I’ve never found myself in a more uncomfortable situation…
Take a minute to process that.
It’s me. Bobby Dean. I’ve been in the most ridiculous situations you can imagine. I’ve tried dry humping Alex Beckman. I’ve participated in the donkey show down in Monterrey. I’ve beaten Sutler Kael!
But now, sitting on this bland couch, in this bland room, with some bland guy in glasses staring at me with a clipboard in his lap, and a pen ready in hand. Yeah, I’m sweating bullets right now. What I wouldn’t give to be back on the mats with a pissed off Beckman.
“So what brings you in today?” the man asks, in a way that gives me the impression he’s stifling a yawn right now.
“Uhm, if I said “for the drugs” that’s probably not going to get me any drugs…” I stammer, confused how this whole process works. I can’t help but be honest, I mean, I chose to come see this guy, he wasn’t the one to call me to set up this appointment.
“Are you here for drugs?” he queries as he scribbles in his notepad, probably not the first time he’s asked that question.
“Uhm, if I said yes, would that ruin my chances for said drugs?” I ask with a nervous chuckle.
He stops writing and peers down his nose at me, “Would you like to start this over?”
“Uhm, yes?” I hate rhetorical questions. I never know when I’m supposed to answer them or not.
“Yes.” He clarifies before asking once more, “What brings you in today?”
“Uhm, not for the drugs?” I ask, again, wondering if I’m finally doing this right. I mean, I am here for the drugs, but apparently I have to finesse my way to them. Not a problem for me, right? Judging by the scowl on the guy’s face, I’m beginning to think this will be harder than I was told. “Should we try again?”
“Why are you here?” he growls out, clearly annoyed.
“It’s kind of funny, you sound like my boss every time he talks to me.” Imagine that! “In fact, he says that same exact thing with that same exact tone, and he even rolls his eyes the way you did. Well, he used to roll his eyes.”
“Is he the reason why you’re here today?” scribble scribble scribble.
“Oh, no, not really.” I say uncertainty clear in my voice. “Well, in a sort of round about way I guess he is why I’m here. You see, I’m here, because I’m scared to death of heights. Like, shit my pants scared. You know how you climb a ladder to change a light bulb? I basically live in the dark, because when I reach that first rung I start hyperventilating! I start shaking and sweating, and just straight up panic attack!”
Scribble, scribble, scribble. “Sounds like a classic case of Acrophobia.”
“No, not spiders. Heights.” I clarify, causing him to pause his scribbling as he gives me a look of pure loathing.
“Not Agoraphobia, ACK-ROW-PHOBIA.” he emphasizes, causing me to nod my head as if I know what he’s talking about. “It’s a common ailment, the way you described it. Some people even have episodes simply walking up a flight of stairs, or using an escalator. Or even riding in an elevator.”
“So what can I do?” I ask with a tremor to my voice. “My boss is making me face a guy named High Flyer, and I can’t stop freaking out!”
“Uhm, what?” the guy clearly doesn’t follow HOW, the idiot.
“You know, High Flyer? That’s his name. He has booger green hair. Every time I see him, it reminds me of that old joke, you ever hear it?” I ask, rhetorically, YAY! Without waiting for his response, I continue with the joke. “Three girls walk into the bar. One blonde, one, brunette, and one with green hair like Flyer’s. The bartender asks the blonde, “How’d you get your hair so yellow?” to which she answers, “I dyed it.” The guy then asks the brunette, “How’d you get your hair so dark?” and she says, “I dyed it.” Finally, he turns to the green haired slut and asks, “How’d you get your hair so green?””
I begin chuckling, just thinking of the punchline.
“Hehe, she takes her hand and rubs her nose vertically dragging her hand over her nose and up through her hair, and says, “I’m not sure.””
He doesn’t laugh, in fact I begin to wonder if he even gets it. The silence is unbearable as I begin to mime rubbing snot through my hair. Is this what Steve Harrison feels like when telling a joke. Oh man, what a horrible feeling.
“Uhm, anyway, is there anything you can do to help me doc?” I ask plainly, getting the conversation back to the topic at hand.
“What else can you tell me about this High Flyer character?” he ponders, causing me to shake my head at a loss.
“He procrastinates as bad as I do?” I answer while counting off a finger. “He’s equally as bad as I am.” Another finger. “He looks like Brian Hollywood’s twin brother, but with snot hair.” Another finger. “Like me, none of the super groups want him to join.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but you do realize none of this means anything to me, right? Let me ask you a few more questions that relate to your mental health,” he goes back to his notepad, jotting more words down. “Are you depressed?”
“Only when I’m around Cancer Jiles, Steve Harrison, or Lee is disappointed in me.” I answer.
“Do you have suicidal thoughts?” he asks.
“Do you hear voices?” he asks.
“Yes, but normally just my own, and it’s telling me to shut up before I say something profound.” I answer as if that were normal.
“Do you see visions?” he asks.
“I’m kind of hoping whatever magic pills you give me will let me see some.” I answer with a grin, making him look at me once more with derision.
“Honestly, Mr. Dean, I think the best way for you to conquer your fear is to face them.” the doctor informs me simply, as he puts his notepad down. “Normally I’d write a prescription for some anti-anxiety medication, but I have a feeling that you have a tendency to abuse medications.”
“I don’t know about abuse. I mean, when I was a kid I’d eat twelve Flintstones Vitamins at a time, but it wasn’t abuse. It was because they tasted so good!” I explain, as if it makes perfect sense. “I’m desperate here Doc, I face this guy High Flyer in three days! You gotta give me something to help me win here. Are there any PEDs you can give me?”
“PEDs?” he asks at a loss.
“Yeah, you know, Performance Enhancing Drugs.” I spell out.
“PEDs for Acrophobia?” he deadpans back, to which I nod my head vigorously. “No! No there aren’t any performance enhancing height drugs. The only thing I feel comfortable doing is recommending that you see a psychologist to talk about your fears. But honestly, I don’t even feel comfortable giving you a referral because anyone I send you to will probably never speak to me again.”
All I ever heard was go to the doctor, tell them you have panic attacks and they’ll give you drugs that make you happy and feel good. I can’t even do that right!
Face my fears…
So what? Am I expected to do a swanton off the top rope Saturday night? Maybe a tope suicida to the outside? Will you catch me Flyer? Will you stand in one place long enough for me to jump on you? Or will I end up eating shit? Making a fool of myself as everyone chants I FUCKED UP! I FUCKED UP!
Face my fears… Yeah right!
What a waste of time this was. I wonder what High Flyer’s doing…