Monthly Archives: November 2011

– When my existential angst was at an all-time high, I took anti-depressants for a year.  It wasn’t that I couldn’t get out of bed; it was just that I got out of bed and went, “Why did I do that?”

– I think I got a little better.  I mean, I didn’t get so hopeful that I believed Obama would actually change things.  I’m not an idiot.

– I started going to therapy.  In addition to my depression, I also thought it might be a good idea to talk about a death in my family — one that I really wanted to happen.

– Also, I felt like living in L.A. had made me egotistical, so I thought it might help to go to a therapist and spend a full hour talking about me.

– I explained to my therapist that I’ve always been depressed.  At nine years old, I started writing a book called Unnecessary Pain and Suffering.  It was an autobiography.

– She told me to keep a journal, but I don’t really believe in those.  I mean, don’t people only write in them when they’re miserable?  Nobody sits down, like, “Dear Journal, Not much to report on my end…  Anything doing with you?”

– She also recommended I stop dwelling on previous hardships; so, I no longer live in the past.  I live in the future — but it sucks, too.

– During my year of anti-depressants, one of my friends became suicidal.  I was the worst person to talk him out of it.  I was like –

Josh: “But there’s so much to live for, like…” {long pause} “…give me a minute.” {then} “You’re not me?” {then} “Nah, screw it.  Is there more room on that ledge?”

– I try to stay positive now, but I still can’t escape all of the negative in my life.  Even google acts like an asshole when it tells me what it thinks I meant to say.  Like the other day, I typed, “How to canoe,” but I accidentally spelled “canoe” with two o’s, so google was instantly like –

Google: {arrogantly} “Um, excuse me, did you mean, ‘How to commit suicide?’”

I was like –

Josh: “Goddamnit, google.” {then} “How are you always right?”

– I’m off of anti-depressants now, and after a full year of medication, I cannot begin to explain to you the benefits those pills had on my life…because I can’t really find any.

In order of increasing strangeness, here are some choice moments I have had so far with my Kaiser Permanente therapist…

10. Josh: {rants for about ten minutes about all of his problems and existential dilemmas}
Therapist: “Wow.  I wish I knew what to tell you.”

9. Therapist: “How’re you feeling today, Josh?”
Josh: “Um…so-so, I guess.  How’re you feeling?”
Therapist: “Hypersexual.”
Josh: “Oh…kay.”

8. Therapist: {looking at Josh’s paperwork} “Lehrman.  Are you Jewish?”
Josh: “Yeah, sort of.”
Therapist: “You know, I always thought that song went, ‘Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel… / You haunt me every day.’” {then} “My mom may have made that up, though.  She never liked Jews.”
Josh: “Huh.”

7. Therapist: “You should dye your hair grey.”
Josh: “What?  Why?”
Therapist: “I don’t know.  People would be like, ‘How old are you?’ and you’d be like, ‘Twenty-five,’ and they’d be like, ‘Twenty-five?!  Whaaaaaaaaat?’”
Josh: {at a loss for words}
Therapist: “Wouldn’t that be cool?”

6. Josh: “I’m reading this book right now called The Optimism Bias, and it mentions this term, defensive pessimism, where someone will hold low expectations to protect himself from disappointment.  I read that like, ‘That’s totally what I do!’ and it’s a problem because — and the book corroborates this — those low expectations still don’t diminish the pain of failure, you know?  They actually make things worse because the negativity prevents me from taking actions to help myself.”
Therapist:  {long pause, then} “Sorry, could you say that again?  I tuned out.”

THEN: thirty seconds later…

Josh: {explains it again}
{The therapist’s phone rings.}
Therapist: “One second.  I gotta take this.” {then, into the phone} “What up, Pimp Juice?”
Josh: {sinks into the couch, defeated}

5. Josh: “I actually had a pretty good week.  I’m dating this girl who seems to like me, I’m getting paid a shitload of money to write a few commercials, and, you know, I’m in the best shape of my life.”
Therapist: “So…can your head fit in this room right now or do you need me to open some windows?” {then} “I’m just kidding, bro.”

4. Therapist: “Before we get going today, I gotta be honest with you: I found your stand-up on YouTube.”
Josh: {embarrassed laughter} “Oh yeah?”
Therapist: “I don’t think your comedic persona is very funny.”
Josh: “I mean, it’s not really a persona, as you’re well aware.”
Therapist: “No?  Well, whatever.  Don’t let anyone tell you to give up on your dreams, buddy.  You’re just starting out, after all.”
Josh: “No.  I’ve been doing it for five years.”
Therapist: “Really?  Oof!” {gently} “You know it’s never too soon to find another career path.  I’m just saying, that was pretty rough, dude.”

3. Therapist: “I know these problems are hard to deal with right now, but remember: we’re put on this planet to learn lessons and mature and — did you just fart?”
Josh: “No.”
Therapist: {reconsidering} “Maybe it was me.  Anyway –”

2. Josh: “I think a lot of my depression right now stems from the fact that I can’t get a job anywhere other than the movie theater.”
Therapist: “Is that not a good job?”
Josh: “I mean, one of my main duties is cleaning the toilets.”
Therapist: {tries to stifle a laugh}
Josh: “What?”
Therapist: {losing it, laughing hysterically} “You said, ‘doodies.’  Ha ha ha…ah…ahhh…whew.” {wiping his forehead with a handkerchief} “I’m sorry.  Your life sucks, man.”

1. Josh: {tells a long story that brings himself to tears}
Therapist: {pause, then} “That reminds me of something funny that happened to me.” {OFF of Josh’s look} “Sorry.  I don’t do well with emotions.”

* * *

As a bonus, here’s a message my therapist left on my cell phone recently and the phone call that occurred when I didn’t get back to him immediately afterward…

– Therapist: “Dr. Josh, P.H.d of sadness, it’s your therapist.  Gimme a call back.  Peace!”

– Josh: {picking up his ringing cell phone} “Hello?”
Therapist: “Josh, it’s [therapist's name].  I saw that you cancelled your appointment for this coming Wednesday.  I just wanted to check, uh…is it something I did?”
Josh: “What do you mean?”
Therapist: “Are you seeing other therapists?”

Within the last few years, social scientists have noticed an increase in a never-before documented phenomenon: often when they ask an employed person how he or she is doing, the individual will reply not by stating his true feelings, but rather, the day of the week.

Instead of the perhaps more honest answer — “This job is degrading.  I hate my boss.  My dreams are more dead than my husband’s limp dick.” — said people are more likely to sigh and force a sad smile, saying, for example, “It’s Monday…”

* * *

Scientists have coined the term “Conditional Mood Disorder,” or if you prefer, “C…How Miserable I Am?”  The main symptom of Conditional Mood Disorder (CMD) is an inexplicable increase in happiness as the week inches closer to Friday.

CMD is not yet recognized in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but it is indubitably worthy of entry.  An inherently dishonest personality disorder, people experiencing symptoms of CMD have lost touch with their ability to communicate openly, couching their opinions or melancholy mood in euphemisms.

For readers unfamiliar with the disease, here are some common translations –

– “It’s Monday…” = “Five more days before I can drink myself blind.”
– “It’s Tuesday…” = “It still feels like it’s goddamn Monday.”
– “It’s Wednesday…” = “Hump day.  I’m halfway there…but I’m still very much unhappy.”
– “It’s Thursday…” = “One more day and I can temporarily escape this shit-hole of an office and actually live a couple of days for me!”
– “It’s Friday!!!” = “Fuck y’all!  I’ma go get my party on!!”

* * *

NOTE: on a Friday, if an employee with CMD gets stabbed on the way to work, it is highly probable that he or she will come into the office screaming –

Person: {looks down at his/her rapid blood loss, then elated as hell} “IT’S STILL FRIIIIIDAY!!!”

In more severe cases of CMD, patients will say, “Thank God it’s Friday,” showing a level of desperation that, frankly, saddens many in the scientific community.  These unfortunate sufferers exhibit such a high level of desperation that they feel the need to praise a possibly nonexistent deity simply because they were able to make it through five measly workdays.

* * *

There is an upside to CMD, however: many of the diseased individuals fail to reason that their actual weekend could be just as dreadful as their weekdays (hence our use of the word “inexplicable” earlier).  For example, many patients with CMD indulge in a night of heavy drinking on Friday only to wake up the next morning and say –

“Ugh.  It’s Saturday…” = “Hangover.  Shit, I’m in pain.”

– and Sunday, if not a repeat of Saturday, can also be a letdown for those individuals cognizant enough to realize –

“Ah, crap.  It’s Sunday…” = “How is it almost Monday again?!?!”

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: we are using alcohol in this scenario, but we are well aware that not everyone escapes by drinking.  Many patients with CMD do meth.)

* * *

To conclude this analysis, we turn to the unfortunate case of Jason Narodick (\NEH’row dik\).  In a month-long study of office behavior, a team of scientists observed that, without fail, Jason — a long-time sufferer of CMD — would respond to the query, “How are you doing?” with –

Jason: {sigh, forcing a sad smile} “It’s Monday…”

Another co-worker told Jason that he shouldn’t be doing badly simply because it was Monday; in fact, he suggested, Jason should be doing badly because his last name is Narodick.  “Why the fu** haven’t you had that changed?” the co-worker asked.

He probed further, inquiring if “It’s Monday…” means that Jason doesn’t like his job, that he has to wait another five days before the weekend, “which is literally the only time [Jason] get[s] to enjoy [himself].”

Jason took a beat to consider his answer, then ran into the bathroom to cry.

In stand-up, you gotta call it when a joke doesn’t work; otherwise, the audience knows you’re uncomfortable and it makes them uncomfortable.  But stand-up is one of the only places where that’s necessary.  In everyday life, if you walk down the street with no clothes on, people will stare right at your genitals and think –

Passerby: “I gotta lose twenty pounds.  I hate my job.  Why can’t I find love?!”

– because everyone is too self-involved to notice.

Nevertheless, my stand-up education is affecting my day-to-day life; if I think something is obvious to another person, I am now calling it unnecessarily.  I’m going on first dates, like –

Girl: {opens her front door} “Hi.”
Josh: “Hi.” {immediately} “I don’t have any muscles on my body.”

Same thing at my job.  Before anyone can notice the mistake, I yell out –

Josh: “I didn’t Cc the president on that e-mail.  Hope that doesn’t get me in trouble!”

I just went to a mechanic and said –

Josh: “My car’s making this weird sound.  I think it may be the carburetor.” {immediately} “I have no idea what I’m talking about.”