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.”

Bitch better pay that bill.

My stepmother left a 5-word comment on my Facebook post, which led to me contacting my therapist to request an extra session.

So…that seems perfectly healthy…

“Whatever, sea cow…”

Therapist: “So how’s it going with your body image as far as your vacation and trying on swimsuits?”

Me: “I mean, it is what it is. I can’t change much in 2 weeks, so…this is my body, I’m gonna go have fun.”

Therapist: “That sounds like a very healthy perspective. Good for you.”

Later, while trying on shorts…

Me: “Cool, so I’m basically a manatee.”

Aaand now I need more therapy. 🙄

Hard pass.

I had therapy this morning, and was made to discuss my feelings, and because of this personal assault, I must unfortunately decline to participate in Monday.

Do I have time for a breast reduction before vacation?

I ordered swimsuits online so I could try them on and suffer privately, and perhaps call my therapist.

And I love knowing before I even open it that my breast is not fitting in there.

That’s adorable, though. You tried.

SWF seeks SM more interesting than crime

Time for another edition of Stump the Therapist!

Therapist: “So why are you avoiding dating?”

Me: “I don’t know… For me, online dating has never resulted in meeting men more interesting than my couch. Like, this past weekend, would I have rather been on a date than at home watching that Michael Jackson documentary? No. So apparently I just need to find a man who’s more appealing than a 4-hour movie about child molestation? And it’s a much higher bar than I assumed it would be.”

Therapist: [laughs] “…Wow, I actually have no idea how to respond to that.”

WIN.

I outsmarted therapy.

How to Stump Your Therapist:

“I know thinking everything is pointless is a symptom of depression, but…five days a week, I leave a perfectly valid internet connection at my house to sit in rush hour traffic for an hour and drive to a *different* internet connection in a cubicle. I email files back and forth for 8 hours and then drive home, also in traffic, to return to my original internet connection. I’m pretty sure if you looked up the word ‘pointless,’ that would at LEAST be a secondary definition.”

And I’m not depressed currently, but Christ, that is depressing.

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.

No-talent assclown, never even won a Grammy…

Me: “My scale still hasn’t moved, but I can see and feel changes in my body, so I know the scale is just being a jerk.”

Therapist: “I’m glad you blame the scale. Some people blame themselves, thinking they have to exercise more often or restrict their diets more.”

Me: “No way. Why should *I* change? He’s the one who sucks.”

Aaand that’s how I decided to name my scale Michael Bolton.

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?”