An Invitation

I was at work today, and one of my friends invited me to go out with him and his group of buddies for New Year's Eve. I don't usually get invitations like these, and I really didn't have much planned for that night. Chelsea said she was still tired from Christmas, and didn't really want to have another celebration, so she's perfectly happy with me leaving for a party.

I have to say, this week is turning out much better than I hoped. Even the calls coming in at work seem less unbearable than normal. Perhaps this is a sign of good things to come for 2012. I certainly hope so!

A week off

So I don't have a session with the docs tomorrow. They just called and said they're giving me a week off. They said they have suggestions for what I should write about, but they don't expect anything for the next couple of weeks.

I'm feeling a lot better now. Christmas was fun, Chelsea got me some great stuff, and she seemed to enjoy the gifts I bought her. I have work off for today, so I figured I would relax and enjoy the time. I gotta say, I thought the email from the docs would kill the mood, but I'm pleasantly surprised by their decision. I don't get very many holidays from therapy, so this week is looking to be pretty good.

Who knows, maybe I'll learn to enjoy blogging if this keeps up.

More Detail?

The docs now tell me I should go into more detail. And to stop mentioning them in my posts. This IS my blog, and I'll mention you if I want to.

More detail, huh?

My name is Thomas Branson. I’m 28, I graduated from the local community college in 2006, I live in a small home with my girlfriend, Chelsea, and I work at a semi-boring job that pays just enough money to keep me happy. What do I do? I answer calls. Yeah, I’m that guy who redirects you to Customer Service, who then redirects you to me when you didn’t know what you were fucking talking about earlier.

But it really isn't all bad. My coworkers are decent enough people, and some of them know how to be around me without me wanting to go apeshit on their asses. The rest just sort of avoid me. And then there's the clients. Oh lord, the clients. 

God, you people make me sick sometimes.

So why am I wasting my time talking to the internet when I’d much rather not be talking to you at all? Simple answer: the doctors made me.

Yeah, I have a bit of an anger management issue. I may have even punched out my brother one time at a family reunion recently. So my family pretty much no longer speaks to me anymore, and my employer said I should start taking therapy for my issues. So far it’s been a year, and all they’ve been able to do is find out that I have anger issues. Brilliant work, docs. When are we going to get around to fixing it?

Introductions

Now the docs demanded I do an introductory post. And they say they’re running out of helpful ideas. Which means I might have to move to more “intrusive” therapies if I don’t comply.

My name is Thomas Blake. I live out in the Midwest with my girlfriend Chelsea Smith, and of course I’m not letting you faggots know exactly where I live. I started this blog because my psychiatrist thinks it might help me with my anger management problems. As if vomiting nonsense to the world ever helped anyone cope with this shit.

I started taking anger management therapy a year ago, after I started a fight at a family reunion. So far, nothing the docs have tried has worked.

The docs say blogging can be therapeutical. And while I have my doubts, I’m willing to give this a shot. I want to be able to control my outbursts. For my sake as well as Chelsea’s.

Here it is, you idiots

Do you really think this will actually work? After all the other “treatments” didn’t? I’m starting to think you have more bolts in there than brains. You know I have trouble keeping up with journals. It’s right there in my goddamn profile. Look under “failed treatments” or wherever that information goes. I don’t pay you idiots to try the same thing over and over again. If you don’t start explaining yourselves or doing something worthwhile I’ll stop paying you motherfuckers.

And now you’re not only making me write a journal, you’re making me write a PUBLIC journal. I don’t like putting my thoughts to words, and I like the idea of people reading them even less. Most of the people on the internet are idiots anyway, and I can just see the comments I’ll start getting. I wonder how that will help my anger issues.

Get your act together, you dumbasses.