Thrills Sans Pills

Getting my thoughts sorted and analysed by my secretary (read: therapist) has been awesome for the whole two sessions we've had so far. A whole two. I'm cured! Remember when I said I was afraid of becoming one of those "my therapist said" people? Well I haven't become one of those only because I'm far too preoccupied having discussions in my head about what my therapist would say about things I'm doing or worse - the shit that I think about doing. I'm on the fence as to whether that's better or even worse than what I was afraid of becoming to begin with.

I walk into her office and immediately the logical and more articulate version of myself decides to make an appearance. This woman must see that I am in fact not crazy and therefore seeing her recreationally to give her my money because I ball so hard. As I sit on the chair to face her, the disrespectful, cussin, brutally honest side of myself just decides to take a seat next to me and snicker while Doc marvels at my maturity and understanding. True story. I mean what kind of person would she think I was if I said, "blah blah blah and when he said that I wanted to reach through the phone and slap him hard enough to make his head spin because that's real fuckery." She may faint. Or die. And I'm sadly ill-equipped to handle that type of stress. Clearly, I'm seeing her for a reason.

Right now our relationship is a similar sensation to getting a new bff - any and everything that happens makes me think 'Ooohh I can't wait to tell Doc about thisssss.' I wonder if that happens to everyone...

Your psych convert,


toon from: writerunboxed.com

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