Entropy > Therapy

The other day I told my therapist that I think the country is fucked beyond repair, and she had no counterpoint, and THEN all this shit in VA happened so… yeah…

Drink up, y’all. Humanity’s had a good run. Cheers.

My brain is broken.

Yesterday my friends told me they ran into Guy I Dated For a Minute, and now for some reason it’s all I can think about.

I THINK it’s partly because my doctors are screwing with the drugs I take, so I hadn’t been in the greatest mental place, anyway, but it’s sort of spiraled into a fun rehash of the “not enoughs” — pretty, smart, cool, good in bed… All the things you think you can suck at, I’ve been telling myself I suck at. Like… this dude doesn’t even want to be FRIENDS with me. What the fuck is that? Am I THAT boring? I even offered him friends with benefits and…still no? So I’m not good enough in bed to fuck a third time?

And by the way? The sex was…serviceable. It was good, but not great. It got the job done. And the dude’s nice and all, but I think I mostly saw friendship there. I have no idea why this is bothering me so much NOW. We’ve been not dating longer than we WERE dating, and it HADN’T been bothering me before. I think I’m finally getting that we’re not going to even be friends, and so I just feel gross and used and stupid. Again. (I teared up while writing that, so it’s possible I nailed it.)

The “stupid” is big because I’m attracted to people smarter than I am, in relationships and friendships, and it goddamn blows to not even be friends-worthy.

*shaking head*

UGHHHHHH. Bitch, stop being a bitch, bitch!

(Here’s hoping putting this in writing is therapeutic, because my actual therapist is on vacation this week.)

Cost analysis of psychoanalysis

I’m going to my scheduled therapy session tonight, but only because if I bail last-minute I still have to pay them. But my brain is being super bitchy about it, presenting a compelling argument that it’s currently preoccupied with “too-busy-at-work stress” feelings, and we don’t talk about those, we eat and drink them, and frankly don’t even care to hear your stupid “healthier coping mechanisms.” Yoga won’t help, blow me.

For the money I’m ’bout to hand this broad, I could consume my weight in froofy martinis and fried food. I’m just saying, from a cost:benefit standpoint, we better fucking solve some big shit this session. I better leave with, like, NO abandonment issues.

Bring it, lady.

This is not biology; it’s a sinister ploy. 

It’s one of those menstruation days on which I’m so irrationally exhausted that I’ve become suspicious of the entire process, as if my body is somehow shedding things it shouldn’t, like…”No, no, we NEED that, what are you doing?!”

Before I left the house today I just threw a bunch of pills in my face and chased them with a bucket of coffee. Screw it, it’s bound to fix something.