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Self-therapy for Dummies

Her words played in my head like a scratched LP. Charisse, a good man is like Santa Claus. Believing in him feels real good until you find out he doesnt really exist. Although I ignored most of my mothers attempts at wisdom, this little gem stuck with me... like gum on my shoe. No wonder I was nearing the big four-oh and home alone on yet another New Years Eve. No bubbly to pop, no confetti to throw, no love to kiss at midnights stroke; only me, my remote control, and six goldfish one in need of a trip to the porcelain god. Why was I home alone on New Years Eve again? Because of Marcus damn Matthewsthe one. You know the one, right? The one who cheated. The one who lied. The one who broke my damn heart. The one who kept calling my house begging me to take his conniving ass back. That one. I had finally settled in for the night and tried to forget that Id flushed three years of my life down the toilet of wasted time and squandered heart when my doorbell rang. Hes baaaaack! What do you want, Marcus? I asked, exasperated

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K. L. Brady

by his unwillingness to accept that our relationship was over. I want you. I need you, Charisse, he pleaded, his eyes resembling those of a hungry puppy dog begging for his next Scooby snack. I guess he didnt see the sign on my forehead: No Dawgs Allowed! No, what you need to do is go find that bitch I caught you with and ring her damn doorbell. Love dont live here anymore. He let out a sigh of annoyance and aggravation, as if I was the one ringing his doorbell unannounced and uninvited. Why are you doing this, baby? You know how sorry I am. Yes, Marcus, I know how sorry you are . . . and thats precisely why Im doing this. Now, you can leave voluntarily, or I can call five-oh. In my neighborhood, you know theyll be here before you can back out of the driveway. All right, Charisse. Ill leave for now. But this isnt settled, not by a long shot, he declared as I slammed the door in his face. Damn! How could I let this happen again? I am suffering from a chronic case of Wrong Men-itis and it has to stop! I thought. Shaking my head in confusion, I walked back to the family room, which hadnt been cleaned since the onset of my depression. Now, how am I going to entertain myself until I pass out in a drunken stupor? I turned on the stereo, determined to avoid any sappy love songs to send me deeper into my emotional upheaval, so R&B out, Pop out, Country way out.

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1/19/11 4:05 PM

The Bum Magnet

Nowadays you couldnt even trust Rock. Finally, the Disco station, XM-83. What a relief. Night Fever by the Bee Gees played, a perfectly non-suicide-inducing song. Thought a gripping magazine article might help take my mind off my troubles, so I grabbed a few from the coffee table. My preferred subscription was Z: The Zaina Magazine, published by talk-show hostess Zaina Humphrey. Between hosting mind-numbing hope you didnt come for the cookies open houses; helping delusional my home will sell for ten thousand above market price, even with the lime-green carpet and Barney-inspired purple paint sellers; and showing homes to unrealistic will the seller spring for a Sub-Zero in this trailer? home buyers, my days were consumed. I kept her show on TiVo for occasions when I needed my fix, though. Forty locked its jaws on me like a pit bull, so my interests broadened far beyond the Six Ways to Have an Orgasm While Balancing Your Checkbook articles. I craved pithy, spirit-lifting, soul-feeding, personalgrowth-inducing, psychotherapeutic edutainment in less than sixty minutes or for less than five bucks an issue. Zaina delivered. She taught me how to improve my relationship with myself and the people forced to tolerate me. After perusing a couple of editions and glancing at a few nuggets here and there, I decided I would return my attention to the disappointing plasma if I didnt stop to read anything in detail. Near the last pages, I glimpsed an article that piqued my interest: Stop

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K. L. Brady

Attracting Toxic Men: Five Steps to Unpacking Your Emotional Baggage. I studied it with a level of focus I hadnt been able to muster in weeks. Common Signs of Emotional Baggage Do you find it difficult to share your feelings with your boyfriend even when he invites you to confide in him? No. No difficulty. Its none of their business. Do you test his loyalty and find excuses to remain distant or break up with him? Eeeeh, thats a bad thing? Do you stereotype men and assume if one cheats and lies they all do? Hmph, well if the shoe fits... Do you avoid taking blame for your mistakes? So not true. I only blamed them because it was entirely their fault. Do you have a lingering ghost from your past history that youve tried to forget but never put to rest? Hmmm, maybe Id better keep reading. If any of the behaviors above sound familiar, youve got emotional baggage. Follow these steps to unpack your baggage for good.

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The Bum Magnet

1. Closely examine every failed relationship and focus on your role. Use the information to decide what you need and dont need from a partner. Every failed relationship? Jesus, by the time Im done, Ill be too old to remember what I was trying to do in the first place. 2. Acknowledge your own faults and mistakes. Stop playing the blame game, and overcome your poor victim attitude. Piece of cake. I have no faults. 3. Take a break from dating to allow yourself time to heal. Starting a new relationship without dealing with old hurts and bad relationships simply sets the stage for future relationship failures. When they say dating, Im sure they dont mean sex. 4. Avoid comparing your new man with your ex-boyfriend, and dont share sob stories that make all of your ex-boyfriends look like they cheated. Well, what the hell are we supposed to talk about? 5. Give your new man a chance. Give him one hundred points, and only deduct when he makes major mistakes. Ill give them two hundred points, and theyll still find a way to muck it up.

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K. L. Brady

Entertaining the prospect of dumping my bags and losing my bum magnetism filled me with excitement. But my stomach sank in fear of what might need to come out of the closet in the process. Thats a bridge Im not quite prepared to cross.

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