I’m not typically so skeptical on first introductions. I’ve tried a lot of non-traditional therapies. I had to admit, however, that the atmosphere of this waiting room was … unusual. The receptionist was covered in silver body paint and wearing what looked like paintball safety gear. An entire wall of the room was devoted to a mural of the doctor, hunched over and chewing on a human spine, with the phrase “FEED YOUR SOUL” emblazoned across it in Bleeding Cowboy font. I was assured that Doktor Dethweed was a certified naturopathic doctor. It seems he also has a degree in “blazin’ it every day like Marvin Gaye.”
I have to admit, again, that I was concerned when two dreadlocked nurses wearing smeared makeup and bondage gear approached me slowly with a straitjacket. The receptionist chimed in again to assure me that this was entirely normal and I would “get what’s coming, get what’s coming, yeah.” They dragged me behind them. As they did, they giggled to each other in a way that echoed menacingly down the oddly angled hallway. Then everything went dark.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting on a chair in a circle in a dimly lit padded room. Similarly bound individuals surrounded me. Docktor Dethweed was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, speakers crackled to life. A driving guitar riff, too loud to ignore, was blasted into the room. The patient to the right of me stood up, walked over to me, and started screaming “FLACKITY FRAPPIT A FROW FROW BA WAPPITA. SHOCK DOCK TO WACK DO BACK BACK ATTACK.”
He repeated this refrain, over and over. I could feel flecks of his spittle on my face. He didn’t seem angry, however. His face registered a sort of placid contentment I have to admit I envied a little, as plagued with anxiety and self-doubt as I was. It was a sharp contrast to his aggressive stance and posture.
The rest of the patients took their turn. Each had their own variation of apparent nonsense that they repeated, screaming at the top of their lungs, right into my face. Once they had all had their turn, the lights came on.
“Bravo, everyone, this has been a promising session opening,” said a man who had entered the room. I had to assume this was Doctor Dethweed. He was mostly bald, but the remaining hair on his head was shaped into a pair of devilish horns. His goatee was extremely long and braided with glow-in-the-dark beads. He wore a silver grill with vampire fangs over his teeth. The doctor was shirtless but wearing skintight latex pants and knee-length leather boots. He pulled up a stool in the center of the circle and asked me to introduce myself.
“Well,” I responded, “my name is Rani, and I’ve been having trouble with a lack of focus. My relationships are suffering from it, because I’m not as emotionally available as I could be. I wonder if there could be some lingering resentment from my relationship with my father that could be causing me to sabotage myself.”
“That’s an excellent introduction,” said the doctor. “But it’s too long. Shorten it. Make it rhyme.”
I thought a bit and came up with this, despite the strange request:
“Hey, my name is Rani
Aimlessness and confusion plague me
Hate my dad, he makes me sad
Now I can’t be there for you, baby”
“Shorter!” yelled the doctor, two inches away from my face. “Mash the words together. And scream!”
I have to admit I was starting to panic a bit. Sweating and shaking, I belted out from the the core of my being:
“HADDITA FRADITTA BADDITA CON PLAGGATA
DADDITA SADDITA BEE TAN BE BABBITA”
The room got quiet. Then, slowly, the other patients began to clap. I felt like a weight had lifted off of me. Everybody hugged, and I was offered complimentary blackout contacts and a tab of Molly. With all the other terrible experiences I had trying to find wellness, I was absolutely shocked that I found something that worked for me.
I’ve gotta hand it to him. Doktor Dethweed is a genius.