I think it’s time I be honest and come clean here: I am a horrendously messed up individual.  Like, majorly screwed up in the head.  And not only do I have some serious issues to work through, but I’m also a bit of a cheapskate.  I know there are all kinds of professionals out there who’d be more than happy to let me lie on their couch for a hefty fee, but I can’t be bothered with that.  I need something else.  Something… free.

And so I stumbled upon what I imagined to be a brilliant plan: I’d write a post for Open Salon that laid bare all of my deepest and darkest hang-ups, disguise it as a “humor” post, and hope the amateur psychoanalysts lurking in the dark corners of Open Salon would come out of the shadows and see my thinly-veiled cry for help for what it really was.  Well, friends, you did not let me down!  Although some people mistook my “Open Letter to the Guys in the Locker Room at my Gym” post as a work of comedy, some of you saw the troubled and tormented soul hidden just below the surface.  Many of you fine citizens of Internet-land even joined Open Salon for the first time just to respond! Thanks, guys! It’s good to know you’ve got my back, ready to let me know how fucked up you think I am.

Besides being a cheapskate, I’m also hesitant to open myself up to analysis if I have to look at my therapist’s face.  I don’t want to be able to read his or her reactions.  Fortunately for me, most of you were able to pick up on this from what I had written (damn you’re good!) and, as a result, you mostly looked like this:

Excellent.  Unfortunately the comment section is not very conducive to therapy.  My understanding of analysis—and this is based solely on all the Woody Allen movies I’ve seen—is that it’s supposed  to be a dialogue, with the therapist directing my musing to help me uncover and confront deeper truths about myself.  So in order to exploit the glut of free psychoanalysis I now have at my disposal, I will now rearrange all of those helpful contributions to my comment section so that they better fit the “dialogue” model of therapy.  The part of "Shaggylocks" will be played by me, Shaggylocks. The part of the "Therapist" will be played by direct quotes from the comments left on my last OS entry.

 Setting: Interior, Day.

Shaggylocks: Thanks for seeing me today.  I’ve never really done any sort of therapy or psychoanalysis before, so I don’t really know how this works.  Umm… are you supposed to be naked?

Therapist: That seems like a totally homophobic knee-jerk response.

Shaggylocks:  Oh God, really?  So that means I’m homophobic?  Wow.  You are good. You are good.

…

Uh, so, does that mean you’re going to be naked for the entire hour?  I mean, if it’s all a part of the therapy, I understand, it’s just that your little guy is a bit… fidgety.

Therapist: Does it offend you? Then don't look at them.

Shaggylocks: Um, okay. It doesn’t really offend me, no. I just think it’s a bit out of place.  Like naked guys walking around in locker rooms.  I’ve heard it used to be common, so I guess it's a generational thing, but I was raised to keep my private parts private, you know?  We had special lessons in elementary school about what to do if anyone ever asks to see your “bathing suit area” or ever touches you down there in a way that you don’t like.  In fact, the first time I ever saw an uncircumcised penis was when I was twenty years old. Can you believe that?  It freaked me out, because I had no idea I was circumcised!  I was Catholic, and I didn’t realize they circumcised Catholics.  What do you think that means?

Okay, now you’re just waving your penis at me.  I don’t really think that’s appropriate.

Therapist: Straight men used to be able to look at other (naked) men with admiration, envy, contempt, or complete disinterest without waves of anxiety (sexual or otherwise) coming over them.

Shaggylocks: Wait, this has something to do with sexuality?  How do you figure?

Therapist: Since you try too hard to avoid looking at naked guys, ever consider you're avoiding the real issue: you might be gay, and your avoidance is your way of denying it.

Shaggylocks: Really? That’s an interesting thought, I guess, but I don’t really… oh, hey, that’s cute! You drew a little face on it!  And what’s that in your pubes? Is that glitter?

Therapist: If you can tell that the pubes are not groomed to your liking, then you're looking directly at the offending penis, in which case you may want to explore that side of your sexuality before you get married and produce offspring.

Shaggylocks: Wait, I don’t get it.  If I don’t look at you naked it’s because I’m a self-hating closeted homosexual, but if I do look at you naked it’s because I’m a self-hating closeted homosexual?  I’m so confused…

Therapist: Is this guy a f*****g crackpot or what?  No wonder there are so many screwed-up males in the USA today with nuts like this going around!

Shaggylocks: What? Are you talking to me? About… about your nuts? Oh, you’re talking into one of those little tape recorder thingys.  Okay.  Listen, this session’s been great and all, but I just remembered a previous engagement that I should probably be getting to.

Therapist: Boy, you've never lived until you learn to let go of these silly inhibitions and accept this as a place for guys to just be who they are and relax.

Shaggylocks: I thought I was just going to lie on the couch and talk about my parents or something.  To be honest, I think you’re being a little erratic.

Therapist: You're projecting. I mean really, you must have some serious body dysmorphic disorder to be so put off by other men's nudity.

Shaggylocks: Body dysmorphic disorder? I don’t even know what that is.  Hold on a sec, let me look that up on my iPhone… Okay, according to Wikipedia, it’s “a psychiatric disorder in which the affected person is excessively concerned about and preoccupied by an imagined or minor defect in their physical features.” Wow.  That sounds bad.  You really think I have that, doc?  Serious body dysmorphic disorder?!?  Man.  You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I used to have some issues about my hair, but it was never really that big a deal, because…

Therapist: At my Y, little girls like shaggylocks aren't allowed in the men's locker room above age 5.

Shaggylocks: Okay, I know you need to take notes during the session, but could you maybe write them down instead of using that tape recorder? I keep losing my train of thought.  Where was I? Oh yeah, body issues.  I don’t really think I have body issues just because I drape a towel around me when I walk to the shower.

And you know, I think this would be easier for me if you looked at me instead of down at your own crotch.

Therapist: Geez Shaggy, you do have some body issues.

Shaggylocks: Excuse me? Look, if you don’t mind, I’m going to shift my chair so I’m facing that other wall.

Therapist: That strikes me as a bit excessive and neurotic.

Shaggylocks: What? How do you figure? You keep distracting me.

Therapist: It just makes you seem paranoid and like you have issues.

Shaggylocks: It makes me seem like I have issues?!?! Dude, why the hell do you think I’m here?!? 

Therapist: To gaze at another's nakedness without all sorts of discomfort coming to the surface.

Shaggylocks: Listen, I thought I’d give this whole “therapy” thing a try, but I’m not sure this is right for me.  Isn’t this supposed to be a safe, trusting environment where I can talk openly and freely about my feelings?

Therapist: It's just not that kind of environment.  But it is a perfect environment to admire the simple perfection of a well-built, powerful naked male as a force of nature.

Shaggylocks: Alright, bye!

Therapist: Boobs.

I'm not sure therapy is really for me.