28
february 2021
THE COMET
brain dump: the one liner therapist
by KRISTEN ACESTA It’s too early in the morning and my brain is in overdrive. Again. I grab my phone and start an email to myself with a corny poem I am feeding into my headspace. Maybe I should send it directly to her. No, better not. No good decision was ever made at 2am.
I think Word Porn and Rupi Kaur (arguably just the latter) made the minimalist thought provoking visual storytelling A Thing in the picture dominant community. Unfortunately, what followed are very poor 2nd grader imitations of “shit your therapist would say.”
Best to scroll through Instagram. Nothing like making my blood boil to get me to sleep. You see, I’ve got this problem. When I get a business idea, I immediately make an IG page for it. Never too early to start gaining your trusty followers. Besides, what if someone gets the same idea and steals my handle?
That, and like, this super egocentric way of projecting all your pain, anger, discomfort and more onto the rest of the world without any regard to your part in the process. Things like “Wish him the best and move on. If he was the one he would’ve shown you he was.” and then a litany of advice for women to find the “right” one.
Nevertheless I now have 12+ accounts; one for plants, one for the clinic. Another one for specialty botanical food items, and another for cats in hats (don’t ask). I also have one as a dream board for this nonprofit idea we’ve been working on. And since the Facebook organization recommends befriending similar accounts as good marketing tactics, I’ve started following every self-help, self made guru, for better or worse.
Yeah. I mean, there’s the assumptive hetero-cis error in the statement, obviously, and then there’s the part where if you are an adult, having a relationship with an adult, this might become more complex than making sure your immediate neediness is being met.
So as I’m scrolling through late night post-break up advice, I’m realizing that people actually follow this. Like, for real.
Then there’s the new age spiritual advice. It’s like the worst of sensationalized capitalism got ahold of Freud’s unconscious analysis and wrapped it in a shamanic robe. And it’s still an ego trip. Shit like “stop explaining yourself to people who lack the depth to understand you.” Ouchie.
And of course, the women in power propaganda: “the woman who’s hustling can never understand the woman who’s hating.”
Those feels all tangled up through her hips to her collar. “For those bottle and bottles of feels I was saving
Wtf? I’m pretty sure I’ve been hustling and hating at the same time before. Not that it was a shining moment or anything. Nevertheless, it goes without saying that Instagram is full of horrible advice. In fact, I’d recommend not using it as a personal self help guide and instead seek out an actual human professional. Or talk to your dog. That might be better processing than the infamous IG.
Were so heavy and mean, sensitive and keen, That when I nudged the one rack, my heart started waving.”
Anywho, if I was your therapist I would write you this poem/children’s book at 2am as advice instead (therapists don’t give advice, btw): There once was a woman named Haylee. Who had to move all the feels she was bailing (on). Say what? But how? All the spectators did coo Does one move a feel from there to now? “Well it’s quite simple, you see I have racks upon racks that I was saving” And as Haylee spoke, one could witness her hollar
“I couldn’t stop it then, my heart jumped with each beat, And my skateboard went flying right under my feet” And those bottles went crashing, banging down to the floor. Some were quite quiet, and some were a bore. But some were real big, with deep meanings and sways. And some were real hard, getting stuck in their ways. But for Haylee knew this point she’d been preaching For with her loved ones she says “keep moving, keep reaching.” But now, when she finds a bottle on the rack She smashes it herself, instead of storing it back. C
