What is the hardest thing about being a psychologist? Is it really
impossible to sleep with a nice client? But how I ended up with a
psychologist and what came of it, I will tell you in order...
Previously, my idea of a psychologist's job was very vague. It seemed
to me that psychologists are masters of pretending who listen to you
attentively and are good at pretending that everything you tell them is
important and interesting to them. And it also seemed that only very
rich and lonely people who have nowhere to spend their money can afford
such a pleasure. And who else, I ask, could need it? After all, it is
absolutely clear that the person sitting opposite you is not interested
in your problems, and during the conversation he thinks only about your
money and where and how he will spend it. Then I did not even suspect
that I would go to see a psychologist - a person who is not very rich
and not even lonely.
Leshka drank my blood. No, not literally, of course - he was not a
vampire. An ordinary little man, quite nice, by the way. Tall, with a
strong athletic build, next to him I felt especially feminine and
fragile. We were together for four years, during which the swings of
our relationship managed to swing from side to side many times, from
"great sex" to "a scandal over a dirty cup by the computer", from "I'm
the smartest in the world" to "you're a total scumbag and a nobody."
For some reason, I was often the guilty party, and more and more
responsibilities were transferred to me. Despite the fact that we both
worked and earned about the same, I had to solve all household issues
exclusively on my own, and his favorite computer issues were left to
him. We both returned from work tired, I - to everyday life, he - to
the computer. Conversations took place exclusively at the table and
almost always about everyday matters, and if a showdown began, both
would flare up and the conversation would instantly escalate into a
loud scandal.
Let's be honest, this life started to depress me, especially since
there was less and less good sex in it. I don't really want to be close
to a person who came, ate, threw down the plates, and buried himself in
the computer. The alternative to the computer was the TV. Leshka could
watch two or three films at a time, switching from one to another when
the commercials started. Moreover, he would start watching films and
programs one after another, from the middle and even almost from the
end. This awakened in me a hatred for the TV and a wild desire to throw
something heavy and strong at the screen. To all my requests to give
his eyes and my nervous system a little rest, Alexey answered that he
got tired at work and had the right to at least relax at home. Logical.
It remained unclear why only he had the right to relax in the family
and where I should be at that time. For the first time, the word
"divorce" sounded like the sound of a bomb hitting. Then - more, and it
stopped scaring me. Rather, it calmed me - here it is, the way out.
Meetings with friends did not bring peace to the tormented soul and
only exacerbated the wounds, since each had her own story, her own
misunderstandings and problems.
- I understand everything, we've been together for four years, we've
been through so much. And they say that passion fades with age, but not
to this extent! But he's really gotten on my nerves! - I complained to
Tasha over a glass of beer for the umpteenth time. She nodded, consoled
me, and told me what a jerk her latest chosen one was, number 347. This
went on for quite a long time, when one day the usual order was
disrupted. - Maybe we should see a psychologist? - she suddenly said. -
Tash, what are you talking about, this is a rip-off, and what good will
it do me? - I was very, very surprised. - What if you don't love Lesha,
he irritates you all the time. You're wasting your time, you never go
anywhere, you don't meet guys, and you could be building new
relationships.
The thought seemed wild to me. I don't love Lesha, isn't he the hero of
my novel? We've been together for so many years, what, have I spent all
this time in vain… Stop, stop, what am I thinking about, of course I
love him, we've been together for a long time - I again caught myself
thinking that "together for a long time" sounded like the main
argument. And I made an appointment with a psychologist who was
recommended on a women's forum as a great specialist in interpersonal
relationships.
The office was in a Stalinist building, the thick walls of which seemed
to hide the secrets of the visitors. The doorbell rang, and a
middle-aged man with grey eyes opened the door, led me into a
half-empty office and invited me to sit down where I was comfortable.
"I'm listening to you," he smiled sweetly. "I don't even know how to
start," I said, "everything is so confused…" "And you start with
something," he smiled at me again.
We talked for a very long time, or rather, I did most of the talking,
and he asked clarifying questions from time to time. And with each word
there was a feeling that everything would get better, and even some
sense of reliability, and a feeling that now I was in good hands. We
saw each other several times, talked about grievances, emotions,
feelings, all of this was very important and I really felt better. And
also - the gray eyes turned out to be bewitching, and I was drowning,
drowning in them, not seeing a way back.
I didn't realize right away that I was falling in love with the
psychotherapist, but after about 25 minutes. And it was also clear that
nothing good would come of it - he probably has a ton of people like
me. And everyone falls under the influence of his calm, confident voice
and serene gray eyes. Was I suffering? Of course. I was jealous and I
suffered. For the first time in a long time, I lived a full life, very
emotionally rich. Our meetings were so trusting that I confessed my
feelings to Anatoly. It seemed to me that he wasn't surprised, but for
some reason he didn't immediately embrace me. Instead, we talked again,
and analyzed, and listened to ourselves…
After ten sessions, we agreed to take a break to think it all over. The
break coincided with a long-awaited vacation that Lesha, unfortunately
or fortunately, could not spend with me. The gentle sea waves quietly
whispered "Anatoly", and my eyes looked for familiar features in
everyone I met. Somewhere around the fifth day of our stay, the weather
worsened, it started to rain, and the sky was covered with gray clouds.
Gray clouds, like gray eyes. Raindrops on the glass of the room, the
already familiar fever about the unavailable man of my dreams, and
suddenly I remembered how Lesha and I were in the village and ate
cherries from the tree. And then we went for a walk along the river
bank, holding hands. And I also remembered how we sat on the roof with
a bottle of champagne, cheerful and carefree. Then, for some reason, I
began to remember the times when I was the first to break down and
start screaming, or was wrong about something.
The two weeks were over, I took a taxi at the station and came home.
The first thing I saw was a new rug in front of the door, and then
more, just miracles. New wallpaper in the hallway, and in the bedroom,
on the snow-white wall, a picture. On the kitchen table, a festive
tablecloth and a vase with my favorite yellow roses. Among all this
splendor, I sat without moving until seven in the evening, when the key
turned in the door. - You know, I thought a lot while you were gone,
and I understood a lot. We got used to each other and stopped noticing
the good that surrounds us, we see only the bad, and we quarrel. I
even, don't laugh, was going to see a psychologist! They recommended
one girl to me, they say she's a professional - just super, and I'm so
busy at work, I didn't go, - said Leshka, squeezing my hands in his
palms, - but I decided to surprise her... - And I missed her so much,
and I thought about it too... You know what, don't go to her - we'll
figure it out ourselves.
First published in the magazine "Liza" No. 45/2007 from 3.11.2007