February 1st.
Dear, Stupid book.
My therapist says that I should write in this book if I'm feeling down, or if I want to do something that she considers dangerous. I think this idea is stupid but of course my opinion doesn't matter at all. Why would it even matter.
- Harold.
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"Tell me how your feeling Harry" my therapist is a stupid blonde haired chick that literally acts stupid.
"I'm feeling annoyed" I huff out.
"Your always annoyed Harry" she chuckles but I don't find anything funny.
"That's because your my therapist" hopefully she isn't sensitive, not that I'd really care.
"This session isn't going to go nowhere today, I'm going to give you a card it's an anonymous help line, if you feel like talking to someone just text the line okay they won't trace your number or anything and remember to always write in your book too" she gives me yet another white card with a number on it. She's given me hundreds by now.
Taking the card from her i stuff it into my pocket and get up from the very uncomfortable chair I'm force to sit in everyday of the week. "Can I leave now"
She nods, and that's all it takes for me to rush out of that place and start walking back home hearing the sounds of wind pass my ears. Also stepping in the little bit of snow that's left over from the January snow that had fallen.
Sometimes I like being at therapy sessions because I'm not lonely and even though I don't like my therapist I still enjoy someone around me. Other times she gets so annoying that I want to hit her with something, but I can't do that because I'm a guy and a guy should never hit a girl and a girl should never hit a guy.
Taking out the card from my pocket just because I'm curious I look at the number. Reading the number I can't tell if the last two numbers are a fourteen or a nineteen. I really can't tell she writes her nine's and four's almost exactly the same it's difficult for me to tell.
Shrugging I type in the fourteen version of the number and save it in my phone then throwing away the white card in the nearest trash can when I'm done. Now I can finally head to my lonely home.
|Home.|
Why is it that at night when everything is quite and your trying to lay yourself down and relax. Every single thought you could have had earlier when your up and doing things just comes rushing to your head right when you lay your head down on that pillow.
So you could assume that my demons are taking over my head as I lay in this cold dark room by myself. No one else is in this flat so everything my demons are telling me to do I could easily accomplish. No one would find me either, my therapist would just think I don't want to come to therapy anymore and just wait until I eventually return. Only to find out that I will never return.
Reaching for my phone, I unlock it and scroll to the number I put in earlier might as well put it to good use. It's not like it'll actually help me they never do.
Taping my messages I put in the contact name that I have saved as 'Stupid Number' just because it it and in the little text box I begin typing.
Me: My demons are in my head ... They won't go away.
Pressing send I then wait for a lame answer they would give me. Probably along the lines of 'just relax' or 'just go to sleep it'll be okay in the morning'. But it won't be okay.
Hearing my text tone go off I look back at my phone, what I see confuses me.
Stupid Number: I can't help you.
