Is There a Prize for This?

Barb here, I had an incredibly surreal experience this past weekend and I’ve decided to share. Because I’m nice like that.


Jay gave me the plague last week. It’s actually just a head cold, but I like to exaggerate in case no one has noticed.

Anyway, Saturday rolls around, and I feel like warmed over ass. We get up, go to the grocery store, and upon arriving home, Jay tells me to take medicine and go to bed.


Sounds great to me, so I down a shot of NyQuil and start taking off my shoes, only to get a reminder on my phone that it’s time to leave for my therapy appointment.

Well fuck.

So, I yell upstairs for Jay to drive me to the appointment, and we rush out the door.

The next hour was spent talking to my therapist, while stoned out of my mind on cold medicine.

The doctor gently offered a couple times to cut the session short so I could go home and go to bed, which I cheerfully declined, insisting I was fine.

Spoiler alert: I was not. In fact, a few days later I realized he was very kindly trying to get me to go home, because the poor man was probably sitting there thinking, “Holy shit, this bitch doesn’t even know what planet she’s on
right now.”


Which got me thinking, am I that patient? I often throw something out as a casual aside when talking to my therapist, only to have him turn into the White Guy Blinking gif.



On more than one occasion, I’ve mentioned something that I think of as Not A Big Issue, only to have him respond with, “Wait, what?!”


I’m sure some of you are thinking I would be horrified, but surprisingly enough, it’s kind of reassuring. These are the experiences I’ve been repeatedly told I’m making too big of a deal out of. This awful thing I’m upset about is perfectly normal and happens to everyone. The reason no one else talks about it is because they understand how completely ordinary it is, and they don’t freak out over everyday things.


It’s incredibly comforting to find out that I was right all along. This Upsetting Thing is, in fact, upsetting and abnormal. Turns out, shitty people have a vested interest in convincing you their behavior is normal, so they can continue being shitty without consequence.

Who’d have thought?


And that leads me back to the random thought that today’s post was born from. Is there some kind of award for being the patient who manages to shock and/or horrify the therapist? I kind of feel like there should be. If there is, do I have to get a dress and go to an award ceremony?

Or will they just mail it to me?

I hope it’s the latter, I hate wearing dresses.
Until Next Time,

Cen’Anni Bitches!

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