Journal Of A Teenage Psychopath

19

They put me in therapy.

Why would I even need therapy? It's not like someone died or anything. They say they just want me to talk. Share my feelings. Have a safe place to express myself.

Yeah, no.

That's what this is for.

But hey, it's not all a waste. It's fun sometimes, really it is. Get this -

"Life ... is just so ruff sometimes. I don't have very many friends. No one really likes me. It gets ... kinda lonely some times. I just wish I had ... a burrito. I'm really hungry, when can I leave?"

The woman always stops there. Her hand pauses mid scribble after she's been writing like mad down on that stupid paper pad of hers. It's like - did you really think we were having some kind of break through? I mean really?

And she keeps doing it. Hanging on my every word. As if I was some impossible puzzle that she's staked her career on.

I found out that's true actually.

I'm sitting outside the building by the dumpsters in the back. My parents are looking for me I'm sure, but I just want to be alone. This is so stupid. They're all so stupid.

'Psychopathic tendicies in some one so young can make or break a career,' they said. 'You could write a book. If you can find a way to get through to her,' they said. 'Her parents gave permission to study her behaivior. If someone so young. A girl Feliz. Psychopathic tendicies in women aren't any where near as well studied - ,'

I'M NOT A PSYCHOPATH!