Recap with my Shrink and a Declaration of Singledom

I woke up this morning real sadlike. I woke up knowing that I would have to do something very difficult today. I was going to have to break up with my therapist.... Or at the very least stagger my appointments.

See, my job changed my health care. The new shitty ass health care that they gave me is taken by virtually no one. Exhilarating. And right before xmas. Merry fucking xmas.

I heart sanity and shit but I cannot afford to spend 2K a year to keep it. When I first walked into his office, I couldn't articulate what was wrong. I was upset but I couldn't say why. Nothing was wrong but Nothing was right either.

I was extremely depressed. My gyno recommended that I take up jogging.

Tip: When very depressed, do not attempt to jog as a remedy. It is impossible to jog while sobbing. (I speak from personal experience.)

He took time. Never questioned me. Waited for me to learn to trust him and take down my guard. He never lectures and never judges. And He helped me immensely in ways that no one else could. I owe him my life.

So I left work early, with the saddest of dispositions, anticipating getting ass raped financially by my doctor and then having to say goodbye. My doc charged me half of what I thought he would as I sat down with him to talk about how I was soon going to be unable to see him.

He asks me if I take the Klonopin that he gave me. I confess that I am quite a bit scared of the pills. I hear that they are possibly addictive (psychologically and physically). I hear that when combined with alcohol, they can be deadly. This is why I limit myself to half a pill, once a week and spend the rest of my anxious time deep breathing.

He suggests that we try out a new anti-depressant/anti-anxiety combo...

Me: What is it called?
Dr. Shrinkman: Prestige.
Me: Shut the fuck up!
Dr. Shrinkman: What?
Me: That sounds like a luxury sports car or some new brand of condoms or something.
Dr. Shrinkman: I don't name them...
Me: Ummm, Generic?
Dr. Shrinkman: No. Brand new....
Me: I can't see myself paying crazy prices for some random shit. I'd rather be nervous than broke....
Dr. Shrinkman: Well, there's another pill. It comes in generic. (He starts writing a prescription.)
Me: 2 questions: Can I mix it with alcohol and Does it cause weight gain?
Dr. Shrinkman: It does cause weight gain....
Me: Uh uh... Tear that shit up right now. I'd rather be nervous than gain weight.

Fuck it. We all have our vanities....

My flex spending account will cover some of his costs. I will begin seeing a "Junior Shrink" or something. I made Dr. Shrinkman promise to be sure to appropriately match me up with one of these "Junior Shrinks". I reminded him not to hook me up with anyone too nice (cuz I need tough love), but also to be sure not to hook me up with anyone who is apt to lecture me (because that is actually the least effective way of getting me to do anything.) He agreed wholeheartedly and recommended that I check out this one lady. Apparently, she can prescribe shit and if I need my doctor in case of Emergency shit, he promised to always be available.

All's well that ends well. With the money I saved by seeing a free "Junior Shrink", plus the happy discount I got from "Dr. Shrinkman" today.... I bought myself a purse and a nifty tee shirt....

Declaration of Singlehood....
I declare myself to be single... and the single rules are as follows:

I am single until I am no longer Single...

This means that questions like "Who is he?" or "Where were you last night?" are unfucking acceptable. I am my own entity. I will do what I wanna do, say what I wanna say, live how I wanna live, play how I wanna play, dance how I wanna dance, kick and I slap a friend... (No, wait... That's "The Adam's Family"...)

I do not want to talk about your feelings. Ever.

Or my own feelings for that matter.

Here is how I typically describe my feelings.... "I feel some kinda way." Vague, yes. I am not good at describing my feelings. Hence, the "I feel some kinda way." statement. It serves to inform you that I feel something, yet am unable or unwilling to describe it with words, therefore it shall remain an unknown.

In turn, I pledge to only ask about your feelings in the following format:
"You good?"

When I ask this, it is all inclusive. Are you good: Mentally, Physically, Spiritually, Emotionally, Sexually.

If you answer yes... Done and done. I will assume all is copacetic and will continue along blissfully. Consequentially, if you answer no, I make no promise to inquire further. I recommend that if you feel some kinda way that is not "Good", per se, That you simply state that you are feeling "some kinda way" and I will take that for what it is and continue about my business. I have no intentions of asking you to elaborate.

Sex with you does not preclude me from sexual activity with other individuals.

My pussy is my own. I will share it as I see fit. No, you are not leasing, renting, or borrowing my vagina. This ain't a beach house in Ocean city. It's my genitals damn it.

No sleep overs.

None. I like rollin around in my bed. Alone. At night.

I continue to make no promises as to whether you will end up in my blog or not.

You may. You may not. Identities will be protected. Pseudonyms will be used.

No Pussy coveting.

None.

I play by my own rules.

Rules are tools that you use to win Games and what I realized a long time ago is that the game that others are playing is not necessarily a game I want to win. How I go about my life doesn't always coincide with convention. Please don't let that bother you. How you live don't bother me none.

I never feel obligated to inform you of my previous partners.

Follow this rule of thumb:
If you think I did.... I probably did. And seeing as though perception is reality, if you think I did it, it doesn't really matter what actually happened.

Fuck it:

Yea I had him before but that happened before. You get mad when you know so just don't ask me no more.

Heed Kanye's words. He is wise, that Mr. West.

I reserve the right to overbook.

Overbook, double book, bump reservations. Just the other day I got an RSVP for the end of January. Just because it gets penciled in, don't mean it can't end up getting cancelled. I'm unpredictable. Sometimes I don't even know what I'm about to do.

I have a pet peeve when it comes to people trying to "Save Me".

I am not broken. I do not cry late at night. I used to pay my shrink alot of money to listen to how I feel so that I wouldn't have to talk to other people. He was impartial. That's what I paid him for. Talking to someone with a personal vested interest in how I feel is unacceptable. What the fuck is the point in confiding in someone who has a sake in the eventual outcome? Also, don't patronize me. It infuriates me.

Unless you have GRE words tatted along the length of your penis, YOU ARE NOT MY PRIORITY.

When midnight hit, New Years Eve, I felt a shift. In my life. In my priorities. In what I cared about and where I wanted to go in my life. And Penis.... On the back burner. I'd said it before and I'll say it again: I'll start dating again when Jay-z Really Retires. And I just heard the other day that he's coming out with "Blueprint 3"