Save me from myself

I used to compulsively read self-help books because I felt as though I was missing out on valuable life hacks if I spent my time, god forbid, indulging in a fiction novel.

Alas my love for self-help books came to a haltering end after reading a book that was spitting out some bullshit about how using self-deprecation as your differentiating way of being funny was a “cheap shot at humour that anyone could do”. Naturally, after reading this I broke the book over my knee and started ripping all the pages out and swallowing them whole. This was a personal attack, as self-depreciating humour is my one and only claim to fame.

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It’s nonsense like this, that bring shame to the self-help novel industry, and eventually isolated me so much so that I ditched book form therapy and began attending actual therapy in person form.

I’m a therapy guru. I don’t even know if I’m still fucked up or not, but I attend therapy weekly, none the less. In fact, I’ve noticed myself doing increasingly fucked up things throughout the week, with the intention of having something fun to talk about at my weekly therapy sessions. I’ve started my sessions by busting into my therapist’s office, throwing my bag on the floor and screaming “Buckle up, you’re in for a rough ride this week” on more than one occasion. I realize this is counterproductive, but perhaps this very act suggest therapy is indeed still very necessary??

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One of my wildest fantasies involves me getting my sweaty little hands on my therapists note book, where she keeps track of my fucked-up words throughout our hourly sessions.

An amazing thing about the concept of therapy, is that all social norms do not apply in a therapists office. It’s like a safe space on methamphetamine and anything goes! I personally like to abuse this privilege by asking my therapist repetitive questions about her personal life. I say “enough about me, let’s talk about YOU”. Which puts her in an absolute frenzy. I watch her navigate the slippery slope of trying to be polite to her psychotic patient, while asserting her power all whilst remaining professional.

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I once decided it would be a good idea to find her on Facebook, which backfired when I mistakenly thought we had mutual friends, and almost had to terminate our relationship permanently. Lucky for me she just has a common name, and I accidentally stalked the wrong person!

Finally, I will admit, therapy isn’t all fun and mind games, it does come with a lifetime of unavoidable anxiety, stemming from the fear of running into your therapist in public. I tell my therapist on the regular that I feel that I can never fully live in the moment, because in the back of my head I’m always terrified of running into her. It’s ironic, really.

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I’m sure once you all read my post where I compared Eminem lyrics to the satanic rituals of networking, you probably thought that was as fucked up as it was ever going to get, but alas here I am, proving you all wrong, yet again.

I’m just trying to bring some light to the dark tunnel of mental illness, and normalize conversations about anxiety, and manipulating your therapist. I propose we take this conversation to a more collaborative platform, so please KIK me!

Xoxo JQ

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