These are(n't) a few of my Favorite Things

Is it possible to feel THIS apathetic right now? Sweet Jebus, I have no soul left. It's black like the coffee I drink and the tar I smoke.

I don't give two shits about anything right now.

Enjoy this soulless video I just made. Whoop-dee-fucking-do.

(Therapy Isn't) For the Birds

I'm an adult now. I've got my own full-time job, I live on my own, got my own car (complete with monthly payments). I'm an adult now. I'm an adult seeing a therapist for repressed childhood problems. I've decided to acknowledge the fact that I'm really not that okay. (I'm not okay.)

In all honesty, I'm an all-around together person on the surface, but the inside stuff, more like crap, is peeking out every so often. More often than it was before. So, I'm going every two weeks and unloading this motherlode of a problem, or problems, because let's be honest. There's more than one.

Today was the first appointment, establishing a foundation of the struggles I'm about to unleash on this poor little man. He's in for a story. And he likes to talk and ask questions, which may prove to be difficult for my initial plan to just word vomit everything for him.

We talked about how I repress things, how I used to be a deep-in-depression kind of child, suicidal even. "What caused that? Was it your mother's drinking?" I think so, Doc. I had it rough y'know. My only parental role model, we'll call him PJ, divorced my mom when I was 10, so that was hard. And then my actual blood-relative of a father had a transparent existence my entire life, now very much non-existant.

It's a confusing relationship with Mother. She was not there when I was younger, kicked me out at the ripe age of 17 and 18 (twice). Good thing I was going to college, I guess. She was and currently still loves the bottle, which left me to care for my brother. When was I even a kid? A true honest-to-god kid. I couldn't tell you. Now I'm her living diary; she calls me to vent about financial frustrations and how she's dirt poor broke, how she's dating a new what's-his-name every other month, how my brother is an ungrateful bastard who takes advantage of her, and how dare PJ plan to take us on a family vacation months in advance without telling her. Joint-custody, Mother. He's got the right. It's his weekend anyway. Not to mention, Mother is needy. Since she kicked out my brother at an even more ripe age of 16, she wants to talk to me all the time. "Pleeeeease come over, I miss you." Or my personal favorite, "You're the GREATEST DAUGHTER in the world. I love you! Please come visit!" No Mother, I will not. I'm seeing a therapist because of you, don'cha know. Leave me alone, please. Stop calling me. Stop texting me. I'm tired. Jesus.

And on top of all this newly awakened frustration from repressed emotions and causing a shitty day, my pants just ripped. Sweet deal.

I'll be writing more, I promise. I think I need to. I have no one to tell any of this shit to because nobody even gives a shit, "I've had it worse." Oh yeah? Oh-fucking-kay, my bad for wanting to share an actual emotion with another human being, and for hoping to connect to another living being on a deeper level. Shit. My bad.

Okay, now I'm done. (Also, I'm still fat. That hasn't changed either.)