Attention-deficit/hypersensitivity disorder

At the end of his first OkCupid message, responding to a particular line in my profile, a man asked, “Why don’t you like Cuddling?”

Um, why don’t YOU like boundaries, fuckface? All the other things I said, you’re gonna start in with some shit right off the top?

I have things to DO, sir. I don’t have time for cuddling (or, in fact, “Cuddling”).

Ahem… See, this is why I don’t actually date, but DO go to therapy.

(In defense of my intimacy issues, what I actually SAID is, “I’m not a big fan of cuddling.” I have ADD, dude — I get bored.)


Inspira-SHUN the Non-Believers! Shuuunnn!

So, tonight I attended a gathering of female entrepreneurs, and someone flagged my negative self-talk and offered me an affirmation card.

OK, shut up, assholes — I rolled my eyes, too. BUT. Picking a card at random, check out this prescient motherfucker right here.

I’m about to pay for EXTRA therapy for my past nonsense, but this card’s all, “Naw, girl, I got you.”

Bitch-Babies ‘R’ Us

Tonight I’m going to a party where I may or may not see Guy I Dated for a Minute, and I officially hate my brain and its tendency to overthink. Mostly because it’s overthinking the fact that HE’s likely not overthinking a goddamn thing.

I should mention: I am fully aware he tapped — heh — into some things in my brain he couldn’t POSSIBLY have known about. I could’ve behaved differently, so I know it’s not totally his fault that he’s a giant bitch-baby.

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.)

Renewing my subscription to Daddy Issues

I’ve been meaning to get into the Big Family Dynamics discussion with my therapist, but we keep getting sidetracked by current issues. Today I mentioned that to her and said, “But somehow I think tonight’s hour-long discussion of my insecurities and relationship issues probably gave you some useful information about my family history.”

And her response was, “Oh, yeah. Any time we talk about your relationships, we’re talkin’ about your dad.”

…Goddammit. 🙄

Broken Brain Blues

Post-therapy text to friends:

“BTW, I just got out of therapy and you wanna hear some horseshit? Not only does she want me to be happy and well adjusted, turns out she can’t just ask me a couple questions and fix 40 years of shit in 45 minutes. It’s, like…long-term work? That *I* have to figure out with her help? This is just like all this alleged ‘exercise’ people want me to be doing. UGH.”

P.S. It’s a joke, I knew what I was getting into. But it IS also bullshit that I drew the short straw in the brain department.

“That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

I just noticed that Guy I Dated for a Minute has RSVP’ed “yes” to a mutual friend’s holiday party I also said “yes” to.

Whatever, fuckface — I ain’t scared.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to spend the next 3 weeks getting pretty and practicing ignoring douchebags. Because that’s what Jesus would do.

(I’ve realized recently that whole thing messed me up more than it should have. But screw it, that’s what therapy’s for. Let’s dance, Psyche.)