I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggonnit…

Texting a friend about therapy:

Me: “We ended up talking about why I don’t consider myself ‘beautiful.’ She showed me a fucking Dove commercial. I’m never going back. (Kidding.)”

Friend: “No one should be forced to watch a Dove commercial.”

And by the way? I don’t consider myself beautiful, and I don’t see a problem with that, so fuck right off, Dove. But I am a middle-age American woman who mostly thinks I’m cute, sometimes pretty, so I do think I’m a goddamn miracle.

Besides, “beautiful” doesn’t even crack the top 100 on my list of issues. When I think about my last pseudo-breakup, my appearance isn’t what keeps my brain spiraling. He once got hard while we were taking a walk because I made a JOKE about wearing high heels during sex — it’s easy enough to believe he found me attractive. So can we focus on this weird haze I get into where I think I’m not smart or interesting enough to keep a dude around AFTER we have sex, even as a friend? That seems to be the dominating self-esteem weirdness here.

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.)

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

Subtext Messages

Therapist: “So, if you’ve been able to decide you don’t care what your family thinks about your life, why can’t you apply that thought process to your romantic relationships, rather than reading War and Peace-complex subtext into every interaction?”

Me: “Ummm… because my family are Birthers, and the people I date are not, so it’s not that simple? Divide my bill into minutes — I want a refund for that question.”

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.