According to my counselor [the affair] was a subconscious way of blowing up our marriage to improve it. It was physiological, my brain enjoyed the dopamine.
I’m assuming from the “my brain enjoyed the dopamine” Deaun is the cheater here? If so, I give him props for submitting his therapist’s get-out-of-remorse-free bullshit. On the other hand, there’s enough therapy quackery that I wouldn’t be entirely shocked if some counselor told a chump that no, they secretly enjoyed their betrayal. Subconsciously of course. You can’t prove shit if it’s subconscious.
But more likely what we’re dealing with here are two tenets of Reconciliation Industrial Complex that always need debunking —
1.) Affairs improve marriages.
2.) Affairs are addictive.
According to my counselor [the affair] was a subconscious way of blowing up our marriage to improve it.
Okay, for your next therapy appointment I’d like you to bring a bucket of tar and pour it all over your therapist’s office. If he complains, tell him you were just destroying his office in order to improve it. And hey, that was an ugly sofa anyway.
If he gets upset, tell him your urge to pour a bucket of tar all over his office was subconscious. I’m super sorry it resulted in actual damage to his office, but hey, subterranean urges — what can you do? Heck, we probably evolved to have them.
Shrug. Don’t apologize.
It was physiological, my brain enjoyed the dopamine.
My brain enjoys dopamine too. Especially the dopamine that is released when I eat German Christmas cookies. Put me around a plate of lebkuchen and I cannot be responsible for my actions. I LOVE lebkuchen.
We’re dealing with a dopamine high here. If those cookies did not want to be eaten, then they shouldn’t have looked so alluring with their green and red sprinkles. Should I stop eating lebkuchen and fit into my pants? Let me ask you something — do you think carrot sticks release dopamine? Or lunge squats? Or those sugar-free protein bars that taste like glue and cat litter? NO. NO DOPAMINE.
I DESERVE my feel-good lebkuchen high. Fuck the cost! Fuck my pants!
My lebkuchen cravings are physiological.
And they’re probably subconscious too. Excuse me, I have to end this column now. I hear the cookies calling me.
This one ran before. The cookies still beckon…