Bryan's Poem.

OK, we are high, that is a consideration.  We just fucking cyber stalked our therapist, but we didn't mean to.  We were trying to find his email to email him this stuff, and then well, internet addiction type of click, click, click, oh, he's been quoted on ABC!  Fuck. He's a good guy. I think. I don't want to get a crush on him. But I have a therapist crush on him, because fuck, how else does this shit work. Fuck I wish I had more time with him.  Maybe he'll take me on as a private client when the summers over.  But, wow, he's a keeper.  He knows what he's doing and he cares and he is intuitive and honest.

And I am soooooooooooo afraid of falling in love or whatever that state is with him, because when you are that open and honest with someone it's like its a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens.  You just fall for them.  And I know that it is not the right course and that it is not useful and that it is part of the therapy and all of that, and IT STILL FUCKING HAPPENS. aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh.  And I think if I had more time with him, I could work on it.   But we don't.  Because I know he could handle me having a love feeling for him.

when you are that open and honest with someone it's a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens.  you just fall for them.  but it is OK.  this is part of the healing.  having him take my red wet bleeding heart and hold it and hold it and hold it and hold it.  and hold.  and hold.  so i can look at it, i can see it is OK, it is not gangrenous, it is not communicable, it is not green with pus, it is not going to infect anyone.  it is not going to infect him.  it is not going to infect me.  it is going to heal me.  and it is strong, but it will not kill me.  it will not kill him.  he will not blow up.  he can take my strong wet heart and hold it so i can look at it.  so i can study it.  so i can learn to love it.  and he is strong so he holds it.  and it drips blood down his hands.  but he has studied, he has friends, he has a therapist, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary.  he knows it is not his blood.  he knows he can wash it off.  he knows he is helping to heal, not having a love affair, so he holds my heart.  and i look at it.  i study it.  and i see its strength.  and i am so scared of it. soo sooo sooooo scared of it.  ......................................................

.......................... so i keep trying to give it to him.  to put in his chest.  but he explains that he won't take it because he can't take it.  it is not his to take.  it is mine.  it is in his hands right now but it is mine to take back.

so i think.  and i watch the bleed on his skin.  and i watch him.  i watch him, i watch him.  i watch him.  i wait for his grimace.  his disgust.  the briefest flutter of an eyelid, the smallest unconscious curl of a lip.  and it doesn't come.  he is calm.  he has studied, he has friends, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary, he has the strength.  he holds my bleeding heart.  it drips my blood down his hands.  he is calm.  he is kind.  he even smiles once, with my blood pooling on the floor, he still sees the point of living.  he shows me i can feel.  because he is feeling.  so i watch him.  i watch him.  i watch him.

and one day, i take my heart in my hands.  i watch him.  how do i do this?  i watched him, so i know.  i am calm.  i let it bleed on my hands.  i feel.  i let the blood pool on the floor.  the pain will not kill me.  it did not kill me the first time,  i lived then.  i made it then.  i can make it now.  oh, the pain.  pain.  pain.  but i am calm.  i feel it.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  then i am quiet.  then i laugh.  then i smile at him.  he smiles at me.  i made it.  i still want to give my heart to him but i keep it.  it is mine to keep. 

And I take it in.  I take me in.  I take my strong red wet beating heart back and put it in my chest.  And I smile.  I say "We made it."  He says, "I think we did."  And I shake his bloody hand with my bloody hand.  And we stand and we look at each other and we smile with our hearts in our chest. 

There is something wrong with me

Yes, I think there is something really wrong with me.  I watch this extreme porn that is degrading and humiliating to women.  It's the only kind I like.  I want to see the women hurt, extremely.  That is not good.  I don't think it's good.

I would like to be touched.  Hugged, cuddled, loved.  I would even love to have sex.  But I can't.  For a few reasons.  The main one right now is that I am terrified of men.  Strike that.  I am terrified of people.   And you sort of have to hang out with people before they will touch you.  People scare the shit out of me.

Except of course for my infatuation flavor of whatever day it is.  I mean, it's still sort of F, but since I no longer see him or live in his town, then I'm not gonna be doing much with him, am I?  Even if it's mooning over him.

I saw this amazing video that deconstructs what is going on with the characters Laura and Paul from "In Treatment".  I've seen this video before on youtube, but was watching it mainly because I love that storyline.  Come on, it's about a chick who is in love with her shrink.  What else am I going to be interested in, right? 

Here're the links, there are actually two awesome ones:    In Treatment: Laura testing Paul  and   In Treatment: Understanding Laura

Anyway, this therapist takes apart what Laura is doing, and it is exactly the same shit I pull all the time.  But it doesn't say she is bad or gross or that it's "her fault".  In fact, it sort of lambasts Paul and his crappy therapy.  Paul doesn't handle her testing well at all.  And he lets her down.

One thing this therapist states is that Laura was most probably sexually abused, probably by her father.  That doesn't turn out to be true later in the show, but we do learn she had an affair when she was 16 with a much older man.  I guess I should not call it an affair.  I guess I should say she was taken advantage of.  I should say she was abused.  Anyway, I sort of did that.  Or at least I tried. 

See the difference between Laura and me is that I never follow through with my guys.  Or they never follow through with me.  I needed someone to take a little more overt action because I was scared to death and didn't know what to do.  But if I had known what to do, I would have done it.  I was waiting for them to touch me first, and they never did.

I guess I am writing about Uncle Kevin.  And yes, he's my uncle by marriage to my mom's sister.  Not actually blood related to me.  But I had a huge crush on him when I was a teenager that blossomed into an even huger crush when I visited them when I was 20, just turning 21.

All this stuff with F, it falls right in line with what went on with Kevin.  It's the same damn pattern over and over, and it never gets satisfied.  I never actually have an affair with these men, I just pine and pine and pine and hurt over them and never do anything.  And feel guilty for even liking them in the first place because they are so inappropriate for me. 

So What the Fuck Did I Talk to F About?

So yeah, first let me state that I'm wasted.  I don't know if I'll let Lara read this because of my drunkenness.  It would get me kicked out of group.  Whatever.  Fuck it.

So, Dr. F and I, what did we talk about?  Well, he said Hi, I said Hi and it went on from there.  He asked me what I had been up to since November.  I told him I went to detox, then to rehab, then to WIIT.  I told him I had been treated for my trauma, even though I was not able to remember anything.

Yeah, so fuck F.  I don't want to talk about him anymore.  He may have not have meant to fuck me up, but he did; so he deserves no more of my time tonight.  Fuck him.  Fuck him, fuck him.  In fact I am so sick of this shit that I almost want to be direct and just tell him.  Fuck him.

I went out tonight with Sarah, and old friend from Gville.  We wound up at her local lesbian bar, partying hard.  It was fun.  Except that alcohol makes me puke and gives me a headache.  But I had fun.  And I want to write some songs.  Good times.

I'm still pretty wasted, although I've already done a pretty thorough round of puking already.  I'm going to go walk on the beach, swim and think about F and what I would say to him if I could just talk to him and not chicken out.  I am also going to hop the beautiful glass fence to the condos down the street and go in their hot tub.  Good times.  I will also listen to my Ipod.  I love technology.  Good night for now.

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'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.!!!!!!!!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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