Feelings overload

I had a whole thing written about last night’s therapy session, but then I saw this comic from Sarah Andersen, and… Yep, that pretty much covers it.
sarah

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“Hippies, hippies…they want to save the world but all they do is smoke pot and play Frisbee!”

Some days all the hippie feely stuff I follow on Facebook makes me feel better.

And then some days it’s like, “Hey, you know what, Special Snowflake? Shut the fuck up with your groovy bullshit.”

meh.jpg

“Stop trying to make ‘fetch’ happen. It’s not going to happen.”

That’s it, I have done HAD IT with you people and your ridiculous facts and science — I demand someone invent a blood test for mood issues. Yep. Blood. Science it up, people, I don’t care how you make it physiologically valid. But all this “being aware of my feelings” shit is just not gonna work for me. I have things to DO. I don’t have time to think about how I feeeeel.

Psychiatrist: “Well, can you ask your friends if they’ve noticed changes in your mood?”

…I’m sorry, you want me to be the Gretchen Wieners of mood disorders?

“I mean, you wouldn’t be bipolar without asking your friends first if it looks good on you!” And you know ADD only comes in sizes 1, 3, and 5 — I’d have to try Sears.

#WorldsWorstPatient

Sorry, Irish. Shit’s getting real later.

I definitely shouldn’t be as proud as I am of my ability to choke down sudden-onset Feels and get on with my workday, but my GOD, this time was impressive.

I deserve some sort of Irish medal.

But…tonight is pretty much earmarked entirely for a date with Fiona Apple, bourbon, and an Ugly Cry.

And hey, happy bonus of the nausea: my lunch is still sitting untouched on my desk. They’re diet feelings this time! Feelings Lite! 100-Calorie Feelings!

Ahem. There’s a line from “Friends” where Chandler introduces himself by saying, “I’m Chandler, I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

P.S. I’ll be fine. Don’t call any hotlines.

Musical Masochism

I’ve heard this song a bunch of times since That Guy “made it like it never happened and that we were nothing,” and I was perfectly fine. But it just came up on my Pandora playlist and suddenly I’m a weepy bitch over it?

Li’l early for PMS, isn’t it, Body? Though I suppose that would explain the recent irritability, exhaustion, insatiable libido, and mass consumption of salty, cheesy Mexican food with Girl-Scout-cookie chasers. 

This is all fine. (It actually is. It’s out of my hands. There’s literally nothing I can do except “breathe and reboot.” Plus I think I’ve proven I’m stronger than Weepy Bitch, even if on occasion she IS the one who knocks.)

Kelly Bundy, Kimmy Schmidt, and the “Grey’s Anatomy” method of avoidance. 

Wow. WordPress readers really love my anxiety, don’t they?

More years ago than I care to consider, there was a show called Married with Children that probably wouldn’t make it in today’s infinitely-more-PC TV landscape. I remember people being offended by it at the time, but it was the late ’80s/early ’90s and most people didn’t give a fuck.

So there was the dumb blonde bimbo daughter, Kelly (Christina Applegate). She’s more appealing than her sports-fan father, so she goes on a sports trivia show in his place. But she knows nothing about sports, so he fills her brain with trivia before the show, and for every sports fact she absorbs, a bit of basic life knowledge leaves her brain, rendering her dumbstruck (seen here) when asked to recall everyday knowledge.

That’s where I am right now. For every bit of bullshit my brain has encountered this week, I’ve lost knowledge and patience. This morning I stood in the shower with conditioner on my hair, and for just a second completely blanked on what the next step was. And I just snapped at my brother because he’s being a fucking asshole. (Though I do kind of love it when I finally give up on trying to be polite and just say what I’m thinking.)

Family issues, friend concerns, medication that’s ruining my appetite and dehydrating me, not sleeping, and additional things with That Guy, all in those 3 days of spiked blog stats… I’m out. I spent my workday NOT FUCKING WORKING, but rather ensnared in a texting clusterfuck with aforementioned brother.

Also, I know my friends love me and will listen to me, but I’m sick of being the Needy Friend — they’ve heard a LOT this week, I sent a goddamn list. (Subject line: “No advice needed; just FYI, everything is fucked.”) I’ve talked to friends, a therapist, my personal journal, and you people. I am tired of thinking and talking about my fucking feelings. I’m not even upset, per se — I just want to go home and sit there for a week or so and not talk to anyone or think about anything. Maybe just spend the whole week re-watching all of Grey’s Anatomy in my pajamas.

So yeah. I’m currently at a Bundy Brain grade 4. I’m gonna pull a reverse Kimmy Schmidt and put my ass into the doomsday bunker.