Pessimistic Shrink's second anniversary

Writing these little articles is, more than it is psychologizing, my way of doing poetry and joining human drama.  I’m following a similar neurotic symbolic dream of twenty-two-year-old Borderlines and my seventy-year-old father, who felt an internal something that told them they wanted to be writers.  I believe my father (who said he would like to write stories in his retirement but never did) felt that he had not touched earth, as closet Narcissist who could never speak like a man or just live the real emotions.  The Borderline never-aging girls seem to want to have a real ego – impossible to these early separation-individuation flaws – but that fuses with their adolescent-escapist intellect defense.

Probably everything I write comes from my ephemeral bursts of spirit, which then subside into a dysthymic inert land.  The bursts are wonderful – like a piece of music that just by sounds opens up Universal Harmony and Meaning to us.  That’s what all meaning to us is – a feeling.  It’s not at all some idea of “importance.”

I know that like all neurotics I embody the conflict between detachment and symbiotic need, which produces the absurd kaleidoscope of deadness, exuberance, fear, hate and love that runs our lives.  If I have the slightest advantage – which really could be the most moribund disadvantage – it’s that I know, have gotten used to, and have compassion for my losses and the death they’ve produced.  My fruit is therefore organic and knowing pessimism, along with organic and knowing optimism.  Many clients learn both from me.  I've come to believe this makes the best music.