My name is Cami but every one just calls me Cam. I'm writing in this pathetic diary as therapy, my Doctor says it will help me sort through my feelings. Yeah right!
"Just think of it as a Journal." he had said as he handed me a leather bound book that was to contain me feelings and most privet thoughts.
Yeah right.
"Bring it next week when you come to your session we will discuss what you have written."
I smiled and took the book because that's what he wanted to see, a positive attitude. A sign that there is some hope of me getting better.
What dose that mean anyway "Getting Better"?
I don't get it so I fake it, I'm getting pretty good at it, the other day he said he has seen real improvement. Some professional! Isn't his job to see through the Bullshit?
Oh well less hassle for me, although such a waist of money, if i didn't hate my mom so bad I would actually try to tell her.
You cant count on anything being what it appears, Nothing is!
So what should I write in this little book of feelings?
What a joke! I thought the point of writing was that someone Else was going to read and enjoy it who is going to want to read my story its not happy, theirs no true love. Wasn't that the point of a good story?
This should be enough to convince him Im spilling my guts out on these blank peices of paper.
Like that would ever really happen.
