Brain Weasels

Last night we were talking about our brain weasels.  Those are those little voices in your head that say nasty things about you and try to (or actually do) make you feel bad about yourself.  

My weasels tell me:

You're dumb.  You can't do anything right.
You're not pretty. Or sexy. You're too old, too fat.
Your friends don't like you, you are too boring, too selfish.

Now I know none of these things are true.  I think we all have some sort of brain weasels and it is my task to get rid of all my own negative messages and replace them with positive:

You are smart enough. You are good enough.
Dammit people like you.
Your Master thinks you are pretty and hot and sexy, and so do a few other special people in your life.  That's all that matters, not what society thinks. 
Getting older is a lot better than the alternative, hey?

Last night Master decided to beat the brain weasels out of me.  First I had to tell him what they were.  Then he began yelling "Brain weasel!" and smacking me with the cane like he was playing wack-a-mole and those darn weasels were popping out of my butt.  It was painful and hilarious at the same time.

We were also talking about Camp, and how they are organizing a brain weasel stomping party to get rid of everyone's terrible untrue thoughts about themselves.   

Master said he was thinking about renaming me Brain Weasel.  

I said "But then everyone would want to hit, kick and stomp me...oh.  That could be fun."