Day Fourteen:
I'd just like to say that I wasn't willing to go to therapy. But everyone insisted that I go. I went, but I didn't like it. The therapist poked and prodded me for information, asking me about how I felt and what my thoughts were. I didn't like the invasion of privacy. My thoughts were meant to stay hidden, not to end up in here.
But now here I am, writing to you.
I can sometimes feel you, you know. It's like you're watching me. Instead of being scary, like I imagined it would be, it's actually quite comforting.
