Just the Worst.


Usually, when you book in to see a counsellor, you expect some form of help. Or at least someone who will listen, because, you know, it’s their job. But apparently that is a bit too much to ask these days.

Firstly, The counsellor was late. I was left in an empty waiting room ten minutes after the session was due to start, which isn’t that long, but when they don’t have a receptionist, its not particularly reassuring. Remember this is a place people go for counselling.

When I eventually walk into the room, I make some sort of joke about being so high up in a building (or something just as inconsequential), and sit down. She asked me what brought me there, and of course I hesitated. She did not take this as an opportunity to ask a more specific question, or to say something like “take your time”, but instead just stared at me awkwardly. Yeah, because that’s what people who are distressed need; to feel uncomfortable.

After mentioning a few things that had been bothering me, she did not ask which I would like to start with, or which was bothering me the most, but instead dismissed everything I had said and asked “ok, so has anything happened in the past four weeks that you want to talk about?” … Um. Maybe one of the things I mentioned? Perhaps?

I tried to steer her in a more productive direction by mentioning my current struggle with personal relationships and how I’ve been pushing everyone away and avoiding interaction, because my brain is telling me it’s better that way since they don’t like me anyway (blah blah blah). She decided that the examples I gave her of this ‘evidence’ that people don’t like me totally justified my distance from them and that I should find some new friends. When I mentioned that it’s all of my friends, so the problem is probably with me, she just said “no I don’t think so”. Again, way to be supportive. Ten fucking gold stars for you.

I asked her about what her speciality was, in an effort to gauge her skill level (which was becoming clear to me anyway but I figured I’d give her the benefit of the doubt in case she had a really specific speciality that did not apply to me). She responded with a vague answer about people with work problems or mental health issues. Awesome, faith restored…

I then mentioned that I was concerned about my mental health. She said “oh! really?” …NO HAHA JK JUST SAID IT FOR FUN LOL dumb bitch. And then. She said. “You don’t look like a mentally ill” … um. what. So I had to say it; “well what does a mentally ill person look like exactly?” I started laughing because honestly, it was ridiculous. She starts telling me that depressed people (because apparently depression is the only mental illness in existence) would look sad all the time, probably crying. Oh ok so I should just walk around in my day to day life in tears. Because that’s totally appropriate. For fucks sake.

Perhaps having noticed that I was getting irritated, she offered to give me a questionnaire to get some indication of whether I might be depressed (again, apparently the only mental illness in existence), so I say ok. The asks me which one I would like to do, and gives me no other details to help me make the choice. I am becoming increasingly irritated at this point. It’s quite clear I came here for no reason. So I fill out the questionnaire, and she marks it. It came up with a high score, indicating likelihood of depression. She asked me if I was surprised, I said no. She then put the questionnaire down and said “I don’t think you have depression”. Yeah, cool neither do I but I know something’s fucked up, wanna help? No?

I then tried to talk about the massive great fuck off wall that I have built around myself and has existed my whole life. I talk about how it stops me from saying pretty much anything that crosses my mind. Basically I over-filter. She says “oh ok, maybe try just opening up a bit more” HOLY SHIT CALL THE NEWS SHE’S A FUCKING GENIUS. I take a deep breath, tell her it’s not that simple for me (or for anyone else, but I didn’t want to make her feel any more incompetent than she probably already makes herself feel). She then says “well I definitely don’t think you’re depressed, because depressed people wouldn’t be able to guard themselves like that. They wouldn’t be thinking about it, they would just be thinking that they are sad”. Well if depressed people have a range of thought that small, then you’ve taught me something today, lady.

She then starts telling me how I need to be more assertive- and explains that I should be more firm and speak up for myself, but still be respectful about it. (what? where did this come from?) At this point there is about ten minutes left so I let her ramble, take the leaflet she gives me, and smile and nod because what is the fucking point. I then leave the office of what I believe to be possibly the worst counsellor on the planet, and never return.


 

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Listen.


Your words are important

Your words

But it’s hard for you. My words are taking up time that you could be using.

It’s hard for you to sit still

and stay quiet

because you can feel 

yourangeryoursadnessyourpain

and you just want to say

what about me?

Pushing me, back you say you?

No! me! How do you think I feel?

So I stop.

And I listen.

Because that’s what I’ve always done I stop.

And it happens again so I stop.

And it happens again ’til eventually

I

don’t

 start.

And you don’t even know why you don’t know me at all.

When you show your support by hearing my feelings and thinking they’re yours.



 

Hallelujah, I’ve been saved by no one again.


You may have noticed by now that I am not a very grown up grown-up. I still don’t know how to remove water spots from glass, or really which type of cleaner I should be using for any given surface. I don’t have a clue how to invest in anything (do you do this online? someone tell me please). Sometimes I have toast for dinner. Oh, and I can’t drive.

My mother just visited for the week, and it was great, in that I could just be a kid again. I got driven around, had dinner bought or cooked for me, she de-boned a chicken because she knew I wouldn’t want to, she even made me some pyjamas. Honestly, mums are great. But I’ve never been particularly open with mine. We get on well, and we laugh about some pretty stupid shite, but I’ve always felt like we’ve never really known each other.

Our conversations are limited to what we are doing in our work lives at that point in time, where the cat is and what she’s doing, or what we’re going to have for dinner. There aren’t really any opportunities for bigger talk. Anything that treads vaguely into that territory is swiftly pulled back by the neck into safer realms. I don’t particularly have a problem with this, being that she is my mother, but it’d be nice if I had anyone else who was willing to omit the small talk.

I get that everyone else is also a mess and sometimes has toast for dinner, but that doesn’t help me feel any less lost in life. I still go home to an empty life house, where as soon as I walk in, I’m already frozen, staring wistfully into the middle distance thinking “well what the fuck do I do now?” I have no one to go home to at the end of the day, and why would I, when there’s nobody willing to come home to me?

Right now, all of my friends are overseas, working when I am not, or on my list of “not currently talking to…” (mostly the latter). This makes life a little hard, when all you really want is some meaningful human interaction. I have this stupid thought in my head telling me that pushing people away is the right thing to do, because they’ll only leave anyway. I’m doing us both a favour and saving time. And even though I know it’s a dumb thought, I agree with it anyway. Literally no one is going to be with you your whole life, so why try? Why be upset that you don’t get tagged in memes because nothing reminds people of you, when you can just choose not to have friends?

It seems the thing I need to do, is to stop being so guarded and closed off from literally everyone. It’s not really protecting yourself when it’s causing the harm, right? Chances are I’m not going to listen to myself, I’ll probably just continue to think of excuses to drive myself further towards hermit-hood. I’ve lost friends, and gained nothing, really.

Now I just have a wishbone sitting on my windowsill and no one to pull it with.

People who are Dicks; Specific individuals and Groups.


This one may be a little too specific to my life, but hey, why else am I writing this?

To the person who didn’t want to stop for that red light, but was too much of a pussy to run it; I know you are aware that you ended up essentially parking in the middle of the pedestrian crossing that I was about to use. In my attempt to make eye contact in the hopes that something would trigger in your brain, and you would say something along the lines of “oops, sorry”, I was met with your vacant stare that was deliberately directed through me. Clearly had I attempted to find a brain in there, I would have been at a loss. Get some fucking awareness of your surroundings. You’re a Dick.

To the self righteous asshole who wrote that fucking song about millennials; You have made a gross generalisation about an entire generation. What the fuck. The pointless lines about the stereotypical appearance of millennials- The “man bun and facial hair” or someone who takes selfies and wears yoga pants- putting any kind of weight on what people look like to be any indicator of their behaviour sounds a lot like discrimination to me. Claiming that “Criticism isn’t easy for their ears” is also pointless in this context, especially since you probably wouldn’t know, considering the entire song reads more like a discriminatory attack. You strike me as the kind of person who would argue that there’s no such thing as a clitoris, purely because you don’t know where it is. Don’t even get me started on the fact that you seem genuinely worried about having a millennial as president… I’m sorry but where the fuck is the next one supposed to come from? Do you propose presidents just get older and older until all of Gen X and prior have died out, at which point we say “guess there won’t be any more presidents now, better that than have a millennial filling the spot”. For fuck’s sake. You’re a Dick.

These next two are old news, but yes, I’m still pissed.

To the little piece of shit who has enough ignorance to say that instead of having periods, women should just “hold their bladder”; Where are your parents? How do I tell them they have failed on a colossal fucking scale? The fact that you refused to even hear about it when someone tried to explain to you what happens? Inexcusable. How about I come over there and stab you in the taint once a month and see if you can help that. Fuck you in particular. You’re a Dick.

Ok, and to the group of absolute fucking monumental cunts who decided it would be a good idea to drag a baby dolphin out of the ocean, just so you could take selfies with it. What kind of inbred, braindead Neanderthals did your parents have to be in order to produce you? I don’t tend to wish death on anyone, but since you are all scum of the fucking earth, I wish it gladly. I’d kill you all myself if I knew any of your names. You are all Dicks.

Well. Fuck this.


OK. so I like to think of myself as a pretty well adjusted, independent woman. But sometimes, as much as it is a pain in my ass, and as much as I like to think I can do literally everything on my own, the sad reality of it is that I can’t. Sooner or later I’m going to have to rely on a person or group of people to get something done.

Now, when I ask for something (once in a fucking blue moon), I have some expectation that the person I am asking is going to take into consideration that; a) it’s probably pretty important to me and b) I’m not a raving fucking lunatic so chances are, it’ll be pretty pissing doable. However. For some un-fucking-fathomable reason, people decide that it’s ok to just go “yeah, yeah. I’ll do that thing” or “sure, I’ll be there” AND THEN NOT DO THE THING. 

Why. WHY in the hell would anyone be such a festering dickwad as to commit to something and then just decide that whatever it is, is much less important than some benign shit that they decide to do instead, which, lets be honest, given the kinds of people who pull this shit, is likely to be sitting down staring at a blank wall, with less than nothing going through what is likely to be a fraction of a brain cell.

If you do this; Fuck You. You’ve made a conscious decision to let someone down, and you deserve for no one to ever say yes to whatever shit you want them to do. Fuck you, Fuck off, Fuck this.

 

A Sad post; because my negative emotions are not limited to anger.


Most people have emotions. I’m almost sure I’m one of these people, but it seems like pretty much the only emotion I actually notice is sadness. It’s the one that puts it’s little tentacle up, and says “hello“.

I hear people talk about their depression and how they wake up and they just feel heavier, or more tired or just not right. I don’t know if that’s how it works for me, I don’t know how to identify it. For everyone else, even though the experience might be foggy, they’re still sure it’s happening.

I’ve entertained the thought that I might be bipolar. If I have a feeling, it tends to be very sad, and sometimes I get really excited about life. But most of the time there’s a whole lot of nothing. Maybe I don’t have the normal range of emotions, I don’t know if I’m depressed, and I don’t know if there’s even anything going on, I might just be a normal person who gets a bit sad sometimes.

I do know that it stops me from functioning at my already-inhibited level. I can barely feed myself, my house doesn’t get cleaned, it’s a miracle my cat is still alive. But I don’t know if that’s enough to call it anything. I don’t want to complain about feeling tired or unmotivated. I don’t want to tell people that no, I don’t want to hang out, because it won’t be fun, because nothing is anymore. I’m not part of the self-harm club, but I will say one thing about life; it continues, and I’m not sure how much I like that.

Maybe I should talk about it. It would be nice if I had a proper family. It would probably also be nice to be the kind of person who feels ok to just ask a friend over if I’m feeling a bit shite. But it’s my faultI can’t expect people to read minds, so why should I bother feeling alone when I don’t ask anyone to be there?

Who knows, I’ll probably feel fine tomorrow.

 

People who are Dicks; The General Public: Part 1


To the people who have, for some stupid fucking reason, attached speakers to the front of their cars and or bicycles; Why. The. Fuck. Do you honestly think that blaring your music out the front of your vehicle is going to make it sound any better? And do you think the rest of us want to hear it? I couldn’t give two shits if you’re blasting rap or fucking Enya, I don’t want to hear it. Especially not in the middle of the night. You’re a dick.

I could write an entire essay on dicks on the bus but this one is for people with bags. Sure, you can take a seat, and sure, you can carry a bag with you, but if the bus is full, then why is your bag taking up an entire seat next to you? I would get it if it was a massive bag, but then I would also question why it isn’t in that little area where you put things like suitcases. But a little tote bag? a whole seat? I’ve seen one girl, sat on an aisle seat, decide to take up the seat across the aisle from her. WHY. You’re a dick.

To people who sit in the middle of benches. What’s your aim here? Do you want to inconvenience people who are looking for a spot to rest, eat lunch or just sit and look at whatever shit you’re currently looking at? Or are you so fucking lonely that you’ve placed yourself in a position where, should someone choose to sit down, they’re so needlessly close to you that you can probably figure out the exact ingredients their breakfast was made of just be the smell of their breath? Either way, this behaviour screams “I am the centre of the universe and also super important“. You’re a dick.

 

Well. This blog exists.


I was going to spare you the explanation as to what exactly this is and, well, why. Since this blog is here purely for myself and no one else, I didn’t think it would be necessary. But hey, I guess I’m a private exhibitionist. It’s probably why I enjoy living by myself, so I can walk around naked in the privacy of my own home.

So this exists. Not because I think my ideas are great, and not because I think my words carry any particular meaning, but for one very simple reason; I do not want to start arguments. This is the space where I am going to put all of those facebook posts that never became facebook posts, and those conversations I never started. Because to put it plainly these are my opinions and arguments about them are straight up unnecessary. Basically, this is a place for me to gripe, without other people telling me I’m whingeing.

The name I can tell you, is based on a very good piece of advice I was given when I was very young; “What other people think of me is none of my business“. In a way I live by this. So, with that in mind; if, by whatever miniscule chance, you come across this blog, and you have been offended by anything I have expressed, kindly, fuck off. Other people’s opinions are their problems, so my opinions? my problem.

Peace.