The Misanthrope Counsellor

by Robbie Rae

When I grow up I’d quite like to be a counsellor.

Not just yet, mind. As things stand, I’ve still enough energy to do a young man’s job.

But the ‘older me’ might want to do something a little more helpful to society at some point. Something more meaningful.

And surely it is the counsellor who has the most fun.

First, you really can help people. Life is getting harder and more savage. Depression, disillusionment and anger seem the only reasonable mental states for anyone who pays attention to anything at all these days. Plus, with so much ‘self’ in everything we do it seems, to this blogger at least, inevitable that mortality, insignificance and reality will weigh heavy on Gen X and Y as they creep past 50 years old.

But that’s only partly why I would like to do it.

Yes, it would be great to help people in this state. But I also want to do it because watching this generation fall apart will be fucking hilarious.

What more could a misanthrope wish for?

“So what you are saying, Ms Williams, is that you were once very beautiful? How interesting. But now, at 55, people don’t look at you like they once used to? Oh dear. People don’t help you as much as they once used to? They don’t give you special favours that they wouldn’t give others because they no longer have an unspoken hope that you might one day return the favour sexually? How awful for you. If only you’d considered your inner self rather than using your outer self to claw every advantage you could get for yourself.

“Love eludes you too? You spurned the very rare blessing of good looks for lots of sex, social power, and popularity with those around you. Yes, that sounds terrible. You ignored love because you were more interested in what you could get and not what you could give, or share. Nobody was good enough for you or your killer body and now nobody wants your saggy old tits or your bitchy personality – and the best you can hope for is the occasional night with drunk kid with a cougar fetish. How humbling for you. Right. That’s the hour. Same time next week?”

How nice to know that you are helping someone. While enjoying front row seats for this intimate and spectacular collapse.

“So Mr Smith. Let’s recap. You spent all of your life making money? You devoted everything you had to the pursuit of gain? You loved the game, you wanted to win, you stepped on everyone and anyone to get to the top. But now that the game is up, you’d like to get to know your children. But your grown up children don’t really want to speak to you? They don’t see you as much of a friend or really love you that much? They only see you as someone who gives them money? How horrible and empty for you. I can see how it must hurt. Why would a child love someone who has done nothing but reject them their whole life? Yes, I suppose the idea of growing old must be quite frightening and lonely. If only there had been some cultural warnings for you when you were making your life choices – you know, saying things like ‘money can’t buy love and friendship.’ Yes, this new concept must come as quite a blow to you. But at least you still have your money, eh?”

And then a shrug of the shoulders, a tap of the wristwatch and, before you can say “serves you fucking right” the Misanthrope Counsellor is off to the pub to bask in the wonderfully interesting act that has just been played out before him. But at the same time, the fat cat feels a little happier in himself too.

“Mr and Mrs Francis, welcome. So, from our last session, it says you are trapped in a loveless marriage? Oh dear. How did that possibly happen? I mean, those were quite a few important vows you made in front of everyone you know. How can you go from wanting to make those enormous promises in front of your friends and family, to no longer loving someone anymore? Seems almost impossible. Oh, i see … you didn’t actually take the vows very seriously. You simply wanted to get married because everyone else was doing it. You wanted to please your parents. You didn’t want to be excluded from social functions as a ‘singleton.’ I see. You were incapable of unconditional love, but you also lacked the courage to be on your own, or wait until someone you could love with all your heart turned up? Yes. I’m sure you do feel a little depressed.”

Yep. The kindly old counsellor will help these tortured souls get better while laughing his fucking head off all evening at what a fantastic and interesting day he had.

As society continues to allow its communities to crumble, as it continues to create competition and enmity between anyone and everyone, as it continues to allow its national institutions of care get broken up and sold, it will be the kindly old professional counsellor that will be sweeping up the debris.

And he will probably be loving every minute of it.