Dear Diarrhea (Sorry for calling you this but my shrink told me to be serious about this, so I'm not)
Today Dr. Snail (Sorry doc, but Snail sounds better than Schnell), told me to write a diary. He said it would help me project (don't know what that means) my anger and help me become more aware of my thoughts. He said that we need to find out which thoughts lead to my inappropriate behaviour. Why am I even writing this shit? I told myself to fill you up with no good nonsense. Anyway, I think my "inappropriate" behaviour is caused by others and if they'd just leave me be, none of this would happen, right? I mean, come on, diary, wouldn't you freak out if someone from school called you a looser and placed an "L" formed hand on his forehead while everyone else was laughing at you? I can't really see the "inappropriate" in breaking that idiot Trevor's arm a couple of places with one of the chairs. But who cares what I think?
Also, Trevor has learned that you don't make fun of other people, and he also learned how it feels to break an arm. And all the girls and grown-ups gave him a lot of attention.
"Poor Trevor, did he hurt you?" One said.
"Oh my God, your arm must be broken! Oh poor boy, come here," Another one whined.
"He attacked me with a chair!" Trevor whimpered, "I didn't do anything to him, he just went crazy!"
Didn't do anything!? Yeah right he's just an innocent little twat with a broken arm!
Meanwhile, I did what Dr. Snail had told me to;
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," I counted in my head before picking up the chair.
I tell you, Diary, Trevor is really fortunate, because I was also counting inside my head when I was hitting him with that chair;
"one," I counted and smacked the chair at him.
"Two." I smacked the chair again, this time I heard a good cracking sound from both the chair and that sorry ass-hole Trevor. I have to admit I took much pleasure in the sudden displacement of his arm. Try placeing an "L" on your forehead now Treevoor.
"Three." The number seemed to echo in my head and I suddenly realized that more smacking wasn't necessary ... that counting technique really makes me relax. I doubt I would've settled with just three bashes without counting. I'm actually quite proud of myself, Diary. It's real progress!
He's actually the lucky one! He gets all the attention and I get all the blame and a kick out of school. Again.
Dr. Snail says I have problems controlling my anger. If he wasn't a shrink, I would have shown him how well I handle my anger. But then I would probably have to find a new shrink again and that would suck. I like Dr. Snail. He's an idiot all-right, but a nice idiot and he's got some good ideas such as counting. Who would've thought that would help? OK, Diary (Diarrhea ha-ha), I've got a headache from writing so much and I still think this is lame and a waste of time, so I'm gonna leave you now. Maybe I'll see you again, maybe I wont.