I bought this cheap composition to record my thoughts, because that's what the counselor said to do. There's not a lot to talk about, except these killer headaches and the same old things I always see and here.
My bad, she said to treat the journal like a new friend, so I guess my new friend probably wouldn't know about what I see and here. Well, let me fill you in...
Horace is the newest, but I've had people walk in and out of my life that only I could see. It's pretty annoying, because sometimes I forget it's just me who can see and hear them, so I call out or respond sometimes. It took a long time to train myself out of that. People think I'm crazy.
Good thing I moved to Tennessee, right?
Anyways, Horace is mean as a snake. He tells me everything I hate about myself, and makes me want to jump off of my rooftop or drink bleach. I hate this one, and he hates me right back. We're at war right now. Hey, Horace, wanna say hi? No? Well you can just shove it, I wasn't going to let you have a say in my journal anyways!
So where were we? Have we gotten to the "I'm a nut job" part yet, or do we even need to cover that?
I'm sure this is good enough.
Later, dumb thought book aka diary aka who cares I'm over it.
-The Hunter
