The Original Wattpad international sensation.
The story is simple.
Depressed boy meets crazy, possibly legally insane, girl at therapy and their whirlwind adventure begins.
Korin and Micha had only one thing in common: they had each discovered the...
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Things to worry about today-
Falling out of bed
Irritating my father by simply existing
Getting run over by a truck
Finding a way to fill an hour talking with Dr. Joyce
There were exactly eighty-five, one-square foot acoustic ceiling tiles in the closet size waiting room. There were twenty-one outdated magazines, three children's books with most of their pages torn or missing, and a stack of signed books by Dr. Joyce Smoot neatly displayed on a table next to the door of her office. The walls were a stomach turning shade of watery shit brown, the shade the toilet bowl turns when an impressive log is left unflushed and the water breaks it down, streaking the white porcelain with muddy brown skidmarks... You know, a completely appealing shade to those requiring psychiatric help of the bleached blonde variety. The cheap industrial carpet was a matching shade of pre-water submersion shit brown. The room was cold then hot, then cold then hot again, apparently the air conditioning and boiler were having a tumultuous affair that I was stuck in the middle of, and for all intents and purposes, was being queefed on.
But of all of the things there were to bitch about in the small waiting room, which had become a two day a week constant in my life for months, was the audacity of the television psychologist whoring her books to those being forced to sit on her couch for two hundred and fifty dollars an hour at the bargain rate of thirty-nine ninety-nine!
I truly hated the imitation blonde that I was more than confident got her matted and displayed degrees from eBay. Dr. Joyce felt more like a journalist than a psychiatrist, which made sense since she was the wannabe Dr. Phil of Baghdad by the Bay. Twice a week for months she had asked the same redundant questions all in hopes that the answer would have somehow changed over the course of these treatments, or it would finally explain what was wrong with me...
What was wrong with me, you ask?
There wasn't a damn thing wrong with me. I was a sixteen-year- old kid that found his mom dead on her bedroom floor. Cancer. Ironic considering my dad was an Oncologist. What could I have done? Mom was young, only thirty-six, when she died. I was so busy with my life, doing what would make my dad happy, that I didn't spend as much time with my mom as we both would have liked.
In the end I guess we look back to the beginning, and that's what got me a one-way ticket to shrink land.
My mom was beautiful and lovely, elegant and regal, but caring and compassionate. Over a thousand people came to her funeral. There were so many lives that she touched and changed for the better. I just wish that I could have changed her life as she did mine.
I hated therapy.
The only reason why I was there was because Dad forced me to go. Just like everything in my life he has forced me to do.
