It's September 1st today. It's weird, isn't it? The way most kids associate the start of September with brand new backpacks, pencil shavings and the panicked beating of their hearts as they get on the bus, pretending all the while to be perfectly collected, not even a little nervous? I guess that's one thing this whole thing has given me to be grateful for. Dr. Spence says it would be a good idea for me to write a list every day of things I'm grateful for. You'd like him. He also told me I should try writing you a few letters telling you how I feel, even if I would never send them, and it's not like you'd open them even if I did. Anyways, don't get me wrong, it's not like the start of another year doesn't faze me, it's more like I'm used to it, you know? And besides, I have other things to think about.
Charlie. It feels strange to call you Charlie. It's like when we used to go to that sushi place on 3rd street that you absolutely loved and we would order the rolls with
You look at me as if I was a thing of evil.
Yet I give you a chance to be equal with me.
Go on, pick up your sword.
For today, we shall dance with our swords.
And sing with our cries of pain.
Don't try to suck me in.
I want you to fight me with honour.
For I am someone of great status.
With no other equal.
I don't want your pity or your help.
I want you to swing that blade.
For I hunger for the heat of the battle.
I don't do this to enjoy myself.
I do this to keep the beast at bay.
For it longs the taste of victory ever so much.
There is nothing else that it deisres.
Only bloodshed and despair of others.
Yet I cannot attack you unarmed.
So come at me, now.
WHAT SAY YOU?
In stagnant lakes of formaldehyde
Or pinned proudly to wooden frames
Neat print spelling their strange names
But many are alive, more delightful in motion
(Scolopendra gigantea, my deadly lady)
Ever so slightly off, these angles
Asymmetrical and nonsensical
Grasping details he didn't notice before
But awareness only blooms in the basement
(something's not right here)
Microscopes and blinding beams
Slender hands prod, a playful grin gleams
Chloroform and miniature surgeries
Finding the sublime behind compound eyes
Others shiver, avoid their touch
But his attention is glued to
Sleek shells and bristling legs and wings like
Dirty stained glass windows
Color bleached by a downpour that never ends
(something's gone wrong inside me)
He'll take them apart tenderly
Like the patients in his office
(don't go into the monster's den)
Whose psychosis is as old and ugly
As anything in the doctor's collection
Oh, yes, they'll squirm a
Chain link unity,
Doctors of ignorance,
Instructors of normalcy,
Teachers of sanity,
Synopsis: Blitzwing and his psychologist try to examine his personality using only Freudian theories.
Talk = Psychologist
Talk = Blitzwing
TALK = Hothead
tAlK = Random
*sheesheeshank* = the sound Blitzwing makes when his personality changes
Tank you vore coming to see me, doctor.
My pleasure, Blitzwing. This is an unusual request though .
Vell, I vant to use Sigmund Freuds theories because he vas a vellow German.
But Freud wasnt German. He was Austrian.
*sheesheeshank* CLOSE ENOUGH!!
.Uh, OK. Are you sure that psychoanalysis is what you want?
*sheesheeshank* Vat do you mean?
Because you seem to be bipolar
*sheesheeshank* yOu MeAn
Appointment 1: Canada
Canada: Doctor, I'm feeling inadequate about myself
Dr France: Now why iz zat?
Canada: Everyone thinks I'm invisible
Dr France: and who iz to blame for zat? You see, za reason why people don't notice you iz because you don't make yourself heard. When was za last time you got laid?
Canada: ummm .*blush* I ..
Dr France: Listen mon cher, you will go out of zis clinic and you will send a dozen red roses to all your friends. Zat way everyone will remember you every time zey smell za sweet perfume of flowers, non? I will write zis down for you *writes a prescription for Canada, then turns around to give it to him* eh? Where did zat boy go?
Canada: I'm right here!
Dr France: *ignores* Oh well, he must have been desperate .
Appointment 2: Germany
Dr France: hon, hon, hon, I'd never thought I'd see you here Monsieur Perfection
Germany: I had no choice. I've been having these weird feelings nowad
My legs are folded on the black leather couch and I am running my fingers over the veins in the back of my hand, barely listening to what She has to say. I stare at a patterned rug that dissolves into chaos about the fringes, the neatly-weaved red, yellow, and blue blocks bending and twisting off their threaded stacks. It is ugly. It pisses me off.
She asks me something. I don't know what it is, but I tell Her, "I don't bleed. There is no blood in my veins. I don't bleed at all. Am I human?"
She stares at me. I stare at Her.
"You're not crazy."
And then She is someone else, but I am still right here.
"I think you need to go to the hospital."
I look up at Her, and She is still staring at me with the same green eyes She had before She was this someone else. I stand, because I'm just as crazy as they say I'm not, and I scream at Her. "Why?! Why why why?! None of this is m
I know that I sound crazy.
People would call me tired, some call me lazy.
But I know it's not true.
The people came again, some I never knew.
The whispers inhabited my mind,
Some were evil; some were kind.
They stood and looked with no faces,
They lived in far off places.
A world no one knew of,
with words as silent as the coo of a dove.
The pain grew immense,
Sometimes way too intense.
They tried to dull the pain
But it was back again.
I heard the laughter as it grew,
with words so silent they never knew.
They would torture me in my mind
Some were mean, some were kind.
They lived in far off places
The people, with no faces.
They glanced at me, but I couldn't tell
I would hear them try to yell
Collapsing bodies on the ground,
Even I, couldn't make a sound.
They lived in far off places,
The people, that had no faces.
Worlds no one cared of
... I see the dove! I see the dove!
The smoldering streets, the cold winters.
Words so sharp, they hurt like splinters.
Colonel Levi Ackerman let out a weary sigh, lowering the newspaper in his hands from his field of vision to languidly survey the place that Brigadier Erwin Smith, his superior and best friend, had brought – correction – dragged him to.
The Recon Corps Hospital was like any other hospital, a distinctive synthetic smell wafting through the air whilst the bright fluorescent lights glared at the white tiled floor. The ringing telephones kept each of the receptionists busy whilst a couple of children giggled contently in the small play area in the waiting room. The adults entertained themselves by reading the various magazines and newspapers scattered around the room but as Levi witnessed plenty of people coughing and sneezing on them, he hurriedly put the tabloid he’d been reading down on the empty chair beside him before crossing his arms over his chest.
“Tch, coming here is a complete waste of time.” the raven haired
And she stares back
They see joy and humor
They see everything she lacks
I look into her eyes
And she looks into mine
I see dark clouds and azure skies
A shiver crawls down my spine.
I see depression and tears,
Paranoia and fears.
I see a whole world crashing down.
Hidden emotions behind the mask of a clown.
Society looks at him
And he stares back
They see malevolence and sin
All they see are non-existent cracks.
I look into his eyes
And he looks into mine
I see betrayal and thousands of lies
He is so beautiful and divine.
I see wisdom and intelligence
Anguish and eternal loneliness.
I see a life ruined by society
A life destroyed by anxiety.
No one ever trusts us
All of them look down on us
The youth is not what everyone sees.
Yet the stereotypes are not what everyone believes.
The psychologist sees the unseen.
The psychologist sees the person as a human being.
I had a bad day, Clémentine thought as she quietly slid closed the door to her apartment in Marseille, France, where she attended medical courses at Aix-Marseille University. She slipped her shoes off and unwound the red cashmere scarf from her neck. Her feet led her to her usual place in the pink armchair across the living room. She slumped down in the chair, her socks gathering on the tan carpet beneath her feet. It doesn't bother me.
"Clémentine, you're home," Cameo said as she emerged from the hallway behind Clémentine. The words came out as if Cameo was letting Clémentine know that she had arrived, and they were not pleased and did not resemble a greeting of any kind; they were more like the words a snake would speak if one ever could speak.
"Yes," Clémentine answered dryly.
"We had a bad day today."
"Yes." Clémentine heard the central heat in her apartment come on as the temperature inside dropped. Cameo slid soundlessly
"Why do you think so?" the lady asks,
"Well, where should i begin?" the girl sighs,
"Tell me about the time you first came to this...conclusion?"
the lady encouraged,
"The first time...well, i can't remember miss, it's like it's always been
there but now its coming out...and i can feel it" the girl answered bravely,
"How does it feel?" the lady wanted to know,
"It's like sometimes i can hear things, but people say that no-one's said anything
and that im just making things up, im overly forgetful, im not sure why either, i
get in trouble at school for things i dont even remember doing or saying and i
have bad dreams about things i shouldn't even know about...i hear a lot of screaming, it's mostly screaming, makes me want to fall down, curl up and scream too-" the girl was telling the lady hesitantly,
"Does it ever make you react violently?" the lady interrupted,
"In my mind there is so much destruction, that i think even a demon may bre
"because i am. because everyone is."
"but they can feel. they can feel what you feel. they can understand. they're alive."
"and you're a fucking liar."
"why won't you let anyone touch you?"
"because i don't have any bones."
"what about blood?"
"then what do you have?"
"a whole lot of shit."
"and what if you did have bones?"
"then i'd want to dress up the world in sandstone and diamonds and honey and ashes so somebody would think about giving a damn for once."
"are you crazy?"
"screaming makes you crazy."
"do you want to be crazy?"
"because no one would love me if i were crazy."
"you think so?"
"i know so."
"but i could love you. even without sandstone and honey, i could love you."
"even if i were crazy?"
10. Begins each session with a back massage and the question, "and how was your day, sweetie?"
9. Whenever you begin talking about your sex life they become agitated and refer to your lover as, "that no good lying sack of shit."
8. You are no longer invoiced for services. Instead, queries into payment are met with a wink and, "we'll work something out."
7. "Tell me about your mother," while dressed in apron, pearls, and nothing else.
6. You realize over the course of several sessions that no matter what you say, no matter how extreme your words or feelings, you are completely normal. It's the rest of the world that doesn't understand us, baby.
5. Constant reminders that while therapists cannot prescribe medication, there's nothing wrong with a huge dose of "Doctor Love".
4. Your long, emotional monologues are often met by a startled glance, along with an admission of, "sorry... I was mesmerized by your