Unfriending the Crazy

Today my psychiatrist advised me to stop consuming so much news and social media.

You heard it here, y’all — modern life is insane-making.

(Also, yes, I’m aware I’m posting this ON social media. Um…it’s a process?)

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“Why? WHY?!”

It’s nice to spend time with my family. I feel so normal.

In kind of a maddening way, like…”Y’all know you’re fucking weird, right? Other people don’t do this. Why? WHY?!”

But I’ll take “normal” however I can get it.

In which my ladyparts do Satan’s bidding.

OK, yeah, dude should be on a watchlist, but on the bright side, I’m totally referring to my insides as “my satanic ram’s head” at least once a month from now on.

“Y’all, I can’t go out tonight — my satanic ram’s head is back on its bullshit.”

This is a perfectly logical life plan.

I have this habit of intending to respond to OkCupid messages, but then I forget about it, or I want to wait until I’m at a computer instead of my phone, and then suddenly a week has passed and I think, “Well, if I really wanted to reply, I would’ve made it more of a priority,” so I just delete the message.

When I told my therapist about this, she said, “Hey, maybe don’t do that? You saved those messages for a reason. Either write back or delete them, but letting them sit in your inbox makes them just another to-do item looming in your brain, making you feel like you’re behind on life and bad at being an adult.”

So, um… Can y’all write these dudes back?

Apparently I have hella issues and emotional walls and I think I’m boring so I don’t want to waste anyone’s time? I didn’t know these things about myself — never go to therapy. “I would’ve made it more of priority” sounds far less tragic, like I’m just such a busy, baller boss bitch that I don’t have time for you people and your penises.

But hey, you know what? Frankly I’m doing these men a favor. If I never answer, they’ll never get any of my Crazy on them, and then no one gets hurt. I’ll just continue hiding in my little Singleton cave and never getting laid and letting these feelings deepen and fester until I’m a crazy, old cat lady who dies alone and the cats eat my face. What’s the problem? The cats will be fed!

(Ahem. Why, yes, it has occurred to me that perhaps I should be in therapy twice a week.)

“You ain’t seen me crazy yet.”

I have a lot of weird little things I consider immediate red flags in dating profiles. Some, yeah, I’m basically Chandler Bing, but there are a few I maintain are just good sense.

One is, if he seems to be implying most women are crazy, even (especially?) as a joke.

But other than this one comment — which I think is…BORDERLINE red flag… like…a pale red… and the flag is small — this man seems nice, smart, and attractive, and sent me a perfectly polite first message.

So I’m going to answer, but let the record show, my guard is UP. FIGHT MY CRAZY, BROSEPH.

Well. There’s my answer…

I’ll be moving to a new apartment in a couple months, and my therapist asked if I’d want her to refer me to someone closer to the new place.

1. Now I think my therapist wants to get rid of me.

2. I said, “I don’t know, unless you think I don’t even NEED to be in therapy…?” and she raised her eyebrow damn near off her head, and I laughed, and she laughed, and so… yeah. Guess I’m gonna keep going.