to my all-knowing, piece of shit, sanctimonius therapist:

fuck you. fuck you and all your psycho-babble bullshit. there. you like it when i'm pissed at you, you masochistic fuck? well here you are. congratulations. to. you.

What brought this on? hmmm. let me think.

you announce to me that you will be leaving in a year. and then, in the same breath, you smile and say "that's a nice deadline for you, don't you think? you can be finished with therapy."

i have two words for you. FUCK. YOU. from me to you, pinky sue.

i've been coming here for a year and a half. what has changed?? WHAT? nothing. not a goddamn thing. what is better? not. a. thing.

you might say, well, you're alive, aren't you? hardly a glowing accomplishement, asshole. actually, at this point, i look at still being alive as a fucking failure.

you might say, well, you've stayed out of the hospital. big news for you: that's only because i haven't gone to the ER when i should have, on numerous occasions. and i can't be hospitalized because i can't lose my job, otherwise there's no insurance to pay your fucking bills.

Nothing is better. NOTHING. if anything i am worse. i cut more. i burn more. i puke more. i starve more. i head bang more. i drink more. what in this pattern suggests i am on the road to recovery???

wouldn't that be nice for you if i could finish in a year?? you could be having cocktails with your esteemed colleagues and say, well, that one, she was a tough one. but one day she magically unfolded like a rose and i was able to make a few key insights and she got better right on time. i was able to tie a nice bow around that one. and you can *clink* your glasses and pat yourself on the back and har har har all around.

how is it possible that within a year's time the voices in my head will stop screaming?? in a year i'll be able to stop puking eight times a day? i'll stop hallucinating that rats are crawling all over me? i'll stop starving for a week at a time? i'll stop SI-ing 3-4 times a week?? i'll stop wanting to kill myself on a biweekly basis??

HOW IS THIS GOING TO HAPPEN??? EVER??

and here's the punchline: WE DON'T TALK ABOUT ANY OF THIS FUCKING SHIT!!! you want to hear about my second grade relationships. fine. you want to hear about how my mom and i are doing. fine.

HOW IS THIS OTHER SHIT EVER GOING TO GET BETTER IF WE DON'T EVEN ADDRESS IT??? EVER???!

and you think i'll be "fine" in a year. what a load of crap. you make me sick.

starving + bleeding