“Um, Mom, Dad… it wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault that I stole your jewelry and totaled the car while trying to sniff an OC 80 on Interstate 95. It wasn’t me, Mom, Dad, ’cause you see, my therapist said it was your fault. I was kinda neglected and shit, guys… you know? You know what I’m sayin, dog?”
“Uhh, Mom, uhh Dad… I learned in therapy today that I use because I’ve been a victim of Dad not coming to soccer games and Mom getting an extra job to support the family, so it makes perfect sense for me to use drugs… like… a lot. So, I know you’re mad that I got kicked out of school but it’s really not my fault. Actually, it’s your fault. But I forgive you.”
“Uh, duh… Mom, uh Dad… my therapist said I drink because I’m depressed and angry, and it’s most likely from repressed, subconscious fear of abuse I have buried from early childhood or even maybe some psychic scars from a past life yo, soooo… it’s kinda your guys’ fault that I got arrested for assault and battery after dropping 10 hits of acid and sniffing a couple 8-balls at the Fugazi show.”
“Hey Pops, um, listen… I totaled another one of your cars but it wasn’t actually me that totaled the car, it was my bipolar and ADHD. Even though I was high and drunk as shit, the true culprit was my (fictional) ADD, which made me not be able to pay attention to the road, er, um, I mean not be able to pay attention to the tree 10 feet off the road that I hit while unconscious because I couldn’t concentrate because of the ADD that you guys gave me in my genes and it made me tired and so I passed out, and yeah and stuff… so I need like a quick thou ($1000) to get the ($500 worth of) work done on your car. Sorry pops, won’t happen again… unless my genetic ADD crops up again.” Phone rings. “Yo, Pablo man, he bought it! I’ll be down in like 10 to pick up, papi! Actually wait, make that 30 ’cause I got no car ’cause my stupid fucking Dad totaled it. Hahahaha, I know, what a dumbass! Dude sucks my ass!”
So therapy let me off the hook. It allowed me to think of myself as a victim, despite the fact that there is no such thing. But I was validated by some quackpot and I could go around thinking I was a victim of my genes, my parents, the world around me. I made myself different and unique from everybody, and made everybody else my enemy. Therapy had the audacity to root all of my pain and suffering on someone or something other than me, like ‘wanh, my Dad.’ Please. If one of these know-it-all’s had just told me to GET OVER IT, that would have been the best and only advice I ever needed. Getting better and growing as a person has nothing to do with blaming others and being a victim. It has everything to do with total responsibility and total honesty.