just met my therapist today. i’d go on in detail on how that makes me feel but i really don’t care to talk about my feelings. so why am i seeing a fucking therapist? i dunno. but i keep saying “my the rapist” and it cracks me up every single time. so this bitch, is a hipster. and she told me that i was a hipster too because of my shoes and the music i listen to. how the helllll? i’m pretty sure she IS zooey deschanel, just not as pretentious. but anyway, she said “i like your gauges.” gauges. eh. i feel like my the rapist is trying to be too nice. maybe that’s just her job. she’s not old and judgmental like i pictured. with my luck she’ll tell me i’m a psychotic fatso with sprinkles of depression anxiety and bipolar disorders thrown all over me. or maybe she’ll just ask me what’s wrong. either way. i have a the rapist. my life is laughable.
