My imaginary therapist

I just asked my imaginary therapist if she could write me a prescription for an anti-anxiety.
She lowered her clip-board of all the notes she taken about me for the past 23-years.
"Are you sure that's what you want?" she asked.
I don't know.
All I know is that I'm tired of feeling like I want to scream obscenities at everyone for the most minor of blunders. I am exhausted to the point of fury at the feeling that I want to punch holes in the walls and the faces and the unimportant trifles which crop up.
"Since when did I lose my ability to brush things off?" I ask.
My imaginary therapist consults at her notes.
"It's been ... a couple years now ..." she says, analyzing the data.
She has my anxiety attacks in different degrees lined graphed in her notes - an awesome Excel feature she discovered years ago which has helped her practice.
"Before the bursts of anger you always dealt with your problems with downright and simple depression. It seems as though you've been fighting extra hard these past few years ... fighting instead of standing down, but then you've also been holding a lot of that back ..."
"Is it God? Am I fighting God?"
"You haven't been fighting God until recently. You feel like you've gained so much control over your life in the past year that you've been trying to thwart God ..."
"But I know God doesn't exist."
"Yes, I know, but the concept of God still remains - you are trying to kick holes in the sky - you want control of nature and fate and the steering wheel of your entire destiny in your own hands and any exstentialist must admit, that's just not completely possible."
I sulk for a bit.
"I just feel like I really need those anti-anxieties. My heart wouldn't hurt as much. I could come home and relax instead of worry."
"Have you tried smoking weed? I could get you a medical marijuana card."
"No, thanks..."
There is a pause.
"You do know, in your heart, really, what you have to do, right? I don't have to tell you, do I?"
Pause.
"No, you don't have to tell me."
"For Christsakes then Rachel, FUCKING DO IT. Why do you keep putting it off?! You don't even have to wait until your next project is finished, JUST DO IT. No one cares about your deadlines but you, it's all made up! The whole universe and all the rules! You made it up in your head and can just as easily change it! You don't have to change the universe, it's already yours - you just SNAP and you're there. You are fighting God but you ARE GOD! ABDICATE AND BE YOUR OWN KING!"
The time is up and she stands.
"See you next time?"
"Yeah."