Last night my therapist asked if I was becoming depressed about being sick for so long. I responded by bursting into tears. That in turn only made my head feel worse.
She had a point though. I am d
and also angry about my half-ass health, so I’ve decided to stage an Intervention.
Your behavior has affected me negatively in the following ways:
- By allowing me to only breathe through my mouth, I work harder every moment of every day. Please keep in mind I am pregnant you asshat.
- By demanding long, jagged coughing fits I must always wear a pad. If I forget the pad then I have to change my pants immediately or as soon as I can get home. In meantime I wear my own urine. When finally home that means more laundry. You dick.
- By clogging up every cavity in my head I am thicker, heavier, slower and feel ugly all the time. Please keep in mind I have a 3-year-old.
- Your incessant presence allows my eyes, cheeks, nose and forehead to enjoy a constant dull ache.
- You have destroyed the skin on my face despite my sleeping in a nightly mask of Vaseline. I despise you.
- Your relentless onslaught forces me awake no less than six times every night to drink almost a liter of water. I am exhausted. See above.
- Like a true monster, you have become immune to any medicine. Afrin is my only weapon and I can’t use it every day lest my nostrils become addicted. Are you kidding me?
- I had five months of free mornings until my newborn arrives. Half-way through and you have dominated and decimated any hope of meeting my goals. Fuck you.
- You have become my normal and that, you turd, I cannot tolerate.
Therapy. If you can’t fix your problem at least you can write about it.