Tick tick tick
Watch me go
Tick tick tick
When will I blow?
Tick tick tick
Do you see me bleed?
Tick tick tick
Can you guess the speed
Tick tick tick
Of self destruction
Tick tick tick
Demolition not production
Tick tick tick
Ready to try
Tick tick tick
When will I die
Tick tick tick
No timer set
Tick tick tick
Haven't self destructed yet
Tick tick tick
No one will see
Tick tick
Boom
The end of me.
At this point I have to ask, is therapy really working? I've been in therapy on and off since I was about 14 years old... maybe one or two years younger than that. That being said, I never really got much out of it in the teen years because let's face it, as a teen you really don't want to cooperate with any adult, let alone a "Shrink". I would go and talk about nothing of importance, pretending to sleep when it was my mother's turn to come in for the session with me. How this woman knew I wasn't sleeping was beyond me. I did what I was required to do and got my Doritos every time I went, so I was happy. Looking back at my first session, I can see the pattern that started even way back then. I have the hardest time finding competent therapists. Let me explain, from the moment I read an article in Teen Magazine about depression, I basically diagnosed myself. My being in therapy wasn't even the result of my mother thinking I had depression; it was bec...
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