bright street

I went to my brother's therapist tonight. For family session or whatever. I lasted a whole five minutes before walking out. I just started shaking and I couldn't breathe and I just needed to run. If I had been anywhere else, there would be strawberry gashes up and down any piece of visable flesh. But no. Only because that would be prooving them right.

Anyways. His therapist is a dick. I walk out and he tries to challenge me, saying he knew I was over this the second I walked in. I have nothing to prove to him.

I don't think people need therapy...I think they need therapists. And for me, that's Mike (regardless of him treating me like a cumrag or not, he will always be there for me to bitch to), Tim, Zimmie and Becca. I know my issues, they know my issues and tell me what I already know to get past them. And give me drinks while we do this. I don't need to pay someone $300 an hour for that.

I'm moving in for good at my father's. Mainly because I found my mother going through my room again. At least I know, at my dad's, that he wont do that without me in the room. And if I'm going to be completly miserable this summer, regardless of where I live, I might as well be where I can smoke and not have anyone say crap about it.

I really can't wait till I'm back in Maryland. My summer classes are over and I miss school. I miss the challenge. I miss professors not allowing me to walk away...from anything. I miss my college people. Beccaboo and Tim especially. And the Ecstacy goddesses.

Oh...Drip is happening. Fall/Winter edition of Wasteland. Fuck yes.