I get back from therapy and I feel tired in my brain. Robert challenges me to use my logical mind to “unpack” the totally bullshit things I say. Then he makes me look at it, and prove to myself that in there was some sort of positive message or lesson. Some introspective moment of self-realization. I sound like an ass. I AM an ass. Robert is great, I’m a fucking idiot.
I’m mad at Uncle Phil. He’s being a shit head in the Li’l Y Memorial Fantasy Football League. I’m not going to let his insanity ruin my fun, damnit. But it has my attention, and I keep fucking talking about it…
I had to go back into relationship stuff again. Fuck, was that ever a BLAST to talk about. Look, come see how I ruined a marriage (albeit, a shitty one), married a bitch, tried to kill myself, got divorced, accrued tens of thousands in debt… and that’s just the fucking first half of the cookie we just got into.
I really despise myself. I’m such a fucking loser. I’ve ruined so many lives. I’ve wasted nearly all the years of life. I have little chance of making enough right to undo the colossal wrong I have done. I deserve to be reminded of how I’ve fucked this up. I’m trying not to repeat said action, so I can have a better life. Or something.
Robert wants me to appreciate my small, incremental steps toward positive short-term goals. That makes sense. Logically. I don’t like to give myself praise, EVER. In fact, I never do it. NEVER. Big fucking waste of time. Oh? You need a pat on the back? Tough shit pork-chop. The real world just dick-slapped you in the fucking face and now everyone is laughing at you because you are a sorry sack of shit. How does it feel now?
I’d rather be aware of my flaws, than in denial. I guess. Great path I’ve decided to walk down, totally alone and surrounded by sadness and rage. See you later.