On Wednesdays, we wear our hearts on our sleeves.

So, the therapy posts aren’t going over well, which is fine, it’s a little bit weird. But I wanted to share this, which was kind of an “up day” breakthrough. Plus, it’s Mental Health Awareness Week, and I think it’s important obviously to #endthestigma, but also…It’s not CRAZY. I joke that it is, and I shouldn’t, because it’s not. Some of us just need a minder. And this particular thing is something I think a lot of women struggle with.

This is from my actual, personal journal, where I write about each therapy session right after, so I remember what we talked about and what I’m supposed to be doing, and sometimes it spurs thoughts about certain things, and sometimes it’s just nice to get it all out of my skull. So I wrote this the other day, which was a down day, after she and I had talked about my romantic history (Ex-Box, That Guy, Idiot Boys I Dated):

“When I met That Guy, I FELT stuff: good, bad, but never dispassionate. Never like I was just…THERE. I felt strong, smart, sexy, like I was a good writer, funny, pretty, good at the limited intimate things we did, etc. And when that went sour, it went REALLY sour — I don’t know if I’ve ever been angry like that. I know that’s because I was hurt. But I think that’s why it’s been really hard for me to let him go is that I didn’t know I could be like that — confident, sexy, bold, horny, angry… He woke things up in me I didn’t know I had. And yes, theoretically now I know I HAVE them, so it’s on me to go GET them, but CHRIST, it was so easy and just thrilling having him do it. But his rejection in not wanting to be with me, or even friends in the way I’d like …what if I was wrong about all that stuff? What if I’m not those things?”

But then I started thinking about it more logically, and…fuck THAT. That is a version of myself I had, and I will find it again FOR myself. It’s part of why I started this blog in the first place, so my id had an outlet.

A lot of this had to do with the recent serendipitous arrival of Jenny Lawson’s book, Furiously Happy, in my mailbox, and the subsequent reading of the original “Furiously Happy” blog post, which said in part:

“I’m fucking done with sadness, and I don’t know what’s up the ass of the universe lately but I’ve HAD IT. I AM GOING TO BE FURIOUSLY HAPPY, OUT OF SHEER SPITE. Can you hear that? That’s me smiling, y’all. I’m smiling so loud you can fucking hear it. I’m going to destroy the goddamn universe with my irrational joy and I will spew forth pictures of clumsy kittens and baby puppies adopted by raccoons and MOTHERFUCKING NEWBORN LLAMAS DIPPED IN GLITTER AND THE BLOOD OF SEXY VAMPIRES AND IT’S GOING TO BE AWESOME. “

Also the Caitlin Moran talk I attended a few months ago, where she basically said, “Decide what you want to be, and BE it, even if that means faking it until you make it.” This is a mood I get in a lot, but I’m really trying to harness it so it’s my default.

So this morning I put on a dress and heels and some red lipstick and whipped my bitch-ass brain into compliance. I don’t have time for this shit. I have Awesome to be.

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