Cheese Puffs, Curse Words, and Declining Mental Health

Looking back, I am still unsure whether it was the pizza stained footsie pajamas I was wearing at the time, or the fact that I am twenty years old with no friends. Though after telling my mom the way I saw the world she set me up with a therapist who needs therapy, and continuously attempts to talk me off a non existent ledge. My new therapist stuffs a cream cheese bagel down his throat every fifteen minutes, and makes me write in a dusty black journal that he found in his dusty office that is covered in old streaks of coke. To feel better about myself, I drew a sunflower and scribbled "Sunny" on the cover of my new journal...oh and that is my name by the way.. Sunny.