Ace Jones: Mad Fat Adventures in Therapy Read Online Free Page B

something other than jogging pants, and get you out of the house, but would it solve
all
of your problems? Would you be completely happy if you had your old job back?”
    I don’t want to go where this conversation is about to take me, but I guess that’s why I’m here so I try to be honest. “No,” I say.
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    â€œBecause I would still miss Mason.” There it is.
    â€œTell me about Mason.” Here we go.
    â€œMason is my ex-fiancé,” I say. I give her the short version of our pitiful “he loves me he loves me not” love story which ends with me saying, “And then he proposed and I moved to Florida and—” I stop talking because I can’t continue without breaking out in a Lilly Lane–style sobbing fit.
    â€œSometimes we imagine people, places, and things to be something that, in reality, they are not. For example, we might build up expectations for a hotel or a vacation destination that, when we arrive, doesn’t measure up to the vision we created in our mind, but we’re invested emotionally and otherwise so that creates a crisis because we don’t feel what we think we should feel.” I nod to indicate that I understand. “Are you mad at Mason?”
    â€œOf course not,” I say and I’m barely hanging on. I stare at the ceiling and Rosemary doesn’t speak so I go ahead and say what I know I have to: “Mason McKenzie is a wonderful person and I love him very much and will love him until the day that I die.” That does it. I start squalling and can’t stop. Rosemary hands me a box of tissues. After a few minutes, I calm down enough to tell her the whole story about what happened in Florida and why I couldn’t stay.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she says. “Your heart will mend and your soul will find peace.”
    â€œWhen?” I ask her. “I’m ready to start on that right now.”
    â€œIt takes time, and you don’t want to rush it. The healing process, however long it may be, can greatly enrich your life.” I want to call bullshit on that, but I don’t. Rosemary continues, “You might not believe this, Ace, but you’re in a wonderful place right now. This is a new beginning for you.” She’s right. I don’t believe that at all, and, actually, I despise new beginnings. I just want to get over it, dammit! And I want to get over it right now! Rosemary is still talking. “It’s good you went to Florida because that experience provided you with a deeper understanding of who you are and what you want from life.” What I want is for someone to tell me why things couldn’t have worked out differently for me down there. What I want is for someone to explain how I could’ve been so wrong for so long about how and with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. What I want more than anything is for someone to tell me how in the hell I could’ve been so incredibly foolish as to buy into the idea that a fairy tale life existed for someone like me. As my mind spins, I come to the dreadful realization that the person I’m most mad at is me. “Ace?” Rosemary says and I snap back to reality. Cold, harsh reality.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, and I’m seething inside. How could I have been so stupid? I look at Rosemary, who looks deeply concerned. “Could you please repeat that last part?” I ask, and she starts comparing my life to a blank canvas and then starts talking about me being an artist and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
    â€œIt’s time to get to work on your next masterpiece,” she says. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes because I do not believe that I’m capable of accomplishing the endeavor she’s suggesting. Poor Rosemary. What did she ever do to deserve having someone like me come in here and lie on her couch? She needs people with fixable