Monday, October 24, 2011

The Model of Self-Restraint

I go to therapy.  When I got diagnosed, my Rheumatologist said that my primary problem was depression, with fibromyalgia being secondary.  I guess the Reynaud's Phenomenon is secondary, as is the Rheumatoid Arthritis. Or would that be third, and forth?  I could wax poetic about how asinine it is that depression is the PRIMARY problem, but I will save that for another day.

Anyways-I got diagnosed with depression.  It's on my PERMANENT RECORD, y'all. Which is great when it comes to $125 an hour therapists, but complete suckage when it comes to life insurance.  More on this some other day, when I have a final, final, FINAL answer about life insurance-they have dragged their feet since May, and can't decide.  I guess if I die, the answer will be a resounding, "NO".

But, I am protected by law from getting cut off from therapy!  I guess they figure they have a better handle on my craziness if they can track me weekly.  So for $20 every Thursday, I get to hang out with a cool chick named Dr. M. Certain diagnoses are protected by law from getting cut off from therapy from the insurance companies. I have one of them.  I think that is actually a bad thing, but I am ignoring the societal implications of that, for now.

Last week, she asked how things have been going.

Let me just say that she is magical.  I remarked to her, "It is so weird. I drive over here with nothing on my mind. I walk up the steps, thinking, 'what am I going to say?', then I sit down. Maybe it's something magical about this room, this chair, this incense, that makes my brain come up with all the rotten things that drive me to want to stab someone in the eye with an ice pick".  Although, I didn't quite put it that way-therapists don't have nearly the sense of humor you would expect especially when it comes to discussing people that you would like to kinda stab.

About that.  I have a slight penchant for being a bit humorous.  Some might even go so far as to say, "sarcastically biting".  I have even heard worse, if you can imagine THAT.
And, wouldn't you know, my therapist sees my sarcasm and snotty comment- those things that have endeared readers to me the world over-as counterproductive!  WTF?

Listen to this shit:

She says, and I  loosely quote,
"When you spend your time focusing on the people and things that make you murderous (my words) you take away from the healing process of accepting the things in your life that you are struggling with."
What I guess this is supposed to mean is that, when I rant and rave about other people and how much they deserve to die-preferably by my hand-for their complete stupidity or annoying behaviors, I lose sight of what my focus should be, and dwell more on their behaviors and my judgement of them.

I don't know about you all, but judging others for their shortcomings makes me feel BETTER-isn't that why we do it?   I can be all, "Well, my hands don't work well which makes driving, writing, typing, cooking and reading a book difficult, but at least I'm not that crazy-ass female with a mustache  and back-boobs and a skunk hair-do, leading my rotten children around on leashes though the Wal-Mart, looking like I stuffed my stretch pants with a sack of doorknobs."  See? The mental picture alone is enough to cheer you up, right?

So, we made a deal.  I get to think the evil thoughts. Then I will blog them.  Then I will explore why the look/behavior/smell/driving ability/lack of common sense bothers me so much, because that is where I will find my true peace and acceptance of the hand I have been dealt.

or something like that.

One model of self-restraint, coming up!

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