Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Its Free

I don't get much hate mail.

Not nearly as much as I would if I were cool. But honestly, I like to think that people who read this are sensible enough to just stop reading if I offend them. Most of the emails I get are really funny and interesting. I get photos of haircuts (KEEP THEM COMING!) that I might like, recipes and random articles from everywhere. I LOVE THAT.

I do not particularly like the Jesus people. And I do get some emails like that. People telling me that I would become and happy and cheerful person if only I would accept Jesus into my heart. Let me say it again:

I am not Christian. The Jesus that I know doesn't give a shit about my soul or yours. Nothing you can say is going to make me think differently.

I have no desire to be cheerful. EVER. EW.

The rest of the emails I get fall into the therapy category. There is a whole class of people that think I need therapy. This has, in fact, been suggested by people I know. My sister actually suggested this very thing.

I thank you all for you interest.

I do not need therapy.

Now I imagine this looks a little like an alcoholic denying their problem during an intervention. I promise it is not. I have no problem with therapy. I have had counseling before in fact. I found it very helpful for a brief period after I had a boyfriend beat the crap out of me. I did need it then and now I do not.

I think it is hard for people to understand that writing about how happy you are does not translate to anything interesting or funny or even worth writing down. Who the shit cares about that? And if I am bored writing it there is really no point at all.

And yes, I realize talking about anti-depressants leaves me wide open for this. People who are happy and well don't take those do they?

Actually sometimes they do. I was in a fog all summer long. I was never unhappy. Just disoriented. Buried in my life. And that is overwhelming. And right now I need assistance to deal with that. And the second I do not I will stop taking them. They are a crutch. And one that I am gladly using.

The therapy people seem to think that I will only become satisfied with my life after I deal with some secret issue in my past. It is my experience that everyone thinks you have a hidden issue in therapy. People have food issues and mommy issues and daddy issues and fear of success issues.

I have many issues. Have you been reading this?

The thing for me is that I don't actually want to get over any of it. I am not the same girl I was before that man hit me. But then again, even if he hadn't I would not be. Who is the same person at 26 that they were at 18. I miss that girl sometimes. She was fun. She was pretty. She could drink so much vodka and read really great books and did amazing sculptures. She made out with girls in bars for beer money. She dressed as a fat man named Luigi for Halloween.

But she is gone. And that is ok. The 26 year old me has grown as a person. She manages her money better. Has a great husband. She thinks a lot less about what people think of her. She has a rocking haircut. She follows a really wonderful skin care regimen.

Life, in other words, has happened.

I will never be totally satisfied with my life. And to tell you the truth if that is what therapy gives you I want no part of it. To be satisfied is to stop wanting to grow and succeed and try new things. I don't ever want to be satisfied.

Besides, people who think their lives are perfect are always the ones you see on the news. They lie, cheat and steal to keep what they thought they had.

So to the therapy people. Keep encouraging me. I don't mind. I love the email. I am a whore for the email. But I don't think I want the therapy. My therapy is this. To say what is awful. To laugh at what is terrible. And to talk about my bowels on the internet.

And its free.

2:59 p.m. :: comment ::
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