Sunday, July 21, 2013


Tomorrow I see the psychiatrist. I guess it's a try-out for him and for me. I choose him for two reasons:

1. English is his first language. I may be a little racist, but therapy will be hard enough without trying to wade through an accent.

2. His name. It amuses me. It's WWII/European slang for traitor, specifically a Nazi collaborator. That just tickles my nerdish side.

I am so nervous about this whole fucking thing. I have no reason to be, really, but I am. I'm supposed to somehow tell this stranger things that I've never told my family and people who might consider me a friend. Seroisly, how am I supposed to do that? I don't trust people I've known for years, but I supposed to trust this guy?

I'm not so conceded that I think he'll be dying to talk about my session with someone, but I don't like the thought that it might happen. Even in a general kind of way. I don't even want him, or his receptionist telling people that a new patient.

I know how bad I feel about that kind of shit, too. When I was doing the therapy thing before and the therapy people decided that the group thing was where I needed to be one of the people in the group told me that something I said the week before was good and she shared it with her husband. I wanted to vomit right there. I never really again and then refused to do the second part of the group thing.

Just reading that makes me feel like an idiot, but it the way I feel.

Part of the irony of growing up fat is that you do your best to hide, go unnoticed. I was never really bullied for being a fat brainiac because there were people who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. They were the ones who got picked on. As an adult I still have a tendency to hide and I don't like to have the spotlight on me, in any way. When I find out that people talk about me I get uncomfortable, not because of what they are saying -- I'm sure that I think and say much worse things about myself -- but because they notice me enough to form opinions about me that they want to share with someone.

I am so concerned with this sort of shit that… Fuck, I don't know what. I just… You know?

Are there other people like this? Seven billion people in this world, I know I can't be the only one. Doesn't help knowing that there are people just as fuck up as me out there. Like it doesn't help knowing there are people more fucked up than me, either.

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