Chapter 6 – February 17
Therapy is the same old story. The therapist stares at me expectantly, and I shut up for fifty minutes. It’s routine.
Do I seriously need to put up with this just because I opened my skin a few times and swallowed a few pills? I definitely don’t think so. But that’s just me.
A few days later, my therapist was all smiles. I got freaked out, and she started to blabber away about how the world was amazing and that there are things worth living for.
I asked her what she was doing and she started to bitch at me for my suicide attempts.
It’s not like she could do anything about me feeling hopeless…
She thinks she can help me, though. Hah.
I don’t do much these days. I’m quite happy with just sitting in my room, staring out the window.
The guard-dogs don’t even bother to get me to participate anymore. I guess they think that I’m hopeless, too. So, who really cares if I die?
I don’t know if this notebook is helping or not. Whenever I write in it, my feelings chew me alive. They gnaw at my bones, trying to get me to cave.
I almost caved a few times… before.
The first time was a failure because I got rushed to the hospital in time and got my stomach pumped and the second time, I was found before I bled out and got stitched back together with black wire.
This cycle is getting so tiresome, but I don’t know how to stop.
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
So I am back again. I actually did read Chapter Five, but I didn't really have much to say.
I like this better than the last chapter. The character is really opening up and sharing more of her inner most thoughts and I like it. no really notable grammatical errors.
keep writing!
toodles!
~emerley