it was june 9TH 2014 my mom had just pulled up into the parking lot for HBS- halifax behavarol services -to get me entered into the day treatment program so that i'll be able to get therapy for anxiety and decision making.

  so we stroll into the peach looking building and sign in so that the therapist that would do our intake sesseion for admission would know that i'm ready for the meeting. while my mom's busy writing down her john hancock, i slyly read over her shoulders to figure out who my therapist would be whether or not the person is male or female. i know how to act slick but i barely do it. i was oddly amazed at how i would have to get a female therapist to console me. 

  once miss karen had walked into the waiting room- which i called the "avacodo room" because of it's smell of tacos and salsa- swinging her fragile hips. it appears as if she has a bad limp. she has a blueish type looking mole that might of had  a hair or two in it. to me that's extremely gross and obsene. her hair was naturally messy with blonde high lights, also her hands were wrinkled and peeling.

  she kindly greets us with a formal handshake and an "hello". i walk slowly behind my mom and ms. karen to wipe my hands on my denim jeans because of mrs. karen's sweaty palms.

  after i cleared my palms of miss karen's DNA i had to speed walk to follow the pace of those two.

   once we got into the large therapy room we sat down and discussed the reason why i had to get therapy. the purpose of me needing therapy was to reduce my depression and to build better social skills with people. 

  it took almost two hours to get all of the paperwork signed for the admission. afterward, i had to wait for a heavyset woman named "nurse tina" to enter the room and take a picture to submit for my therapy profile.

 after that, we leave and drive home to wait for tommorow, my very first day of therapy in almost ten years!