I am still not high

It's been at least a half hour since I swallowed the DXM, and I'm still not feeling it.  Ugh.  I just want to be out of my brain RIGHT NOW.  Must wait more.

Have you ever seen "Door in the Floor"?  I vibrate in sympathy with that movie.  Sympathy, not empathy.  Part of it I know is that I went to boarding school like the boy.  And I was poor like the boy, so any job seemed like a gift from the benevolant gods of Society.  I get that.

But somehow the movie also captures the loneliness, awkwardness and isolation that I feel NOW.  Although I also felt it when I was 15 at Andover.  But I identify as much with the Kim Basinger and Jeff Bridges characters as I do with the boy's.

I wish I owned that movie, I'd like to watch it now.  It would validate my feelings of emptiness.

I'm Mister Cellophane

You may already know this, but click on the title of this post. It will lead you to John C. Reilly singing my theme song.  Just thought I'd mention it.

I'm Mr. Cellophane.  Always have been, guess I always will be.  Got a lot there, but noone notices.

Goodnight.  Time to do DXM and watch "Across the Universe." 

"I hope I didn't take up too much of your time."

How I wish I didn't always feel that way. 

K's Choice: "I'm Not an Addict" and DXM

I have the taste of puke in my mouth and nostrils. SEEEEXXXXXY.  Yeah, so I stopped at Walgreen's and got my drug of choice and for some godforsaken reason, Egg Nog.  It seemed yummy at the moment.  I drank some.  Then when I got home I realized how fattening it is and how it doesn't seem to set well on my stomach, so I made myself puke it up.  Feel much better now.

My drug of choice (for this year) is DXM.  Which is in cough syrup or cough pills.  It's a dissociative drug, maybe hallucinogenic.  It is the shit if you aren't depressed.  Or maybe it makes you depressed.  I have become suicidal coming off of it.  But yet, I do it again.

"It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive.  If you don't have it you're on the other side.  I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie."

One more day, then rehab.  I'm excited.  How fucked up is it that part of the reason I'm excited is the idea of meeting people.  New people that I may become friends with.  New people that I may want to seduce.  I am a fucking goddamn mess.

"Sober now, I'm cold, alone.  I'm just a person on my own.  Nothing means a thing to me.  Nothing means a thing to me. It's not a habit, it's cool, I feel alive...  I'm not an addict.  Maybe that's a lie."

I really want nothing to mean a thing to me.  Why do I always have to care.  I care just enough to feel guilty.

I saw my mom for breakfast today, so that I could switch cars and get my truck back.  But I did not tell her about rehab.  I'm going to tell her on the phone two minutes before I walk in the clinic's doors.  I just can't handle her disapproval.  I am a wuss.  As has been determined earlier.

Maybe if I cut myself tonight I can prove to myself I'm not such a goddamn fucking weakling.  But I am.  But the cuts may ameliorate the feeling.  Being able to draw blood on myself helps.

I drove to his apt complex tonight.  So on top of being a weak depressed loser, I am a fucking stalker.  Sorry.

I've taken a shower now. Should I go?

So, now I'm clean and somewhat sober.  Should I head out to his apartment complex?  And btw, I don't know exactly which apt he lives in.  Which is good.  Fuck.  I'm a stalker.

So, I should stay wet from my shower and fucking masturbate about him. Do not, do not, do not go over to his place and fucking stalk him.

So yeah, that's what I'll do.  But when I get into rehab, I'm telling my therapist all about this. And as of this moment, I don't give a fuck if my therapist knows who F is.  Which, btw, he will know.  Because F trained where I am going.  Which is why F couldn't go there himself for his treatment.

G'night.  I may or may not be riding for the next coupla hours.  How lazy am I?  Not sure yet.  But everyone else tells me I'm the hardest working girl they know.  So watch out. F :-)

I'm an addict in love with her shrink

So, it's almost a complete week since I last posted here.

And I'm going to admit myself to detox/rehab tomorrow.  I waited until I could tie up all my loose ends- my cat's care, my classes, and most importantly, my job.  So, I told my boss on Thursday that I was going to substance abuse treatment for the next 3 weeks.  Which is a lie, because it's only 2 weeks.  But i can't seem to utter a word without it being a lie, so who gives a fuck.

My boss (Tod) (seemed to be) extremely understanding, and told me about how this is the right time to do this before I got licensed and things could really go bad. And I told him how the Jerrod thing really scared the shit out of me.  Jerrod was fired for coke after he had already been through our company's paid rehab.  I don't want that to be me.

So yeah, now I am a total fuck up.  And I am drinking tonight to fulfill that definition.  If only my shrink would follow through with me tonight, I could definitely complete the total picture.

Maybe I should try to find his apartment tonight and show up.  What would he do?

He would have no idea because somehow he missed that training during his M.D. training.  Yeah, right.  But that's what he said.

So, I am trashed right now.  Wish I wasn't but I am.  So now I'm going to ride my bike to his apartment and see what happens.

Am I going to do this? I'm not sure yet.  I'm going to change first, then maybe get back to you.

I am tired, and I sorta stalked. And I def worked out.

I'm back from riding my bike.  I went to 93rd ave and 43rd st.  Far.  I made 2 detours.  One at F's apt complex, and one at the gas station to fill my tires.

No luck at the apt complex.  I only did one loop then left once I realized what a goddamn freak I was being.  So F, if you ever read this, I still have no idea where you live.

I'm tired.  And sweaty. I probably rode 20 miles.  Going to take a shower, fall asleep and wake up in time to go out with Dara.  Maybe we'll do something physical tonight.  It's the second date; is that time for kissing?  I forgot the rules.

G'night.

I'm drunk, and I'm gonna ride.

Wow.  It's much later now. But, I've been re-reading my posts and re-feeling my feelings.  I'm still all hepped up, so I will still be riding.

I'm almost tempted to send this blog to F, if only to give him an idea of how detrimental his laissez-faire manner of speaking/therapy can be to one of his patients.  He has turned one tough-ass chick into a wilting flower.  And damn if I'm not pissed-off about that. So, f* you F.

OK, seriously, it's time to ride, I've got hiccups.  Which is not normal for me.  Bye.!!!!!!!!

I am a weapon of massive consumption

It's not my fault, it's how I'm programmed to function...

I don't know what's right or what's real anymore...

When do you think it will all become clear?
Because I'm being taken over by the fear.
----------The Fear, Lily Allen

Lily Allen is my love. When I'm in the mood for well produced pop singer/songwriter cheeky Brit chick awesomeness. Which is always.

Kate Nash is also in that class. High class, that is.

I'm on my way. Ipod is charged and set up with playlists. See you later. F, I'm not gonna stalk you I swear. If only because I'm wearing an ugly-fugly t-shirt and workout pants.

Bye again.

I'm going to ride my bike until I forget about him. Or have a coronary.

I'm off to ride my bike. I can't calm down, and I don't want to get more drunk and wind up with a hammer headache, so I'm gonna ride.  I'll ride on the prairie. Safe and pretty. Safer to my soul as well.

Bye.

Mental Health and a Cute Boy

OK, I'm just back from a night on the town with G and Brian. We went to an art show, and it was pretty cool.

Then G walked up and talked to purple shirt guy. Purple had been looking my way all night, after we had a (very) brief chat about a painting. I said, "I like it, but then I don't". He overheard me, and said "yes, I agree". We then said about 2 more sentences to each other and I got shy and walked away. Thinking he was a weirdo.

So yeah, G winds up talking to him later. And asks him if he wants to go to The Cellar with us. And he says yes! At this point I'm digging him. He's quiet, and seems smart. With really gorgeous curly hair and eyes. Sort of like an older Nick Jonas. I will never tell him that. Because we are going to date and have a love affair. I've decided.

Man, I'm tired. Got to go drink more, because this will be the last time for a while. Maybe I can make out with Dara tomorrow night. Yum.

Purple shirt is a Master's in Counseling by the way. Is that not perfect. He works at the Crisis Stabilization Unit at *****. Ha, ha, ha. Seriously. He may have been there when I was tackled to the ground and shot full of Haldol. Funny. I don't know when or if I should ever tell him that.

OK, time to make a drink.

First, must again reiterate that I want to fuck the pants off of F. Why must he be so nice to me? He really just has to say he is not interested and it will help. Just say, "I think you are ugly and I would never sleep with you or find you interesting." That's what I need to hear so I can kill off this longing. F, please.

They tried to make me go to Rehab

So, here I am at work with 15 minutes left of my day, and I’m saying fuck it and am writing here. 

So F called me back today, with his same familiar tone of voice and style.  Ugh.  I hate him for being so cute. 

So.   Jan wants me to go to rehab.  I ask F if he agrees.   Independently of Jan.  He says yes.   Laughing and joking with me, but still, yes.

I guess I want to go.  I guess I do.  I have to figure out if I am going to turn in my damn paper for Surface Hydrology or just let it go.   I want to let it go, but don’t want a C+.   Fuck.  I guess this will be my last weekend free.  I guess.  

I have to tell my mom.  I don’t want to.  But I have to, because she has to take care of the Bai.  Maybe I can get someone else to take care of him?  Maybe Chris?  I have to call him.  I don’t want my mom to do it; I want to be as unattached as possible to her.   She will not be watching Bai. 

OK, 5:00, gotta go.

Chin on his chest: my psychiatrist's reaction to my confession of attraction.

I talked to my friend a long time today about what happened with F on Weds.  I even remembered and told her more than I told my therapist, mostly because I've had time to process it and let it soak into my brain a little longer.

I am now watching "In Treatment" like it was CRACK.  Laura and Paul, ooooh yeah.  I sound like the Kool-Aid guy.  Anyway, the first two episodes when Laura reveals to Paul that she loves him; hell yes.  Then his (and her) subsequent reactions in later episodes are manna from heaven.  It is exactly how I feel about F.  Or did feel about F.  I think I'm getting over him, especially because of how he reacted when I told him I "liked him."  Cripes, how juvenile a term is that?  I guess I was too embarrassed to say "attracted."  I will not be next time.

Yes, F.  I want to sleep with you.  Perhaps after I get to know you better.  But, if it were the only option, I would fuck you right now.

I DID IT!!

So I saw him today.  We went for our 30 minutes.  He gave me a diagnosis of PTSD with Borderline traits.  Not Borderline.  Yay! Then I asked if I could talk to him for another 10 minutes. But, on to what happened next.

OK, actually first let's go over what happened during the first part.  I walked in, he did his frown again, and I asked him what that was.  He sort of wiffle-waffled, so I said "You did it last time too."  He said it was due to the fact that he was trying to remember what went on in last session.  I said "So, it doesn't mean you're trying to tell me something without telling me something?"  "No" he said. (He also said  later that doctors were human too, which I think he was relating to the whole frowning thing.)

So we got on with it.  He asked me a ton about my drug use.  I told him everything.  LSD, my one time with Crystal Meth, GHB, K (done with that chick with needles), Ecstasy, the little coke I did; fuck what else?  Hash, pot, DXM (of course), whippets, Xanax, alcohol (obviously), no heroin though.  I'm sure I'm forgetting some, but this is getting tedious.

Good gosh, I hope my family never reads this and figures out it's me.  Right now I'm the good kid who is not an addict and has her shit together.  Ha.

So next, he asked me a bit about my father.  When he died, how often I saw him. I told him about him hitting me when I was 13, and Uncle Sam's fuckery.  Then going to Uncle Sam's house the next night for dinner.  He asked about mom's shit and I told him about the walking home.  F asked about verbal abuse. I told him mom told me I was unlikable and mean.  Not stupid.  But fat, in a veiled way.  And gross.  And mean and unlovable.

F then told me he was abandoned, ignored, and not taken care of.  He said this on his own, I didn't ask.  But I love hearing it.  I mean I didn't love hearing that he was hurt.  But, I just want to relate to him.  I just wanted to take care of him. Pathological, I know.  But he is so attractive and fragile.  Fuuuck I like him.  Or at least what he has let me know about himself in session.

He tells me he thinks I have PTSD, not borderline.  Yay, again.  I don't know how to fix it though.  And he's just my meds check guy.  He basically told me that later.  Yeah, so later.

We get done about 10:45. Someone calls him on the phone to check to see if he's heading out to a meeting at 11 am.  He tells them to go on without him.  He then talks about how there's a merger going on and they are having many tedious meetings about it.  He doesn't want to go.  I think I volunteer that he can say I'm in crisis and not go.  He may have brought it up, I'm not sure.  But I say, if you have 10 minutes, I have something I'd like to talk about.  He assents.

So I say, "I don't think I can see you anymore because I like you".  He gets an "oh, I don't know what to do" look on his face. And he doesn't know what to do because he says NOTHING.  I blunder on saying I looked it up online and know it's transference, but online they say you should tell your doctor.

More later.

OK, I'm gonna do it. Talk about it, I mean. Not "do it."

OK, so I see him tomorrow for my second session this week.  And I've decided I'm going to do it.  I'm going to tell him about how I feel.  I don't know why, it probably isn't necessary, but I'm doing it anyway.  I don't care.

Or I have too many reasons, and don't know which is the most motivating:

• This lust is driving me crazy.
• When I left last time I wanted to go and drink, I was sooooooo keyed up.
• Maybe he'll sleep with me :)
• Maybe he'll drop me so he can date me and sleep with me later.
• It'll be fun to talk about- It'll be the closest I'll ever come to doing it with him.
• Yeah, that's def part of it, it'll be tantalizing and sexual to talk about
• I can wear a skirt tomorrow and not look weird because of my cast.  Which gives easy access to showing him my cuts.  Which are on my very upper thigh.  Which then will give him a glimpse of my super hot new underwear I bought for the occasion.  This would be extremely trashy and gross to do, so I will not do it (probably).  But damn, it's good masturbatory fodder.

I wonder if he would get hot knowing I get hot about him.  Man do I get hot for him.  I hate it.  I'm sick of it.

I just want to date someone hot and have sex with them.  Now.

But unfortunately Dr. F is hot.  And smart.  And a smart-ass.  And educated.  And accomplished.  And arrogant.  And fucked up.  All the things that are attractive to me.  He even has diametrically opposed political views to me, which also gets me hot. UGH.  I hate this, I really do.

I think I've finally gotten the courage to do this because I have a therapist.  So I have her to go to tomorrow to talk about it.  So if F freaks and drops me or is mean to me or whatever, I have her to go to and lick my wounds.

OK, need to try to go back to sleep.  Gotta look rested and beautiful for tomorrow :)

PS  Have begun talking to hot chick on OKCupid.  Maybe I can get it on with her.  There are no hot guys on OKCupid.  They are all arrogant and gross.

Yeah, I'm still infatuated, what else did you expect?

I am still infatuated, but the tenor and flavor of the infatuation is changing.  I don't really think it had gotten into my emotional (vs intellectual) core that if he fucked me he would be basically violating all of his professional ethics.  This of course would ruin his career, as he already has the drug issue on record.  Also, it would make him vastly less attractive, because who can be hot for a guy that has no ethics?  So, no sleeping with my shrink.

But perhaps more important to my mental health is realizing that I think I've been making this whole thing up.  If he were interested in me, he would be not blowing me off on Facebook.

So, he's having fun in session, talking about himself, perhaps to make himself feel cool, hip and young.  But damn I like him when he's trying to be cool, hip and young.  But I've got a suspicion that it has nothing to do with me.  Other than I'm a chump and let him talk.

I'm embarrassed that I have to process this so much, but I do.  So I will continue.  I am listening to "Across the Sea" by Weezer.  How appropriate.  "I could never touch you, I think it would be wrong."  The next best song would be Police's "Don't Stand so Close to Me."  Maybe I'll make a playlist of all the songs of fucked up forbidden lust.

I don't know what it is with F.  I truly don't think its transference, if only that we haven't had many in-depth conversations for me to attach to him.  But maybe it's projection.  Here's what I do know:

• He has told me intimate details about his rehab.  That he has to do a urine test every week.  That he was abused by his mother when he was young.  That he grew up Pentecostal and doesn't like it now.  That he has social phobia and took Ambien to help it.  That he uses drugs to get out of his own brain.
• Shoot, is that all?
• I want to keep asking him questions about himself, because it makes me love him more, and I feel that we are connecting that way.
• He is not returning any of my valid scheduling/business calls.
• He did not give me a diagnosis at the end of the last session.  I need to get it this time!
• I love the way he sits and walks.  Not really anything to do with me, but it turns me on.  He sort of struts, and sits with a strut.  Don't ask me how, but he does.
  
• I want him to date me.  I want him to drop me as a client and date me.
• I started cutting myself after this shit started. Well, I also started fucking a boyfriend and drinking heavily around this time as well.  So perhaps we should not blame this on F.  Having sex is probably the causative factor.  I haven't fucked the same person regularly for years, it's always been just random shit with random girls/guys.  But always safe.  I'm sure of that.  Tested and clean baby.
  
• I compliment him on things and he seems shocked but pleased.
• I am ugly and he would never want me in or out of the office.  If I met him at a club, he would look right over my head and into a real woman's eyes.
• I am not real.
• I want him to hug me and tell me everything is all right

I still want to have sex with my psychiatrist. But less so.

It's 5:29 AM on Sunday morning and I haven't slept.  This information will have to be reported to  Dr. F.  I almost don't want to tell him because that will make me look like a crazy person.  And no one is attracted to a crazy person.  Except maybe a shrink?  One can dream.

I didn't sleep last night, but then finally passed out around 9am and slept all day.  I then went for an hour walk/run which turned my back into steel cables.  I NEED to go to Bikram Yoga tomorrow, or will be hobbled for the next few days with the added bonus of tight muscle migraines.  Gotta love those.

I have been thinking about my infatuation with F (duh, what else do I do).  I am very embarrassed about the email I sent him through Facebook.  It was overly familiar with a sort of a frat boy slang.  I guess I was trying to be cute and not that serious.  But it comes off as needy and stalkerish.  In my opinion.  I sent it after we already talked about his Facebook page and how I had tried to add him. In session I said, "Hey Dr. F, I tried to add you as a friend on Facebook, did you see that?"  He replied something like, "Oh yeah, I thought I saw something about that."  And that was the end of the conversation.

Like an asshole, I wrote him a day or so later on Facebook (even though he hadn't added me), btw he hasn't added anyone, he has no Facebook friends, so I'm not taking it personally.  In session he was wearing a certain football team's shirt (I'm going to omit which one) and he had explained why he was a fan.  So here's my email:

Hey "Football team" fan, 

Come on dude, you definitely need to add me. I know, I know, you're not into the friend thing, I get it. Just giving you a hard time.

I'm a "type of politics", so at least we have that in common, if not your "other type of gross politics". I just had to come by so I could read their pages again. Seriously funny.

Have a good football day, 
(Name redacted for privacy)

 

Is that email horrifying or not?  The more I look at it, the less I shudder in horror. But it prob is still not great. Oh yeah, I also need to give myself a nome de plume.  Like the good stalker that I am, I went back by his page a few days ago and noticed he made it private.  As I mentioned before, this is a good idea.  But I am wondering how much of that has to do with my asinine email.  Oh well.

Getting ready to see him tomorrow

So, it's late, 1am, and i have to get my shit together to see him tomorrow.

I need to know what I want to say to him.  BUt I'm thinking maybe i need to do this by hand.  maybe not.

Therapist #2 and her views on F

So now onto the therapist I saw today. She's the good old regular talk therapy style, which is what I want (I hope it's what I need).

We talked a while, and she listened. She seems smart. She was def doing that whole being a blank slate/mirror thing, because I didn't get much of a judgmental or emotional response from her. WHICH IS GOOD. That is what I'm supposed to be getting from Dr. F.

So I didn't tell her everything, I wanted to leave time at the end so that I could talk about Dr. F. Sad and pitiful, but true. If I don't talk to someone about this (other than bf, whom btw is no longer my bf, more on that later) my brain is going to explode.

And Ralph on justanswer.com just told me to get rid of him. Yeah, that's what I should do, but it's not what I wanna do.

So therapist #2, let's call her Jan, listens to me about F. And she doesn't react much, I realize now that I expected her to get outraged like Ralph on justanswer.com. But she said it's normal for me to be infatuated with him. And that sometimes therapists choose to share things for therapeutic reasons. There was a word for it but I forgot what it was.

I was nonplussed. I asked her if he was flirting with me, if not, wtf was he doing?  She said she didn't know. So actually it was a pretty limp conversation, but it helped. Just talking about it helps.

For the past few weeks I have been preparing to conquer this guy and really and truly try to somehow finagle him into sleeping with me. And hey, if he jumped me now, I'd do him.

But maybe I wouldn't. I sort of like him as a person, I think. What I know of him I like. And I don't want him to ruin his career/life. (But hey, if he's fucking other clients, then I wouldn't mind. It wouldn't be my fault then :-))

So yeah. I think I'm slightly over him? God I hope so. I've been wavering with the thought of just telling him everything on Monday when I see him. I would tell him that I'm confused with his self-disclosure. I like it very much, but it is confusing me. Does it mean he likes me?

"Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?" Stick Dr. F in there and that's me. That's how I feel.


And if you aren't flirting with me, you are breaking my heart. You are toying with someone who isn't in the greatest place right now, and you should stop it. STOP IT. But maybe he doesn't even know what he's doing, and I'm a dolt for thinking it means anything. I'll tell him all this and he'll be like "that was not my intention at all. I don't like you, you are my patient, and whatever you read into this was all your transference blah, blah."

Ugggghhhhhhh. Fuck it, I know when a dude is somewhat flirting with me. And unless he's an idiot, he should know that I'm flirting hard back.

He's made his Facebook page private. Smart man.

I want to fuck my psychiatrist- Google help me out.

I labeled this post specifically. I have googled and googled for phrases like "I want to fuck my psychiatrist" or "I want to sleep with my psychiatrist, therapist, counselor, etc." but have gotten nowhere.

I find a ton of stuff about transference and boundaries and projection. Yeah, I get it. But everyone talks about how they love their therapist. I want to fuck or sleep with or have sex with my psychiatrist/therapist. I don't know him well enough to love him. Plus, he's probably not my type. I mean I know we have polar opposite views on the world. And he's got a cheesy haircut. Seriously.

So I went to two therapists this week. The first one was a hoot. I mean hoot as in weird. Freaking bf suggested her because she is/was a "scientist" and "PhD." Man, does bf love the PhD's. I truly could not care less. I just want someone with a lot of experience. Back to therapist #1. She does this neuro emotional technique (NET) along with acupuncture pressure point stuff. In NET as far as I can tell, the therapist pushes on your outstretched arm and has you say statements. As you say them she pushes down on your arm, which you are holding up as hard as you can in resistance. Their theory is that if the statement is untrue or you don't believe it, then your arm will not hold up to the force as much as to a true/believed statement.

I had to sit there and hear her lecture about it for at least 45 min. And I was rolling with it, trying to keep an open mind because I liked her. But then she started talking about me having "bad spirits" around me. When I asked her to clarify- mainly, are you talking about something supernatural? She said yes. That was it. Done.

I had been sort of with her before that. Although I don't think she put the same amount of force on my arm each time, which is essential for it to be a valid process. In fact, I know she didn't, just by the arc of the movement of her arm. She followed through on "untrue" statements, and did not on "true" statements. Ugh, just too much undisciplined science for my taste.

I had to pay her $60 for this little lesson in stupidity.

Hate work, but love the Flobots

I am stuck here at work and I hate it. I don’t know if hate is even the word. Ennui I guess. I can not make myself do anything I’m supposed to do.

Fuck this.

I hate work, school and life. And all that is not OK. I guess it may be partly to the drinking on Sunday night, which always takes me a while to get over.

I guess I’ll do the fucking yoga this afternoon, maybe that’ll get me out of this funk

I’ve decided I should never read reviews for movies or albums. Or books. They just ruin what my own thoughts are. And the negative reviews taint me the most.

"Handlebars", by Flobots- Best Song Ever. Or at least this year. Or for the past 5 years at least:

Seroquel

Seroquel is cool. I'm falling asleep right now because of it. Good for F. Now if only I could fuck him, all would be well.

My bf is too scared of my leg to stay the night with me. Am I mad about this? I don't know yet...



Actually, I do know.  I'm mad.  He freaked, which is understandable. But I wish he were tougher and could deal with it.  I'm not upset about my cuts, I mean, they're done.  I just want him to hold me.  Go down on me, make me come.  Then I'll go down on him, we'll have sex, snuggle and then go to sleep.

But hell, he's too freaked out.  Which is odd, because he seems to be fairly familiar with the whole cutting thing.  Which is why I felt safe enough to show him.

If I knew he was going to freak, I would never have let my guard down.  I am very good at keeping my guard UP.  Instead I wound up hugging him and comforting him about being upset about my slices.  Weakling.

Yep, that's what I think of him.  Weak.  Deal with it dude- I do.  And hell, you don't even have to bleed (I mean from cuts).  You just get to fuck a pretty, smart,  and accomplished chick.  How hard is that?  You won't find many chicks smarter and more independent than me.  Plus, I'm a fairly good lay.

Yep, I guess I'm pissed off.

Goodnight

So now about F

So F (my doctor that I want to fuck). I have called him twice in the last week for valid scheduling type issues, but feel like a total stalker. He's out of town and will now have two voicemails from me.

Maybe I am a stalker who's keeping it in check. I looked him up online to check out his professional stats (I swear), and his personal address and phone number came up. Did I mention this before?

Jesus F, get a clue. Make yourself unlisted. Now I have to force myself from driving by. I'm pretty sure I did mention this before, but I was fucking wasted at the time.

So yeah, Sunday night I wrote on Just Answer to Ralph, who has previously answered 2 of my questions about F. I told him I was cutting myself and freaking out, and all he told me to do was go to the hospital. No caring, nothing. Then two days later he had the admin people email me about paying him. Fucker. He does not want me to pay him, because then I can leave feedback, and it will be negative.

He helped a little with the F situation. Sheeit, I keep wanting to write his (my doctor's) real name by mistake. My bf has a lovely little nickname for him too, and that keeps popping into my head as well.

Got to be careful about that.

Still loving the F. Wanting to do the deed. Don't know what else to say. Trying to look hot for him, not eating much, working out and tanning (cream) like crazy. Want to be tan and fit for my man. Who is not my man and probably thinks I am a scary nutcase. And he's right.

Why can't I not think about him. Fuck my brain.

I don't like my bf.  Is that terrible?  I don't even know he's my bf, we've only been hanging a couple of weeks.  But I don't know what else to call him.  I really don't like him, but am continuing on with him because he is helping me get counseling somewhere else.

I scared the shit out of him on Monday.  I truly did not mean to, and feel very sorry about it. More about that later.

2 Days Later

Ugh.

Ugh, ugh, ugh. I drank for a straight 12 hours or so on Sunday through Monday morning. I went to class drunk at 9:35 am, with more whiskey in my water bottle. WTF. I have never done that in my life.

During the wonderful marathon drunkathon, I cut myself pretty badly on my inner thigh. 6 cuts. About 3 inches long. Did it with a brand new razor blade. I have those for chores around the house, not for freaking mutilating myself. Oh well.

A couple are pretty deep. I hope I don't have scars. How hot is that- someone's going down there and freaks because of scars. Maybe I could limit my dating pool to people who like the Suicide Girls. I hate the Suicide Girls.

I have been sick as a dog since then. I really and truly am an alcoholic and need to keep away from the booze. Which I've been doing pretty well. But, not lately. I think I've drunk like 5 times in the past 2 weeks. OK, that actually really sucks.

And the last time I got fairly drunk I cut myself on my forearm. So obviously I'm doing just fine.

I CAN TAKE IT

I can take it. It's the story of my life. The story that I have narrated. So fuck you if you can't take it. Because then you clearly are a wuss.

Fuck yeah. I WILL TAKE IT, BECAUSE I CAN TAKE IT. Fuck you Ralph, F, and bf. Fuck you all.

Come on J. Come on C. Where are you? Your softness beckons me.

OK, one more at least

One more. Two more. At least

Ralph is scared of me.

I'm not in need of sutures or the f'ing hospital. I guess I just need someone to tell me they like me.

Fuck, I am a person with BPD. Yeah, and admitting it makes people not even want to try. Fuck, it's more popular to be Bipolar.

Fuck you Ralph. You let me down. As will everyone else on JA. Because no one on JA can help me, solely due to the fact of it's process.

Well, I tried.

And now none of the "7000 experts online" will touch this shit. Maybe I should be flattered? I have created a problem so scary that no one will touch it?

It still feels horrible. But I can take it. That's the point, right? I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.

So, I'm taking it.

Fuck you Ralph. I know it's not fair, but you left my ass. And I've paid you . Not much, but a lot for a student. So fuck you. Just don't even start to answer questions that are too hard for you.

Good night for now. I'll probably cut about two more lines. Of course making them as deep as I can. Wussy pants if they're not as deep as the others. Bleeding hard is good. But it's not an emergency, and I don't need stitches. Are all the experts as touchy as Ralph. Because he had obviously not dealt with my kind before.

I'm a beginner according to what I've read. An amateur.

Ralph Tried

But I scared Ralph too much. I'm not in a fucking crisis. I'm just upset and sad and drunk. And being drunk is my fault.

F you Ralph. That's what I feel like right now. But I guess I understand your position. No legal problems. I'd do just what you did. But I know I'm a hardline asshole, and I was hoping I could find a therapist who wasn't as much as an asshole as I was.

I respect you for covering your ass.

So I've got 15 minutes until the question opens up to other therapists. Fuck them too. Fucking lily white fuckers who've never felt this. Had one or two problems in their childhoods and decide to study this shit to help people. Fuck them.

I had this shit happen, and I decided to study something else. And if I were them, I wouldn't be such a chickenshit as to not to help someone like me.

Fuck you all. Do I sound bitter? Ha.

Bitter bitch on the line. Will you help her?

Yeah, still waiting, so wtf, why not write, but fuck does my typing suck when I'm drunk.

Why can't it be as simple when I was in high school. JOKE. It couldn't have been worse than when I was in HS. I was anorexic, in love with my English professor and failed out of my senior year because I drove my car into the parking lot, but hung out in the bird-shit covered bell tower all day.

But sickly, I almost wish I was back there. Because now I would def know how to fuck Mr. Coffman. Shit, he wasn't even a Ph.D. And I've fucked plenty of them since then.  And I was damn hot back then.

Time to cut my inner thigh a little harder. Bleed more. Tougher I am.

And seriously, if you wanted to f* me, wouldn't it be hotter if my inner thighs were cut to hell. It shows that I could fuck you pretty hard. Or you could fuck me pretty hard. Either way it'd be good. F'ing good. At least for one night. Until you woke up and realized what a crazy person you had spent the night with.

But don't worry I would never, NEVER lay claim on you.

In fact if you tried to lay claim on me, I'd disappear as quick as a vapor.

Love ya. Ralph, give me what you got.

So I just wrote Ralph. He's decided to answer my question. So I now sit waiting for a while while he writes his response. Shit I hope he can help me. Probably not. I mean, what else can he say other than go to hospital?

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Yeah, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. That's what I fucking mean. I've made five cuts on my thigh, and I feel like a wuss, because I didn't make the same six cuts I did on my forearm. My greatest disappointment is to not be as tough as I could be. I am tough. I swear. I will Kick Your Ass. Don't Fuck With Me.

But of course, aren't I still sexy? Cause isn't that the point? I mean, from the first books I read (I mean 4th grade), women were allowed to be smart, but if only their clothes fit them well and the male scientists could look down their blouse or admire their shiny, beautiful hair.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK, you. You goddamn authors who f'cking planted that shit in my heads. I'm a f'ing great scientist. And f what I look like. That only matters when I'm trying to lay someone.

And if I were a guy, being a scientist would probably help. It def does not help as a chick. Unless you are dating guys who have problems. Because they seem to be the only ones who like super smart chicks.

Please help me Ralph.

JustAnswer.com

Shit, I've spent $45 f'ing dollars at JustAnswer.com. But Ralph in the Mental Heath section is probably saving my life. So I guess it's OK

I just cut myself- let's see- 3 times hard, and 1 time wussy on my inner thigh. I did it before on my inner forearm, but then everyone could see it. Somehow that didn't occur to me when I did it.

I need help I guess. But I can't go to hospital. So I'm stuck asking questions to folks on justanswer.com. Hopefully Ralph knows wtf he's doing and I'm not just paying some scamming whore. I probably am though.

Well, I'm going to wait for an answer, then maybe post it here. Or not. Let's see

What a dumbass

BTW, dipshit F has his address published in the phonebook. What an idiot.

Now I am going to have to force myself to not drive by. Because I swear I'm not a stalker. But damn, I could be.

WTF is wrong with you, publishing your address? It's a middle class address. Guess you're not living too high on the hog. Could there possibly be more cliches in my posts?

F you F for being such a dumbass. Or not understanding boundaries, which we already know about you.

But F, you're hot. Your smirk, your stupid hair, your chubbiness after getting out of where you were. Even your stupid politics. We could have some angry sex over that.

Your politics (omitted). F, you sincerely are a dumbass.

F, F, F, F Me

I just realized that the name I gave to my shrink is the same as the short form of fuck. F. So yeah, in my title I mean fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me. As in I'm fucked.

I've got to finish my HW, but I'm drunk. Fuck Johnny Walker Red or whatever the hell it is that bf made me buy. 'Cause of course it's his fault. Not my arm that keeps pouring the drinks and lifting them to my mouth.

What I do is sort of hard, so it is really hard when you are f'ed up. Oh well, at least I know the equation for standard deviation. And the harmonic mean. Good times.

F F. He sucks. Not me unfortunately. And I don't suck him unfortunately. Although I'm not sure I'd do that right away. I don't like to get on my knees in front of men. In front of women is just fine.

OK, I'm finished burning that dog and Atmosphere. Good bands. Time to put them in the Onkyo and get rocking.

Hopefully I won't have too much of a headache at 9:35. I've got to charm Dr. M into letting me turn in my HW late. Oh yeah, in the midst of my "I wanna fuck my shrink" crisis I've been missing class.

Dr. M loves me though. Prob because I like him. Smart and accomplished as fuck. Some of his work is in textbooks I've had in other classes. Pretty badass. OK, must finish. I'm almost out of engineering paper, but I think I've got enough for this assignment.

See you later.

On and On til the Break of Dawn, Baby

I'm waiting to fall asleep and so I'm writing. Believe it or not, journaling is what many of the shrink-type folk prescribe for doing before sleep. So there, I'm being therapeutic when I write about wanting to do my shrink.

Ugh. So I have a boyfriend I guess. The first one I have had in a long, long, long-ass time. I'm talking 10 years. And when I say "one" that includes girlfriends. Because the last relationship I had was with a girl. I guess woman. At least she's a woman now. I'm not sure if 24 counts as woman yet.

Ah, sweet little J. I royally fucked her over. It's my style. Like jazz, I'm the tortured and mournful trumpet of Miles Davis. Not the be-bop. Never the be-bop. Sketches of Spain, buy it, live it, love it. I say BUY it, not steal it by downloading from some torrent site.

I did a homemade steam and scrub facial this evening. My skin looks mahvelous darling. Maybe F will want to kiss it.

Sick, sick, sick that I want F to kiss it, not bf.

Bf is not hot. I met him on OKCupid, and he sort of never left. And I just keep hanging out with him and I don't know why. I don't like him and I'm mean to him. I'm a jerk. In general, and especially to bf.

He seems to think I'm the hottest thing since sliced bread. Why? It is one of those great mysteries. I'm not especially good looking, I'm overweight and I'm a bitch. You figure it out- cause I can't.

OK, I'm not all bad:

I am smart. Really smart, too smart for my own mental health. (I do drugs so I can shut my brain the fuck up. I'm not doing them so much right now.) I guess I have a pretty face. I can fix lots of things, I know how to use my own tools.  I am self-sufficient. I'm fairly well-read. I'm going to have a master's degree in a well-paying field. I love what I do. I love to get dirty and don't mind bugs. I don't back down if I believe in something. I am loyal (when I'm not blowing someone off). When I do something, I do it right.

But most of those things can be annoying as well. And don't men mostly go on looks at first? I am royally fucked then. I'm sort of trying to lose weight by doing yoga.

Let's not even start on the weight thing. I guess if I were as thin as I wanted to be, I would think I was very good looking. But as it is I'm a toad. Ugh.

Not a story I want to get into, but a chick punk band I was in told me they dropped me because I was not good looking/confident in my looks enough. That's what they said. I think it may have been partly because I played all the instruments better than every woman in the band. Does that make me arrogant? Plus, looking good is better than playing well when you're a chick. Although I got laid enough when I played on my own and with my own band.

(For all that are reading- fuck Pinkeye. They blew me off and they couldn't play a chord progression or write lyrics to save their lives.)

So yeah, bf is freaking me out. He's obviously got his own issues. Because if I were he, I would drop me like a hot potato.

OK, so I'm finally getting tired now. Bed.

And we keep going.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about F. I want to love him and keep this infatuation going. But I'm afraid it's an exercise in frustration. And I don't want it to be.

I want to have an affair with him. Fuck him in his office. Go over to him, grab his hair and pull his face to mine. I want us to start kissing with the serious energy that we've (I've) been holding back. I want him to unbuckle my belt and yank my jeans down around my hips. I want his hand under there and driving, driving, driving.* 

Screeeeech. Back to reality. I'm sitting 7 or so feet away from him in a damn office chair. ugh.

If he were a normal guy I met at the grocery store or the bar, I could do this. But no, I have to freaking meet him in the office. I know, I know, I wouldn't be so interested in him if I met him at the bar.

In fact, if I heard all the shit he's told me in the office at a bar, I would run screaming away to the bathroom (after I downed the drink he bought me.)

So yeah, he tells me all sorts of shit in the office. I have looked up what constitutes normal behavior (ie ethics) for shrinks, and he is definitely not following the program. He is the poster boy for self-disclosure.

Yay! That means he might go one more step.

When he tells me his private things, it makes me love him. I think that he's telling me because he trusts me and likes me and relates to me and etc. But I have a gnawing fear that that is not true. I fear he tells all his clients these things, and I'm nothing but one more sounding board.

He seems to think I'm funny. That's good I guess.

Why do I have to like him so much?  Why does he not like me so much?  Or does he? I can't tell.  And it's killing me.

*See "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick

Let it Begin

Alright, here goes. My first page of my first blog. I'm starting this for myself, as I seem to write more on the computer (on Facebook) than I ever do in my physical paper journal.

So, I think, let's do the blog thing instead of a journal, maybe I can get some of the confusion and vitriol out this way.

Bad grammar, bad attitude. Maybe that's what I should call this blog. We'll see.

So, it's titled Let it Begin. But really it should be, Where to Begin.


I am starting this to get through my feelings about my doctor. No, I am never going to say his name. I am never going to say where he works, where I work, what town we're in, or any other leading clues. I'm not here to destroy him or get him in trouble. And he wouldn't anyway as he hasn't done anything to get himself into trouble.  And probably never will.

But, I do have to come up with a name for him for the blog. Let's see, what'll it be. How about F. Just F. F as in infatuation. Ha, yes I know that it doesn't start with F, but it recalls the sound. So F.

F is my psychiatrist. I am in love with him. Or I am in lust with him. If we want to get clinical, I am suffering one whopping case of transference. And I'm hoping he's got some counter-transference going on.

I'm such a dweeb that I want F to read this and know. But he won't because, well because.

I tried to add him on Facebook. How ridiculous. I am not a teenage girl by the way. I just act like one and try to add my shrink on Facebook. He's not accepted me. Whah. Not really. See, we have more of a chance of doing something if he doesn't add me. No paper trail. Digital trail. Whatever.

So, he's thinking ahead to the day he's going to fuck me. Isn't that smart.  Ha.

----------------------

I just went and retracted my friend request. Now I won't look so stupid. Although we already talked about it. Whatever.