So you wanna know me huh? You want to know all about my life and my family and my friends. You wanna know who I am and where I'm from and what makes me tick. How I think, what I do, what I wear, why I like what I like, when I sleep, when I eat, where I go when I want comfort, where I go when I want a thrill, what I listen to, what I watch, what makes me happy, what makes me sad. You want to know my dreams and my fears and the things I couldnt care less about...
In short, you want to know everything.
And what about you? What do I get to know about you? Nothing. A big fat good for nothin' fuck all. "Its all about you Frank. I want to know all about you." Its all about me is it? Great, fantastic, what a better way to spend my Thursday afternoons - talking about myself. Never something I was very good at you know...
"And dont worry, everything you say in here is completely private and confidential. Do you know what that means Frank?" Of course I know what it means, I'm not five years old. And whats the point in me being here if its all confidential? The only reason I'm here is because of my parents. Because they want to know whats 'wrong' with me. If its confidential then you cant tell them whats wrong and so therefore, this is all just a stupid waste of time. A humiliating waste of time too. Its not too great when your parents think your a spycho.
"We're not saying we think theres anything wrong with you dear its just... your father and I think... erm... that this will be good for you. Please, just try it for a few weeks." Sure mom. Sure I'll try seeing a shrink.
All of this, all of this just because they found them. The drawings. The songs. The poems. The razors and the pills. They were paracetamol for crying out loud, and the razors - well I dunno why I have them. I think their cool, so its weird but its not like I use them for self harm or anything. I even stripped down naked to prove I havent, but of course they still didnt believe me. Idiots. All of them. And if theres one thing I hate its people patronising me all the time.
"So Frankie, can I call you Frankie? Gooood, now then today I want you to tell me about your phobias - do you know what the word phobia means Frank?" OF COURSE I FREAKIN' DO! It doesnt matter how many times I nod and say I understand things he just keeps asking me if I know what the simplest of words mean. Does he think I'm a retard? Some sphycopathic seventeen year old who cant tie his own shoe?
So fine. You want to know all about me do you mister? Well good for you. Because its not interesting. It doesnt include traumatic memories or strange happenings. Its the normal life of a seventeen year old living in New Jersey.
And as for you lot - the names Frank Iero. Dont expect a whole heap of drama kiddies because you wont get it. I hate to dissapoint, but there ya' go. So you wanna know me too? I think we'll get along great. But me and this shrink...
He and I most definitely wont.
A/N: Hahahaha, dont ask me where I'm goin with this cos' I dont know. But I have a good feelin about it, just a little taster for y'all and dont worry - other chapters wont be as confusing. Review and let me know of what you think of this juicy little snippet :]
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