A/N-Poor Howie. :( Gotta feel sorry for the man. Don't own him, or anyone else in the Crossing Jordan verse though. Anyway, yeah, enjoy!
I apologize for any poor handwriting in advance. I've had just a few too many. Self medicating does work from time to time, as much as I suggest against it. But yes, life is, well, it's not every day a shrink winds up being the one in need of shrinking. It's something you don't think of happening.
We're the ones that are supposed to have all the answers. Everyone comes up to us thinking that we can help things, thinking that we're going to make them better, make the whole world right. It's not always that way, we're people too, we're not superhuman.
I've come to one conclusion in my life. People suck. Pretty bad coming from someone who works with them all day, but they do. They're mean, evil, manipulative, and take strange pleasure in hurting others. They even find it fun. People, in general, are cold hearted and lacking entirely in compassion and empathy.
And it results in other people dying. Dying for what they believe in. Dying because no one else believes in them. Dying because someone believes they should die. I don't understand how they do it-work in a morgue. I don't understand how they can be around so much death. And still feel.
Jordan, Garret, Bug, Nigel and Lily, they're around the dead all day and they still feel, they still think, they're still emotional human beings. I don't see how that can possibly be possible. It's inconceivable.
I had two things go wrong today. Three, but one didn't result in a death. One failed attempt to talk a jumper off the roof. I joke about it, I was at the morgue and said he'd be arriving shortly, that I hoped things would go better. One failed negotiation with a man who'd gone off the deep end and held his wife hostage before shooting her.
And then bad relationship advice. I told Garret that he should stop pussyfooting around his feelings and actually go right out and tell her. And if things go wrong, I'm going to have both of them ready to kill me.
It's kind of sad really, when I think about it. I'm sitting here all alone, trying to play matchmaker because I don't have anyone to love myself.
It's mostly ironic. Here I am the shrink that's in need of my own services. Maybe once I'm sober I can look back over this, try, and figure out what the hell's wrong with me. It's a curse really; I keep trying to psychoanalyze myself and failing. I'm just another member of a population that sucks. Another cynic in a cold cruel world. Another man who's not Superman.