By Bruce A. Smith

I have always believed in UFO’s, even as a little kid. In fact, I have always thought it odd that others don’t.

My fellow true believers and I have a few theories that we place a lot of stock in, and the main one is that the aliens are already here. Secondly, we believe there are plenty of alien races, including at least one species that looks exactly like us – so much that the only way to tell them apart from regular human beings is to touch them and see if they are clammy-cold. If they are, they’re aliens.

They’re clammy-cold because of Theory Three: they have evolved to such a degree that they no longer have the DNA to carry emotional expression, which is why they’re here on earth, namely to study us and our emotions.

A few years ago I was in the middle of a sleepless night, and in my restlessness a thought struck me: If I was an extraterrestrial and wanted to study emotions – but didn’t want anyone to touch me so that they could find out I was a clammy-cold alien – then the best job to have would be a psychotherapist. I knew that because my therapist had never touched me in over 800 sessions during the prior ten years in order to keep out emotional entanglements. Not even a handshake!

Then it hit: Oh, My Gawd. What if my therapist is an alien? I mentally wrestled with this dilemma for hours, but there was simply no way out – either my therapist was an extraterrestrial or she wasn’t. There was no in-between.

Worse, if she wasn’t an alien, was everything I believed just total crap? No UFO’s, no extra terrestrials, no governmental cover-ups, that God Help Me, the X-Files is just a TV show?

Now, if my therapist was an alien and she found out that I knew what she truly was, then what would she do? Beam herself up to her mothership and leave me to face my life all alone? Or beam us both up and conduct advanced studies of emotions?

The next day I had an appointment with my therapist, and as I entered her office I didn’t know what to say. Once seated I couldn’t speak.

“Having trouble getting going today, Bruce?” my therapist asked in a soothing voice.

“Yeah.”

“So, what’s up?”

“Well,…um…” I decided to leap into the abyss. “I think you might be an alien.”

“Oh, I thought you knew I was Jewish.”

“Jewish?” I laughed. “Yeah, I know you’re Jewish. I mean an extraterrestrial-type-of-alien. Not a Mexican-fruit-picker-kind-of-alien.”

My therapist looked very confused and concerned.

“Let, me get this straight, Bruce. You think I’m from outer space, that I not really from Earth?”

When she said it like that it did sound a bit crazy, but this was not a moment to debate the semantics. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh, no…. Oh, no…” My therapist said between gasps. She slowly slumped into her chair. Then she clutched her arms around her and began to rock back and forth. “Ohhhh,… Bruce… that is the craziest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

I became euphoric. The Craziest Thing? Whoopee – that makes me the Craziest Patient! I felt like I was having an adrenal Fourth of July because I knew some of her patients who were vets and just back from the battlefield, and I was crazier than them! I felt like I had just been elected to the Psychiatric Hall Of Fame. I felt special – and it felt good.

My therapist, on the other hand, looked like hell.

Oh, my God. I’ve got to rescue her, I thought. I started talking about my mother, Catholic school, and my latest bout of sexual impotency. By the end of my session my therapist was back to her old self, and as I left her office I patted myself on the chest, saying, Boy, I did a good job in there today.

So, I’d like to share a piece of advice: If you go into therapy, know that you can Go Big. Just be prepared that your therapist might have an anxiety attack in turn, and you might have to help them out.

And if they can’t handle your Super-Sized Crazy, then give me a call and we’ll find someone who can.

Yes, I know I look normal. One of my former therapists said she was “surprised” when she got to know me.  My current therapist just calls me a “Hoot.” Picture courtesy of Guustaaf Damave.