My Psychological Profile Illustrated

In which this contributor self-diagnoses and conceptualizes his psychological paradigm in effort to acclimate his new therapist, whose task may be somewhat ponderous.

Pretty basic stuff here: Mom’s a saint, Dad’s an asshole, women are bitches, and God is dead. Of course, it’s not that simple, and this is all somewhat self-diagnosed, with the help of the internet. I’m a pretty fast learner so I’ll spare you any modesty and just tell you that I probably have it 88-90% correct. I got issues people — headed by anger, abandonment, and control; thus, gonna get patricide on my Dad, take my Mom out to an expensive lunch, and find some tits not connected to a brain (respectively of course). I start seeing a therapist this Friday at 6:30 pm, every Friday for — per the referral of my “intake” psychologist — for the next 2-3 years, the projected amount of time it’ll take to shrink my head. It’s a good thing I have health insurance and a penchant for talking about myself for the full hour. To all the ladies in the house, just gimme like a couple of years to “deal,” which should be ample time to get on some meds yourself. Getting on a diet wouldn’t hurt, unless you’re anorexic. Either way, that last buffalo wing is mine. This, of course, would be our first date. Let’s get ready for some happy, srsly. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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