Final Wishes

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

DANIELA’S POV

My therapist keeps telling me that I need to come to terms with my past.  “Acceptance is the only way you’ll be able to move on,” she tells me.

Basically, I think it’s a load of bull.  A way to keep me dependent on her and the money flowing.

Aunt Bess doesn’t know what to do with me anymore, or so she claims.  Her threats of boarding school don’t faze me either I know she’ll never go through with it.

I’m all she’s got left.  Her last connection to a dead man.

I’m constantly being told by my psychologist that my first problem is the lack of my belief in our society’s justice system.  She tries to use her psycho-babble on me to appear smarter than she really is. 

Who does she think she’s fooling? Obviously not me.

She keeps lecturing me with her views on the world and its economic devastation.  She’s trying to make my brain as polluted as hers is, but I will not let it work.

The rest of the social and economic corruption that she’s constantly spouting is too heinous to share with tender ears.  It burned mine something fierce, and I’m older than a lot of people my age.  At least I like to think that I am because of my maturity.

Age-wise I’m probably younger than everyone in my grade.  Being as how I’m a New Year’s Baby.  My mom believed that I was ‘special’ and made me go to school a year early.  Whole lot of good that did me. 

I mean, look at me know.  I’m living with my Aunt Bess, and she’s a drop out.

Suffice it to say, we as a civilization are wasting money, to fill our heads with the convoluted views and opinions of those who believe that have more knowledge on the human psychosis than anyone else does.  They have the fancy degrees, so they must be accomplished in some ways. 

Just not in telling me how my psyche is broken.  It’s my mind; they should stay out of it.

I’ve also been getting lectured on my inability to ‘properly process the way that the world works.’  This is a code name for my psychologist’s (and I use that term loosely; very loosely) political views on the society and the world that she was born in. 

I’ve been getting lectured on this a lot lately.  And I mean a lot.

The Psychologists Association in general, has just decided to rule me out completely.  “I’m too much of a mental case to have any hope of being rehabilitated successfully,” they are fond of telling me.

Hey everyone, let’s get Daniela’s hopes up, just to crush them again. It’s as simple as stepping on a twig and snapping it in two.  It’s simple really, elementary.  A one, a two, a three; jump.

 Being a dream crusher and a future killer is just that simple.  So, come one everyone, let’s all gang up on Daniela.  She can’t possibly feel anything.

“World, if you’re listening, I just wanted you to know that I so hate you right now,” I said out loud as I scratched my arm; heavily.  Not just the gentle brushing strokes of a kitten, but the deep, angry clawing marks that a tiger makes.

I had four red welts running up my arm and red skin surrounding my whole elbow.

“What?” My psychologist asked.  Does she ever pay attention or is she just paid to doodle pictures in a little notebook and ramble on about her ‘feelings,’ while I suffer the pain and angst of inner turmoil.  An inner turmoil that she’s supposed to be fixing.