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
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 28, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
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
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.
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.
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