Out of nowhere he called me: he’s another from my pre-Performer past, a jdater. Last March I phoned him at the time he specified, and he wasn’t home. Enough already, I thought! I gave him another shot a couple of weeks ago, and we both ‘clicked,’ that jdate indicater of mutual interest that is maybe not quite so silly as it seems.

I left my number on FG’s business phone before Christmas and then forgot about him when he didn’t call. I thought he’d be a no-show, like last year. But he surprised me totally by phoning on Thursday 3 Jan. He was ready to drop by my apartment on Friday, but I told him about my purple face. He wasn’t put off, but I said I’d get back in touch when I was fit for public viewing.

Once I heard from L that he was out of commission this coming week, I emailed FG and suggested a get-together. Although I doubt if he’s LTR material, at least for me, he sounds jolly. He likes 50s and 60s rock-and-roll and Beatles, and after the narrow-minded high-classical-only taste of Performer, I’m ready for musical fun.

FG has an in-your-face directness that (in my experience) Jewish men often have: he said as long as I was thin and smart and (something else I can’t remember), he’d fall in love with me. I told him that I was all those things, but perhaps it was better to go to a first date without illusions…

He said oh no, illusions were good, and I can’t remember what else. He had that same fast-comeback, wisecracking style that Man 1 had, that some of my readers didn’t like but that I enjoy. However, the most fun we could have together, I think, would be over a piano or with easily accessible music that we both like, and that means my apartment or his. Probably that’s not appropriate for a first date, but we’ll see.

We have a date for Wednesday the 9th, time and place TBA.

* * *

And then there’s RB(Retired Businessman). He’s the most persistent and eager of my suitors, and he also lives the closest, only 10 blocks away, and it’s a beautiful 10 blocks, by which I mean, a really attractive and interesting walk.

RB is 73; that’s a problem, maybe….but the men I’ve gotten closest to, Rolly and (hold my nose while I type this) Performer, were 73 and 70. It’s not the 13-year age difference, or even the fact that his first match.com profile (I didn’t see his second) said he was 70, but the question, how much longer will he be healthy? how many good years does he have ahead?

Of course, if we fall in love, I guess that wouldn’t matter so much, but we haven’t yet met, and so the question does loom large. My maternal grandfather was 13 years older than my grandmother, but they met when they were about 32 and 19.

RB and I have a dinner date for Tuesday evening. In our one phone conversation, he told me that I was his ‘last hope,’ because he had given up on ‘cyberdating’ (his term) and wasn’t meeting new women otherwise. He is extremely eager: at first we had a date for Saturday the 12th, and then he wrote yesterday morning, the 4th, saying couldn’t we go out that night (Friday 4 January), he would overlook my bruises etc etc. He even had a time and restaurant ready. But I wrote back no, and so we’ve compromised on next Tuesday. I’m already much less bruised looking, and by then just the jagged red scars (!) will be marring my beauty.

* * *

I’m happy about this date, but also a little concerned, because he obviously has a lot of hope invested in it, and (perhaps because he’s the only serious prospect, and perhaps because I like the sound of him so far) so do I. It’s not good to go to a date so full of hope and illusion. That’s why I started seeing a psychiatrist in October 2006, because I was setting myself up for disappointment after disappointment and getting depressed when dates didn’t work out.

In my experience — and RB will be man #29 since the start of my middle-aged dating — I know almost instantly, certainly in less than a minute, whether I’m attracted to a man I’m meeting. A little voice in me says “no” or “yes” instinctively, and that little voice is always right.

RB is tall. I had, it turns out, saved his old profile from last June, and he had saved mine (even though I had told him I had just met someone I was about to fall in love with), so I know some of his specs. He’s 5′11″.

I’m reluctant to say more about him; superstitious, no doubt. He’s a widower, as I mentioned before, and that’s all I’ll say now.

* * *
Fingers crossed that the first date goes well. Better to think short term.

* * *

And then the next day I’ll have the date with FG, so even if I’m a bit down because things didn’t go well with RB, I’ll have to stay cheerful and upbeat for the next date.

* * *

Okay, enough speculation!

At least I have men to speculate about.

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