Reasons You Shouldn’t Fuck Kids


Reason #59: Gasping at the F word
March 21, 2009, 2:54 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , ,

As my regular readers know, we have just fired our marital therapist (not for lack of need, but for her own lack of sense). Anyway, I still need to see a shrink for my own panic shit, and we still need to see a marital counselor. We can’t afford to see a shrink for me and a counselor for us though.

I was thinking about how that conversation with the insurance company would go:

Insurance Agent: I see here that you have two different therapists helping you.
Butterfly: (nodding head) Yes, that’s right.
Insurance Agent: Why do you have two different therapists?
Butterfly: Well, you see, one is for me, and one is for my husband and I to see together.
Insurance Agent: You can’t have two therapists. Insurance companies don’t pay for two therapists.
Butterfly: Well now that’s why you shouldn’t fuck kids. We need two therapists to help us survive.

Then there would be a gasp on the insurance company’s end because I said the word “fuck”. I mean, what is it with that word? It’s okay to say it at home, but out in public we all pretend we don’t use that word. And people go out and pretend they are good decent people, and then they go home and fuck kids. I figure as long as people are fucking kids, I am going to go ahead and use those words to describe it. It’s not a pretty word to hear, and it’s even less pretty to live through it.



Reason #57: How Many People Does It Take to Fix a Butterfly?

The other night I woke up at around 4:30AM. I just lay there in the bed wide awake. And it hit me – I hate our fucking therapist. As you readers suspected, she just wasn’t right for me. We went in for our first together session after our “separate sessions“, and she said “How did you feel our single session went?” I said “Uh, this is awkward, but to be honest, I felt like you opened a big can of worms and then left me to deal with the worms by myself. With like a minute left to the session, you were still bringing up new shit about my sex abuse. Then the session ended and I was left with a big pile of shit.” I explained how the dog stuff was upsetting, and how that happened to be one of the few things I had never previously discussed in therapy.

Dear readers, you are going to love her response to this. She said “I think you were upset because I was and still am angry at your mom.”

Isn’t that great? She’s angry at my mom. Well then, why don’t we stop the session so that we can focus on her feelings? The poor thing, having to sit there with her anger at my mother over what my brother, father, and babysitter did to me.

The more I thought about it, and mind you, it took me all this time to figure this out, I got PISSED. Seriously, who the fuck does she think she is? I am not aware that she is allowed to have a feeling about my mother. And if she is, why is she bringing it into our session? Is it meant to spur my anger towards my mother? Maybe she thinks I am protecting my mom? Let’s say that’s the case. Let’s say I am protecting my mom, because who knows, maybe I am. THIS IS MARITAL THERAPY. We aren’t here to talk about my anger with my mom – we’re here to talk about how my protection of my mom might be affecting the fact that my husband and I aren’t fucking. And frankly, I don’t think that’s the reason we aren’t having sex.

Her “anger” was an inappropriate response for a therapist. Readers and blog commenters, you had it right all along. So, I sat the huz down (later in the day when he was awake), and I told him how I felt about the therapist. He said “No problem baby, we’ll find someone else. It’s not going to work if you hate her.” So we fired her.

In the meantime though, I made an appointment with a psychiatrist for myself. I stopped taking the zoloft a few weeks ago. Let’s be honest with ourselves – it wasn’t working for me. I was in a lovely mood all the time, but I was still experiencing anxiety and panic. I think I need more help than a primary care physician can give me, and I think it’s time to see a psychiatrist. Maybe he can find the right drug for me.

I am nervous about going to a male psychiatrist. I don’t generally seek out any males for any of my paid needs. My primary care physician, gyno, urologist, etc – all females. Even my hairdresser is female. Part of this is probably the feminist in me, in that if you can give money to female workers, you should. But the rest of it is about the sex abuse, and this is why you shouldn’t fuck kids. I don’t like being around men, especially in rooms alone with men. And that is generally what happens when you pay them to fix you – it requires time spent alone with them.

I dread the part where I have to tell him my fucking story. How many people do I have to tell what the fuck has happened to me?

It’s almost getting comical, really, all the people that I have hired to fix what has been done to me. It almost reads like a shitty joke: “How many people does it take to fix a Butterfly?”




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