Damned If You Do...

So it's been an eventful few days...you know, the kind of days that have a person emptying a couple bottles of wine and popping Xanax like they're candy. The whole clusterfuck with my dad, well, that was a fail on my part. Part of me knew I shouldn't have sent the text. I just knew nothing good would come of it. It was my way of respectfully asking him to respect my boundaries...and there is no way to respectfully ask him to do anything that he has every intent of doing, the same way that there is no way of respectfully disagreeing with him. So, in the back of my mind, I had a feeling that it would explode...and it did. He's never been a man to disappoint.

Meanwhile, I received an invitation to my sister's wedding...I opened it up, took a picture...and sent it to the Goddesses.

They all had absolutely hilarious commentary for it, and I found it to be momentarily comforting. Some said it was the most complicated invitation they'd ever seen...Someone else asked, "is that a list of their favorite restaurants?!" And of course, there was the ever popular faux pas of including the registry card along with the invitation...At any rate, it was fun to enjoy a few laughs, though I did feel a bit guilty that it was at her expense. The bomb dropped, though, when one of the Goddesses posted a link to their wedding website...and a few of them posted comments on the virtual guest book saying things like, "you are so lucky to have such a great sister. I can't wait to see her and the girls dressed up," and "you and D deserve each other," just totally passive-aggressive attacks...As soon as I found out that they had done this, I told them they needed to remove them because I just knew it would come back to haunt me...Plus, I knew McHottie would shake is finger at me. Mainly, though, I knew she would completely flip out over it, and I was already dealing with enough bullshit from my father. Anyway, they couldn't delete their comments. #Fuckstick. The Goddesses were placing bets as to how long it would take for me to take a beating...and oddly, the beating never came.

Well, the beating never came my way...Instead, poor Mama Bear had to catch the heat...you know, since you can't argue with crazy. Keep in mind that I am clearly, way...waaay out there. Apparently, Mama Bear received several frantic text messages from my sister about Operation: Wedding Website wHackery...Needless to say, she thought it was completely inappropriate. In addition, there was a status update on the subject on D's page in which I was called out for being "evil," among other negative adjectives. I do think it's funny that I knew it would come back to me. I mean, all I did was post the damn photo of the invitation...I can't help it that my friends will stab someone in the eye to protect me! I mean, we honestly 150% have each others' backs. To them, the things they said needed to be said...and they knew that I would remain silent.

So Mama Bear tried to deflect a bit, although I knew it would fall on deaf ears. Clearly, I am manipulating anyone that is involved in my life in any way...because that makes sense. It's the only thing that could possibly explain why anyone would agree with me on anything. And truthfully, I am just blowing $200 for every session I spend with McHottie. I am just there to manipulate him as well. Dear readers, do any of you find this a logical thinking pattern? I certainly don't. If nothing else, I am not a person to waste my money. I will get every bloody dollar's worth of my time with McHottie...It's the only way I don't come home and hurl over the money that I hemorrhage every single time I sit on that green sofa. 

Speaking of the green sofa...I sauntered into Doc McHottie's office this morning with a small gift: some movie candy...because I didn't know what bon-bons are exactly, but I wanted to start out on a light note by telling him that my life is, quite obviously, a soap opera plot line. I'm not sure how much of a sense of humor he has, though, as he was more worried about my giving him "gifts"...I was like, "simmer down, McHottie...It's a joke." I did get him to crack a brief smile, but I don't think it had the desired effect. Either way, our session was a marathoner today. And, like a soap opera, it didn't have a happy ending...and it totally left me hanging.

We talked about some really interesting things, though, including his "boring" conversation with my cool-as-a-cucumber father. This was an interesting part, though, and I am really glad that he spoke with Father Crazypants. McHottie was also glad he spoke with him, although he did allude to the fact that Father Crazypants is rather "wordy." So, after we spoke about their conversation, I played McHottie the voicemail I received in response to my clearly disrespectful, manipulative and psychotic text message <insert sarcasm here>....I'm pretty sure his eyeballs nearly fell out of his gorgeous face...and then he said, "Well....That was insulting." I breathed a sigh of relief at that moment because it really gave me some validation as to my feelings on the matter. I was absolutely shaking like a Polaroid picture when McHottie told me how calm and collected Crazypants was. I would say that it was unbelievable, but it's not. So, in response to his comment on the voicemail, all I could muster was..."This is my life."

The session ebbed and flowed from there, back and forth between the latest conflicts between Crazypants and my sister. He asked me, "why are you here? What can I do to facilitate this for you?" I didn't know how to answer...and he said, "I get the feeling that you came here looking for a diagnosis...so that we could 'fix' you, and then you could take sole responsibility for the issues with your father and your sister and then have the relationships with them that you want..." BINGO, Doc. And that's why I pay you close to $200 an hour. I went there because I wanted to be the problem. I wanted to have some delusional mental disorder that causes me to behave irrationally, which is why I am being accused of being so. Unfortunately for me (I think?), that isn't the case.

I asked him what to do with the overly complex, under-cultured invitation...and then I proceeded to tell him my sadistic fantasies regarding it.
A. Send it back immediately, responding that we would decline, but it would look like this:
           4  Regretfully decline
B. Send it back with our regrets, along with a note saying that I would send a gift, but I can't afford it because my therapy is too fucking expensive.
C. Burn it. And then flush it down the toilet.

I asked him if it was wrong for me to have those feelings...and he kind of basically said that it isn't wrong to have those feelings because I am angry and hurt, but acting out on a couple of them, namely A & B, would be passive-aggressive and would not help me to my end goal, which is at this point, just to still the water. I told him that Mark suggested just not responding at all. McHottie said that he agrees that would be a good solution because "the best way to communicate that you don't want to communicate is by not communicating." Ahh-haa! So with that said, I think I will choose option C, minus the toilet. I have a bonfire coming up this weekend, and I am sure that invitation will make great kindling for some s'mores. I think it will also be cathartic for me...

So, in the meantime, I will just drown the drama in wine and dream of the next time I get to sit on the green sofa...

Here's to the trouble-makers (I'm looking at you, Goddesses)!