while talking to my friend Jenafur0, who if you remember needs incouragement to keep her diary up, i was reminded of my pure hatred of psychiatrists. i was too lazy to explain it then, because i actually was talking to someone other than myself for a change, so i decided to write an entry about it. first, the story of what inflicted my hatred, then an explanation. yay! i sound like i'm writing an essay! if i was, this would be the introduction paragraph.

ahh, i'm being brainwashed by teachers!

anywayyy...

ok. so, as i said a few entries ago, my parents knew they were going to get divorced for like 3 or four years before they actually did. thus, about a year before they broke me the news they started send me to a psychiatrist, more formerly known as a social worker. her name was elenor. she was supposed to help prepare me for the divorce without actually telling me what was going to happen. i, even at the age of like 7 or 8, already was against going to a social worker, so as she attempted to talk to me, i attempted to build a castle out of the blocks she had in her office. those blocks were so much fun! so, i didn't really mind going, i just wouldn't talk to her about anything at all important other than asking her to hold a specific block for a minute or two.

but there was an incident that brought out my detest in all social workers known to man.

one time, after i had been going to her for a few months, i politely asked her "can i see your house?". i thought, hey, if i'm telling her all my shit, she could at least show me where she lives. she responded "no, that's my private stuff in there". um, private stuff? and what do you call all the stuff i've been telling you the past few months? thats not exactly stuff i share with people on a day to day basis. and i can't even see your house? i was disgusted. purely disgusted. from that day on i did not say one word two her, and i have never spoken to or been to any type of social worker since. i simply refuse to confess my life story to someone who wont even show me their HOUSE. i have friends who i can talk to about the same things, and you know what? i go to their house ALL THE TIME! they even, this might surprise you, tell me about THEMSELVES every once and a while! wow! i think i prefer that to a social worker.

and thus concludes the story and explanation of my hatred towards social workers. i have hated them since my young, tender elementary years, and i will continue hating them until the day i die. this, my friends, is known as the conclusion paragraph. yay! writing diary entries in essay format is fun!