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…”

Feeling your feelings BLOWS.

Post-therapy-by-phone text to friends.

I might leave work early and pick up some more bonus therapy by way whiskey. And fried cheese. That’s probably what she really meant by “journaling.”

Nope. No. This is not what’s going to happen.

I’ve been in a fight with my brain and frankly it’s winning, including skipping the gym all week and a triumphant return to feelings-eating that’s left me no longer able to see the changes in my body exercise had achieved.

But fuck you, Brain — I’m smarter than you. Nice people are delivering me healthy food so I’m prepared for Philly’s forthcoming bullshit snowstorm. So if you insist on staying indoors, that’s fine. But you are gonna drink weird fruit smoothies and do SOME form of exercise and have a goddamn productive day, and you are going to LIKE IT. And tomorrow you’re talking to the therapist.

Asshole.

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?”

Single white female seeks mythological creature

Therapist: “So what made you want to write back to this particular man on the dating site?”
Me: “I don’t know… I mean, like you said, I have to start SOMEWHERE. And he seems nice, and fairly literate, and he’s tall with pretty good teeth.”
Therapist: “OK, good! I mean, maybe we’ll work on getting you some higher standards, but —“
Me: “Oh, no, you don’t understand. I know YOU look for women on the apps, but those qualifications for MEN? I might as well be seeking a unicorn.”

Slutty von Slutwhore is lurking in the wings…

I’m not GONNA give my friends access to my dating apps so they can handle the correspondence and I won’t freeze up and feel like stress vomiting when I try talking to people I WANT to answer.
 
But I’ve definitely considered it.
 
I’m not sure what I’m scared of, exactly, but it’s definitely fear. Of WHAT, Brain? Effort? Failure? Success?
 
Christ. This is gonna be a LONG year in therapy. She’s already told me, “You can just DATE them, you don’t have to have sex with them,” and I…do not understand that boundary. I’ve waited too long — if a man touches me the right way, I’m-a fuck him. I won’t even WANT to, my body will just DO it, and then I’ll feel bad about it, and then we can talk about THAT in therapy. It’s the Circle of Slut Shame, Simba!

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.)

Can I have imposter syndrome ABOUT imposter syndrome?

I hate when you tell a therapist something and she says, “OK, well, [logic logic logic], but also that’s definitely something we’ll continue working on.”

That’s Therapist for, “Gurl, you cray.”

Pfft. Like it’s so crazy to not believe you can even HAVE “imposter syndrome” because, “Well, it’s not a syndrome — all that stuff is just TRUE.” Honestly. Goddamn hippies. 🙄

(^ See, now, that’s a joke, ‘cause I KNOW that’s kinda fucked up, so please don’t think I’m serious, and then explain the syndrome, and then make me feel like I have imposter syndrome re: effective use of sarcasm.)