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Will I Be With "My Guy" Forever?
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By:
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checkcheckcheck
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Mood:
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Other
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Date:
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Nov 30, 2007
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Music:
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"Brave" by Dream (DRM)
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I
started
therapy
in
junior
high
at
this
office
which
housed
a
group
of
psychiatrists
and
psychologists.
The
first
psychologist
I
saw
was
a
woman
who
didn't
seem
all
that
bright,
so
we'll
call
her
Stupid
Lady;
I
remember
her
asking
really
banal
questions
and
things
that
were
really
stupid,
like
if
I
ever
wanted
to
just
curl
up
and
have
a
good
cry.
She
did
this
while
squeezing
a
teddy
bear,
by
the
way.
Perhaps
to
suggest
I
should
grab
a
Paddington
Bear
and
just
bawl
my
eyes
out.
Despite
the
fact
that
I
was
13,
not
5.
And
since
it
was
clear
that
Stupid
Lady
wasn't
going
to
cure
me,
I
also
saw
a
psychiatrist
for
medications.
Now,
this
psychiatrist,
I
liked.
We'll
call
him
My
Guy.
So,
after
maybe
a
month
of
seeing
Stupid
Lady,
I
asked
to
switch
to
My
Guy.
And
so
I
was
switched
over.
Which
is
a
damn
good
thing,
because
as
I
later
found
out
(and
this
was
confirmed
by
My
Guy,
but
shh
you
don't
know
that)
Stupid
Lady
wasn't
terribly
qualified
and
was
just
there
because
her
husband
was
also
a
psychologist
there.
You
know,
like
what's
good
for
the
gander
is
good
for
the
goose,
except
the
goose
is
hopelessly
stupid.
But
anyway,
I
saw
My
Guy
for
the
rest
of
junior
high,
and
through
high
school.
And
yeah,
the
term
My
Guy
sounds
affectionate,
because
it
is.
I
was
in
love
with
him
for
many
years,
and
I'm
still
very
fond
of
him.
Despite
the
way
he
keeps
trying
to
get
me
to
stop
toying
with
my
medication
because
he's
worried
about
me.
Something
about
death
or
something,
I
don't
know.
I
think
My
Guy
rules,
but
that
doesn't
mean
I
listen
to
everything
he
says.
So,
I
ended
up
going
to
college
in
my
hometown,
and
by
that
time
I
wasn't
seeing
him
on
a
regular
basis.
But,
lo
and
behold,
my
life
didn't
automatically
become
awesome
after
entering
college,
despite
what
all
the
movies
had
promised
me.
And
it
was
during
this
special
time
in
a
young
man's
life
when
my
mind
decided
to
start
deteriorating,
and
I
became
a
total
hypochondriac.
That
was
bad,
but
even
worse
obsessions
were
on
the
way.
As
these
manifested,
I
went
running
back
to
My
Guy
to
try
and
fix
myself.
At
this
point
I
was
not
yet
diagnosed
as
obsessive-compulsive,
I
was
just
told
I
was
obsessive.
I
was
put
on
various
medications
and
continued
traditional
therapy
with
My
Guy.
I
didn't
seem
to
be
making
a
whole
hell
of
a
lot
of
progress.
I
even
took
a
rorschach
test.
Now,
granted,
the
lady
who
analyzed
it
was
spot
on
with
her
analysis,
but
it
wasn't
anything
I
didn't
really
know
already.
So,
she
clearly
had
a
gift
for
interpreting
people's
responses
to
pictures
of
junk,
but
it
was
kind
of
like
having
a
psychic
tell
you
your
present,
not
your
future.
"You
are
sitting
in
a
chair."
Yes,
I
know
that,
thank
you.
And
I'm
so
glad
I
spent
$500
on
this.
Now,
I
wasn't
terribly
social
in
college,
I
didn't
know
that
many
people
(and
didn't
like
most
the
ones
I
met--I'm
kinda
picky),
and
I
hadn't
dated
ever.
In
my
junior
year,
I
finally
started
dating.
Over
time,
my
OCD
lessened
and
while
it
didn't
completely
go
away
it
became
much
more
manageable.
As
I
felt
better,
I
just
went
to
My
Guy
for
quarterly
check-ins.
Which
I'm
sure
thrilled
my
father
no
end
since
he
was
footing
the
bill
for
My
Guy
all
those
years.
After
graduating,
it
took
forever
to
find
my
first
job
(a
piece
of
advice
to
anyone
pursuing
a
liberal
arts
degree--unless
you're
planning
on
becoming
a
professor
in
your
major,
reconsider!)
but
I
finally
became
employed.
My
OCD
started
to
become
a
little
harder
to
manage.
Then,
a
few
months
later
my
relationship
ended
and
I
moved
back
in
with
my
parents,
and
the
OCD
started
to
snowball.
I
wanted
to
go
back
to
My
Guy
but
he
had
a
full
schedule,
and
could
only
meet
me
every
few
weeks
to
discuss
my
medications.
He
referred
me
to
a
psychologist
he
was
now
working
with
(having
left
the
office
where
Stupid
Lady
worked).
Unfortunately
this
psychologist
was
basically
the
male
equivalent
of
Stupid
Lady.
And
he
had
an
unfortunate
resemblance
to
Stuart,
that
spastic
kid
from
Mad
TV.
So,
I'm
going
to
call
him
Stupid
Stuart.
Like
I
said,
Stupid
Stuart
was
just
like
Stupid
Lady;
he
asked
a
lot
of
really
pointless
questions
that
did
not
address
my
OCD
whatsoever,
despite
my
OCD
now
having
been
diagnosed
and
he
being
well
aware
of
this.
He
clearly
came
from
the
"I
learned
how
to
ask
questions
in
a
sympathetic
voice
therefore
that
makes
me
qualified
to
charge
$150
an
hour"
school
of
psychology.
I
think
he
and
Stupid
Lady
were
study
buddies.
And
they
slept
in
and
missed
the
final.
So,
this
arrangement
goes
on,
and
I
get
worse
and
worse,
and
I'm
popping
ativan
like
no
tomorrow
to
even
get
through
the
day.
So
I
take
My
Guy's
advice
and
try
some
other
avenues
of
therapy
in
addition
to
him
and
Stupid
Stuart.
I
took
personal
yoga
lessons
from
someone
My
Guy
referred
me
to,
which
were
sorta
relaxing,
but
also
rather
strange
because
I
wasn't
that
comfortable
with
being
touched
and
the
yoga
teacher
was
rather
handsy.
So
we'll
call
him
Handsy
Yogi.
But
not
Sexual
Handsy
Yogi,
because
he
never
did
anything
inappropriate,
he
was
just
very
hands-on.
And
on
top
of
that,
I
was
also
going
to
group
therapy
with
my
mother
and
a
bunch
of
other
poor
people
who
hoped
they
could
fix
their
children
but
instead
sat
around
awkwardly
sharing
too
much.
And
since
my
father
had
had
enough
of
footing
the
bill
for
my
therapy,
I
was
paying
for
My
Guy,
Stupid
Stuart,
Handsy
Yogi
and
the
family
therapy.
Literally
everything
I
had
was
going
to
some
form
of
therapy.
Fortunately,
living
with
my
parents,
I
didn't
have
to
pay
rent
or
anything.
And
even
without
having
to
pay
rent,
the
only
reason
I
didn't
go
into
debt
is
because
my
father
gave
me
advances
on
the
inheritance
that
my
grandmother
left
me.
So,
finally,
I
decided,
enough
with
the
group
therapy,
enough
with
Handsy
Yogi,
and
to
hell
with
Stupid
Stuart.
I
learned
about
CBT
and
decided
to
give
that
a
go.
At
first
I
met
Miss
CBT
on
an
outpatient
basis,
but
it
didn't
seem
to
do
much,
mostly
because
I
was
still
taking
anti-anxiety
meds.
Miss
CBT
told
me
about
their
intensive
program,
and
since
I
had
finally
gotten
the
remainder
of
my
inheritance,
I
could
afford
it,
so
I
decided
to
give
it
a
shot.
I
was
there
8
work
days,
where
I
was
repeatedly
broken
down,
until
finally
I
didn't
feel
much
of
a
response.
Miss
CBT
told
me
that
I
was
well
enough
to
leave
the
intensive
program
and
move
to
outpatient
treatment
or
try
to
manage
things
on
my
own.
I
opted
to
manage
things
on
my
own.
After
the
CBT
I
did
see
My
Guy
every
now
and
then,
and
I
also
took
a
few
different
medications.
Unfortunately,
over
time
the
OCD
started
to
rebuild
and
became
increasingly
difficult
to
manage.
So
I
started
seeing
My
Guy
on
a
regular
basis
again.
That
was
probably
a
year
ago.
And
while
I
have
felt
better
today
than
I
have
in
a
while,
I
can't
help
but
wonder
if
I'm
going
to
spend
the
rest
of
my
life
with
My
Guy.
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