Melony Louise's Natural Habitat

So we all have that thing we do to ourselves (at least, I like to think we do) in which we do it and then go, "why the fuck am I doing that knowing damn well what'll happen?"

In my case, it's googling "wasp nest".

I'm pretty damn sure I have a literal phobia. See, in the time we've lived in my house we've had three good wasp nests. First time I saw one hanging off the roof of my front porch, I was twelve and in hindsight I've realized I had an anxiety attack. Looking from inside my house, out a window. It's the swarm aspect, right?

Wrong. Empty ones freak me out just as bad as say the one up there. I fight random urges to cry at the sight of them. Keep in mind, I've never been stung, bit, swarmed, etc, and the biggest bee incident from my childhood is when Macaulay Culkin died when all the bees attacked in My Girl.

So I do this to myself every once in awhile. Knowing damn well that this random ass thing has such a negative effect on me. But it doesn't answer ... why?

I guess what it is, is that aside from my random crazy things like this, I'm logical. Being emotional the way my fellow women tend to be is just retarded and solves none of the problems which are resulting in (or from) your overly emotional state. So I know, logically, this is fucking stupid. And shit like this is the only way I know to fight a phobia, even if it just makes me sick for a good half hour instead of helping me.

You know, now that I'm finished, I think I might have made a post like this before. In my defense, I'm tired and all I have going on at the moment is peeling sunburns and schoolwork, so yeah, nothing particularly original. Also, writing in here somehow helps me deal with stuff. That's that and I'm sticking to it.

I also need to hurry up and turn 18 so I can get a therapist that isn't just going to give me a form asking things like "do you masturbate excessively". Stupid kiddie shrinks.