Why am I so honest with my psychiatrist?
I tell the truth most of the time. They ask about suicidality, and I tell the truth. I don’t want to be here anymore.
They ask about homicidal thoughts, I say yes. Forgive me but there are people I so want to kill… Slowly. Painfully. Enjoy hearing them scream in agony. Enjoy watching them suffer. I want to look deep into their eyes as the light fades from them and they suck in their last breath. I hate them that much.
I always have a smile on my face. I’m like Ted Bundy. The charming psychopath. I told the doctor it’s fake. I’m fucking depressed. The smile is a mask I wear when I’m around people.
I finally said something about the confusion I have with my sexuality. I know I’ve said I’m bisexual so many times, but I’m still not sure. I’ve never been with either a guy or a girl. But I’m attracted to both. Not sure if I’m homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, or asexual. I probably won’t ever figure it out. I’m so confused.
I’m honest about my cutting.
I should learn to lie.