So I decided to go see a shrink. Well, actually it was court ordered, but I made the decision to attend, you know, after I was threatened with jail time. I learned a lot about myself at my first session. It turns out that I am insensitive.
Who knew, eh?
Now, a lack of sensitivity is not, in my humble opinion, a bad thing. And I argued with the pansy ass shrink about that one. Dude wears floral prints and an earring though, so there's really no getting through to him.
He says that if I cared about the women in my life, I would be honest with them about a number of subjects of which, quite frankly, I'm just better off lying about. For example, he told me that when I get upset because a girlfriend has broken plans or disregarded my feelings, that I should be a total pussy about it. I mean, he didn't say it like that. He just said that I should be honest and upfront about my feelings when they're hurt.
"But," I said. "What's wrong with just having a few drinks and taking home a random slut from the bar? After all, that always makes me feel better."
"Does it really?" he asked.
"Man," I said. "I'm glad I'm not the one actually paying for this." Then I added, "I'm not paying for this right?"
Turns out that I'm paying for this. Fucking legal system.
Anyway, the old shrink with the totally stereotypical ponytail told me that my lack of sensitivity is indicative of me not caring about myself.
"I work out and I diet. The fuck you saying?"
"Please, you're not that thick. I can recognize intelligence. You know what I mean."
He then stared down his nose at me for three full minutes waiting for a response. I smiled and I shrugged.
"What do I gotta do to never see you again?" I asked a little while later.
He looked hurt. I didn't have to make that inference though, because he told me. He said, "That hurts me. I think my work is incredibly beneficial to my patients."
And then I smiled. "My dad's a shrink," I said. "And he's pretty sure I'm okay."
"Tell me about your father…"
And a little while later he told me that most of my problems stem from the fact that I disregard my own feelings and try to replace impending sadness and depression with superficial happiness: specifically, the sensations that arise from sexual encounters and the consumption of alcohol.
He told me that I need to spend more time caring about myself.
"You want me to jack off right here or wait until I get home?"
According to Floral Print Pony Tail Douche, I need at least ten more sessions.
Fucking legal system.