help me, craigslist. you’re my only hope (part 1)…

Looking for a therapist who can communicate with me through a complicated code made up of emoji and Spotify playlists. Must also understand random flailing, grunts, and obscure literary references. Probably best if you are familiar with both Plath and Atwood.

Some questions I’m going to need you to find answers to:

1: Is there a connection between my distaste for sticky things on my hands and my fixation on consuming peanut butter?
2: Is it possible that I’ve developed a complex wherein I can no longer see the forrest of my problems for the proverbial individual problem trees?
3: Could you please fix the part of me that dies a little whenever I hear someone say my name?
4: Why is it so hard for me to get out of bed?
5: Is there a reason why, in general, I constantly feel left out of every group that has ever existed?
6: Is it a bad sign that every day feels simultaneously like Friday and Monday?
7: Could my love for the dark mean that I’ve taken an evolutionary leap and those who, in the future, descend from my genetic material will slowly become nocturnal?

Some hard and fast rules:

1: Let’s not talk about my fear of bears and moths.
2: I’d appreciate it if you could make me less crazy while not making me talk about my childhood or close relationships.
3: I get that there isn’t such a thing as “normal”, but I would like you to lie to me and convince me that I am, in fact, not abnormal.

Warning:
Please understand that when I feel trapped, I bite. I’m kind of like a rabid animal in this way. Except I’m not rabid. I don’t think. Unless I am. Maybe get your shots. Just in case.

I don’t expect this ad to get answered. Which is fine. I’m used to just expecting rejection and projecting it even if it is unlikely that I will be rejected. Such as in a situation where I am offering to actively pay someone to not do their job and instead feed my delusions.

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