~I see dumb people

I don't remember too much about being in the rehab. I'd done some drugs, but I wasn't addicted at that point. Once I got out though... well, I guess I figured that if I was going to be accused, I might as well indulge. What the rehab said was that although I wasn't addicted to anything (after "detoxing" me from (get this) No-Doz), I could benefit from being in therapy. Must've taken a genius to figure that one out. After breeching into the world, I ran smack into (off the top of my head):

surgery
moving
surgery
chicken pox
abuse
Father tries to kill mother
untreatable bleeding eczema
food allergies
Sex and gender issues
Getting rid of all possessions
moving to the Middle East
Sexual Abuse
material allergies
Getting rid of all possessions
Returning to the States
Dog bite
abuse
Nosebleeds
Severe allergic reaction to face paint (it was pretty bad)
Mother leaves on my birthday
Abuse abuse abuse
Father returns to the Middle East
Step father enters picture
Car accident
Fire
Lose almost all possessions


Still with me? We just turned 8.


Yeah. Maybe little therapy, fucking Einstein.

I'll stop here. I'm getting bitter, and I had a pretty good day.