I’m Tired Of Being Used
Lying to her therapist had gotten old. So Chissa’s New Year’s Resolution was to be honest for fifty minutes a week, and it hadn’t gone well. Before Chissa stopped lying, her therapist had been motherly, consoling, dispensing helpful thought gems like, “When things are going badly, I set very easy goals for myself.” But as Chissa relayed constant feats of disobeying logic, the basic tenants of feminism and good sense to have somewhat humiliating sex with unemployed men, her therapist couldn’t hide her hostility anymore. Every week, Chissa knew to look forward to disapproving commentary about her wardrobe, her taste in television and the men in Chissa’s life. Joe became “the guy who did that thing with your tampon.” Nick was “the drug addict with the flesh-eating virus.” And Craig was just the “molester,” though he hadn’t been convicted.