The rare and elusive Psychoticunt…

Father’s Day is interesting when both you and your sister are mad at your father for being a passive-aggressive dumbass and — let’s be honest — for always choosing his other family over you. Especially when you don’t feel welcome in his home right now, anyway, because his wife is a psychotic cunt. (Psychoticunt?)

What’s good, Hallmark? Where’s my cute, clever card for this?

The therapist said it’s perfectly acceptable for me to just text him, so…score.

Sorry, man, but…ya know — cats, cradle, etc. For once I gotta choose me instead of keeping peace. You’re both already pissy with me — fuck it, I might as well get a relaxing Sunday out of it.

P.S. My therapist didn’t know “Cat’s in the Cradle,” and I’m honestly stunned they don’t teach that shit in therapy school. That and “Daddy Wasn’t There.” Y’all need to re-examine your curriculum. Music education is important.

See, THIS is why I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

This is kind of a lot for a Saturday morning, but I need it out of MY head, so I’ll just vomit it along to you fine people!

I’m going to talk to my therapist about this on Monday, and I’m really not looking forward to it, because I don’t even know where to start in figuring it out.

I don’t know why I can’t just TALK to guys on dating apps. Every time I try to, I freeze up, get anxious, and run away. And I don’t know if it’s because I don’t actually want to date, or that I think I’d feel overwhelmed if I added that to my life (which often already overwhelms me — thanks, Anxiety!), or if I’m scared to…get hurt? To have something actually work out?

I’ve tried thinking about it and I got nothin’. Maybe I just believe I’ll meet someone in person like I always have — online dating has never gotten me anyone worthwhile, so maybe I’m convinced it’s not worth it. I don’t go out a TON, but I go out more than I used to, so it’s not like online is the only way I’m going to meet men.

Do I just really not want to shave my legs more often?

My guess is that it’s all of the above. But if I really don’t want to or don’t think it’s worth it, then I should just delete the accounts and stop wasting everyone’s time.

Ugh. Therapy is gonna suuuuuck. She’s going to make me…feel feelings. And ahhh, fuck, I BET she asks about my dad. 🤢

All my shit is so textbook that they can’t even PUT it in textbooks because it’s too easy. You could tell a toddler my business and they’d be like, “Well, yeah, obviously…”

Cognitive But-Seriously-What-the-Fuck Therapy

I hate when I have a fairly non-eventful therapy session, and then less than 24 hours later something dumb happens with my family and I’m like, “Ooh… Well, I am ready to unpack ALL of this right now. Can I schedule a bonus session? Erm…actually, can we make a double?”

Could you maybe just…not?

Guy I Dated for a Minute and I have mutual Facebook friends, but aren’t friends ourselves. I last saw him at a holiday party last year. We were friendly but didn’t talk much, and haven’t communicated since. Today he “liked” two of my comments — about a local bagel shop — on a friend’s post.

What in the schmeared fuck am I supposed to do with that? Stop being weird! I’m finally OK about you using me for sex and then ghosting on me because I am bad in bed or somehow otherwise boring or underwhelming… OH WAIT. See that? No, I’m not — I had just successfully buried it like a proper Irish girl should. Could you just stop being weird, then?

(Logically I know that’s not what he meant to do, and he’s probably at least half decent because my friends aren’t friends with assholes, and he just tweaked something in my pre-existing condition, and I’m glad I’m in therapy.)

Mmmmm, salty salty salty…

I might also need THIS shirt, but it’ll be my little secret that “it” = “anxiety and half an eating disorder.”

“If you get any fatter, you’re gonna die. Love, Mom.”

My mom isn’t saying I need to lose weight, but since I mentioned it earlier, just so I know, So-and-So just died of a heart attack at age 43 because she was overweight.

She also had high blood pressure and smoked, which Mom knows I don’t do, but… just, you know… “It’s not just about vanity.”

“Well, yeah, but my health is fine at this weight. Blood pressure, cholesterol, it’s all perfect.”

“Yeah, I know, but you have to keep it that way.”

So I guess “Don’t get any fatter” is the sage wisdom getting passed down through the generations this Mother’s Day?

Cool. Noted. Someone put that shit on a Hallmark card.

And it was on the way out the door, too. My mom is a fucking MASTER of the emotional drive-by.

“I wasn’t trying to say you need to lose weight.”

“I really don’t know what else you could’ve been trying to say, Mom.”

“Alright…”

Aaand SCENE. Her husband got in the car and drove them away.

We win at communication.

P.S. Why, yes, she DID send me home with cake and soft pretzels, why do you ask?

Establishing my average cost per issue (CPI)

I spent the day with some family, and just went to text their latest gossip to my sister. But then my brain went, “You really wanna start THAT conversation? Remember, insurance hasn’t started supplementing therapy costs yet.”

Good call, Brain.

This is actually a handy system, minding my mental efforts according to how much it’s going to cost me to fix the anticipated outcome.

Speaking of, who’s proud of me for lying to my stepdad’s face when he asked how my car’s been running? 🙋🏻

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.