worse than it is

Today is Monday, and somehow on Monday I see some of the most difficult, most chronic people that I have to deal with.

I have been practicing in this city for twenty-seven years. I began here the month after John Lennon was killed, so it's easy to remember.

In a practice like this each year I see between 150 or 175 different clients. Usually, about 50 to 60 get carried over to the next year. After 27 years I have learned that the average length of time that anyone spends in treatment with me is bi-modal. It is either six months or eighteen months.

But every year I get one or two people whose lives, or whose minds, are a mess. They stick around for a while. After a while they begin to accumulate.

Today it seemed like everyone I saw was someone I had seen forever, and that I would see until the day I died. But that isn't true.

I checked my records and found that of the 66 people I have seen this year 17 of them I have seen for five years or longer. That is 1/4 of all the folks I see. By the end of the year I will have about 100 people will have finished therapy. But not these folks.

I checked further and noticed that five of those 17 people account for 58% of the phone calls I get.

They are troubled, in constant crisis, some are more than a bit narcissistic, need guidance, reassurance, attention, and seem to have some sense that having a therapist means having a super-mother with a huge breast.

It is these people that have driven some of my colleagues out of business.

I try to set limits. They now know that just because the leave four messages doesn't mean they will get a return call. Life goes on.