Day 8

My psychiatrist today asked me about my friends. I told her I didn't have any.
"None at all?" She asked.
"Not a single one."
"What about when you were little?"
"None of the other kids liked to play with me."
She wrote tons of notes down on her little sketch pad, or whatever it is they use to write notes on.
"Sometimes," I said, "when I was little, I used to draw friends in the dirt and talk to them. They were the only ones who would listen to me."
"Really? And what about your parents?"
I choked up a bit at that point. "They...they didn't get along very well. Mommy used to...well, Daddy didn't like it when Mommy went out. Said she was dressed like a slut. Mommy used to shout at Daddy. Before she left." I covered my face before continuing. "I never saw her again."
"Mmhmm." More furious notes.
I had lots of friends when I was a kid, of course. I still do--leastwise, as many as you would expect a "crazy" woman would. I am pretty, and popular. My parents both died in a car crash when I was sixteen. They were happily married.
It is so much fun to play with her mind.