My therapist likes me.
Okay, I know that's probably like the most MAJOR sign that I'm really f-ed up. That I actually CARE that my therapist likes me. But I do.
I like him too. He didn't even get mad at me when I lamented how sad it was that I had to pay him to be my friend.
One of the reasons he likes me, I think, is that I make his job really easy. See, I went in there KNOWING I was f-ed up. He totally didn't even have to tell me. I was all like, "This and this and especially this are wrong with me. I need you to tell me how to fix it." And then we talked and he's all like, "You are so right. This and this and ESPECIALLY this are so wrong about you." Then I felt smart.
Like the other day? I got really annoyed at work. And not for the usual reasons like that everyone is being a tool or dressing like a porn star. But because they were talking about lunch. Specifically, what they were going to eat for lunch. At like, 10am.
They kept talking and talking and talking about it. "What are you going to have?" "Where are we going to go?" "Do you want to go?" "Should we ask Cletus if he wants to go?" Good God!
Then I was like, oh. This is what normal people do. They eat lunch. They don't have major food issues like you do. You are the one who is messed up here, not them.
Then I felt proud again. I still wished they would shut up and do some actual work though.
So the other day, I was telling him about a situation with someone who shall remain nameless (but might be my only sibling without a vagina) and how much this person pissed me off. About how we were watching a television program on which four or five plus-sized women who were scantily clad were dancing around (it was some talent-show type program that I don't watch normally) and he made some really ugly and hurtful comments about those women.
In front of me. The fat sister.
More importantly? In front of his 13 year old daughter. Who is plus-sized as well. Who's sweet little face got redder and redder the more he talked. Who already has food issues. Who had to sit there and listen to her only freaking male role model on this planet say he thought she was ugly and someone who deserved to be made fun of.
And what did I do? Nothing. I got up and walked away.
Because I was angry. Not only for me, but for Niece Child.
And I was telling my therapist, we'll call him Big Jim, about it. I was all like, "Big Jim, it made me so mad! And I did nothing! I have this huge problem with doing absolutely nothing all the time, even when I know I should."
And he said, thoughtfully, "Chick, would it have done you any good to say something?"
And I said, "Well NO."
And then we both laughed. A lot.
Because my therapist likes me. Even though I'm the fat sister.