Wednesday, September 8, 2010

So Goddamned Bored

I am apparently attempting to be the first person to die of boredom. And it is exactly as fun as it sounds.

But instead of altering my life to make it more fun, I'd rather alter my brain to make my life seem more fun. That's what recreational drugs are good for. They make you satisfied with doing nothing all goddamned day. Doing drugs is easier than doing real things, like having a life and such. Hobbies. Friends. All that shit.

I can't smoke weed for a month. I signed up for the LSAT in October, so I'm cleaning the cobwebs out of my mind for a bit as I study this final month. The funny thing is, I don't even know if I want to go to law school. But I have to keep my options open, I suppose.

As I emerge from my weed-haze, I realized a couple things. First, and I already knew this, I have some kind of oral fixation, because I really want a cigarette. I don't know if I buy all that Freud crap, but his descriptions of oral fixation fit me and my family dynamics.

The Oral receptive personality is preoccupied with eating/drinking and reduces tension through oral activity such as eating, drinking, smoking, biting nails. They are generally passive, needy and sensitive to rejection. They will easily 'swallow' other people's ideas.

The Oral aggressive personality is hostile and verbally abusive to others, using mouth-based aggression.

I go back and forth between being receptive and aggressive. I'm mainly receptive, but sometimes I turn it outwards. Either way I hate it.

The second thing I realize is that I don't have much of an outside life. Outside of smoking pot and watching TV, I don't do a lot, and almost nothing I do is social (past hanging out with my girlfriend). This is normal for me, but when I smoke weed I forget what a lame life I lead.

Fucking shit.

* * *

Alright, I called my therapist to make an appointment. Are you happy, universe? I admit I am crazy, and unable to deal with my issues effectively.

Ugh. I hate that I need therapy. I know I am broken and need help, but still. It isn't fair. whine whine whine. Makes me sick. But here I am.

I guess I kind of have to. I see people all the time, and I'm like Goddamn they need therapy. It's retarded that they're NOT in therapy, it would help them so much.

And now it's me. I'm retarded for not being in therapy. I could feel so much better. Possibly I could stop hating myself, but we'll see.

In my last post I was talking about my dad and his take on me getting therapy, but the whole thing got lost. What happened was the last time I was at home, we got to drinkin-and-a-talkin. He said that because I am smart and see people for what they really are, that I would never be truly happy. I brought up the possibility of therapy, but he ridiculed the idea, likening it to living life in la-la land. As if therapy would make me happy only because I would stop paying attention to reality.

Hey, maybe he's right. Maybe people are only happy because they aren't realistic. Well, in that case, I don't want to be realistic. But I don't think that's the case. I think happy people simply think positively, about what the best outcome could be for a given situation. Myself, I automatically think about the worst possible out come of a given situation. It's just how I roll, apparently. Maybe if I can just be less doom and gloom all the time I could be happy without resorting to the psychic equivalent of a lobotomy, which I don't think is possible anyways.

Or, I guess self medicating for years could be seen as a kind of lobotomy. But it isn't good enough anymore. I think I can do better than just numbing the pain. I hope to god I can do better.

la la la di da

I know this post is disorganized and mostly unreadable. So be it. Stream of consciousness, bitches! I actually took a break midway to call my therapist. I got his machine, so he'll have to call me back before I actually make an appointment. I never told him I smoked weed, so that'll be a fun first session.

For the past few months I am constantly thinking of things that I should talk to him about. You only have an hour (less than an hour really) to talk, so you gotta make that time count. I have a $35 co-pay, so I gotta get my money's worth. Hopefully he fixes me, cuz $35 is way less than I would spend on weed or beer for a given week. Also I'd like some goddamn peace and tranquility for once in my fucking life.

Happiness and confidence would be nice too. Self-actualization, here I come?

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