Hi guys,

I would warn you that this blog is going to be self absorbed and humourless, but, it’s my blog, so you already know this.

The only thing that helps me more than my shrink is writing out what my shrink says. It’s like allowing his words to imprint on the corners of my otherwise mushy brain, fossilizing his wisdom and avoiding emotional turmoil. So, here you go, cyberspace.

Every counselor or the like that I’ve seen within the past two and a half years, I’ve approached openly with my most prominent, and dare I say, only significant problem: my relations to and with others. My question is ALWAYS the same, some variant of “Why can’t I sustain meaningful relationships with girls or guys, ever?” It’s usually proceeded with me giving an account of a few of my endless burned bridges and ends with me saying “I feel like I don’t understand something crucial about other humans that other people innately just…get.”I had a counselor who simply told me my biggest enemy was me and that I need to stop overthinking everything. I laughed in her face and then went home and wrote in my diary. She could’ve at least took baby steps toward that motherload of impossibilities. I had another (really feminist, super awesome) counselor blame everything on my dad. I watched curiously as she drew a linear map of the spectrum of human cruelty, writing my dad in somewhere in the middle and my ex boyfriend somewhere off the line. And that was the day me and my feminism had to reevalute our boundaries.

I have a distinct memory from when I was a teenager. I was staying in the hospital longer than expected, and some nurse had requested a shrink eval. The guy sent to assess me was in his 60s and bearded, he looked something like a cartoon. He asked what was agitating me so much. I tried to explain that other people were impossible, but I started crying mid-explanation. hahahaha. What a typical angsty teenage douche. I then became angry at myself for being so weak and sputtered, “I love everyone who hates me and hate everyone who loves me.” My poor parents.

On Tuesday, I brought this issue to my current man-shrink. I rambled and rambled, hoping that he was connecting the dots from his comfy fake leather chair. When I stopped to breath, he posed my dilemma back to me, and then said, “…so, what is the closest you’ve come to maintaining a close, healthy friendship?” I referred to my last, but not current best friend. “And that fell apart?”


“And what happened there?”

I gave an account of my last textual convo with that person, and he said something that shocked me,

“So, what I keep hearing when you explain situations, is that you seem t talk about talking. You meta-communicate.”

Mind-blown. Move over Ahbed, I’m meta too.

He then went into this beautiful revelation about how meta communication is usually only reserved for moments of intimacy. What followed was an example of a couple that’s been married for a presumed while. He said that when that couple fights, they can and might fight about their fights because they’ve had a zillion, and as is such, have the experience to analyze their issues almost unconsciously. Apparently, experience and a basic shared understanding is the foundation for meta-communication.

Manshrink then made this connection between my being genuine, my intelligence (ha.haha), and my meta-communication and its manifestations within my personal attachments. What a guy.

Anyways, he’s the first person ever to give me a goal to work toward (quit meta-ing with everything)when it comes to forming healthy interactions with other aliens. I’m kind of estatic.

Btw, props to you if you meta-communicate too. Life’s too short, yeah?


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