I had my first counseling appointment today. Not because I wanted to, but because it was suggested by my midwife (i.e. she threatened to cut off my drugs unless I agreed to talk to a counselor....some crap about how post-partum depression can't be treated with medication alone...blah, blah, blah). Since I have another 17 years before my sons are grown, and Zoloft is cheaper than vodka, I went to the damn counselor.
When my mom found out about my appointment, she asked:
1: How'd it go?
2: What did you talk about?
What she really meant was:
1: You didn't talk about me, right?
2: What kind of crap did you tell her about me?
In fact, I believe my entire family is leary of me talking to a counselor for that very same reason. Nobody wants to eventually find out it's their fault that I'm bat-shit crazy. Or worse, find out that I'm perfectly sane and they're actually bat-shit crazy.
The reality is, I have a pretty good handle on what my "issues" are, and I'm only going to counseling because I want the drugs. Unfortunately, I have to come up with something to talk about while I'm there, which means everyone in my life is fair game. I have a few things in mind to discuss. Feel free to check for your name in the list below:
The Baby: Nipple biting, um, ow! And what's up with wanting your diapers changed all the time? It's like you don't know how to use the toilet or something.
Peanut: Booger wall. Poopy towels. Anus, anus, anus. You're a counseling goldmine.
Moon: Meh. You're cool ever since you quit humping the floor.
D: Oh, you know exactly what you did....
Mom: Three words...Make Your Ownie
I'm a little worried that my list isn't going to last very long, and I'll have to start making things up in order to avoid being "cured." If you have any stories of fucked up psychological issues that you wouldn't mind having co-opted for the sake of maintaining my drug habit, feel free to leave them in Comments.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
