Fat

At the end of the month I’m going to start going to therapy. I’m writing about this mostly because I need to quell the noise in my head about it. Here’s the thing – I think I’m too smart for therapy.

I am pretty much of the belief that anything my therapist asks me, I will have the right and appropriate answer to and she will laugh heartily and tell me that I am one of the “normal” people who doesn’t really need therapy. Except in the back of my mind, I keep thinking after 10 minutes she’s going to suggest that I start coming twice a week because my issues are vast and unwieldy.

I’m not without my own set of problems. Problems that are probably going to be best served by talking to someone who studies these kinds of things for a living and I suppose that part of me is kind of excited to see what will be said.

My husband doesn’t believe in therapy or medication for any mental issues. He believes in mind over matter and to a certain degree, so do I. I do however, recognize my limitations and I don’t fully expect him (or really anyone for that matter) to understand what I’m going through from an emotional and mental standpoint and contrary to an notions, being thinner is not going to solve all of my problems and I need to learn an effective way of coping that doesn’t involve ice cream or a mcgriddle. And that whole avoidance thing? Starting to wear slightly thin.

In the meantime, I have a lot of questions. Will she laugh at my jokes? Will she think I need to be medicated? Who gave Britney Spears those extensions? Are capri pants a yes or no? These are all things I’m interested in knowing.