Well... you have officially broken me.
Like, you broke me a lot.
Are you gonna fix me or what?
Cause the doctor said I should go to a therapist.
He said he isn't the right kind of doctor.
He said that he does REAL cuts. REAL broken people.
So I went to the therapist.
Yeah, well... she's stupid.
There is no way she is a REAL therapist.
She said, "Darling, you're faking. Shut the hell up. If you really want something to help the 'hurt', go to pharmacist. Get some pills hun."
Yeah. Sure. Thanks for the help lady. If my 'hurt' isn't REAL, if my brokenness isn't REAL, your doctor degree isn't REAL.
So, I went to the pharmacy.
And the person at the counter is stupid.
She said, "Girl go the hell away. I hate all those little brats like you pretending to be 'depressed.' Trying to pull off the mask of being hurt. Wake the fuck up! It's NOT REAL."
So my dear, my darling, my sweet boy, my babe, you need to fix me.
I mean, you ARE the one who broke me after all.
And mothers always say, "If you break your toys, it's your job to fix them."
So can you fix me? No?
Well I sure can't fix myself. And nobody else can fix me. Or WON'T fix me.
So I guess... I'm just broken forever. Stuck with a broken heart a broken body, a broken mind, a broken soul.
Thanks a lot.