In an effort to continue this mental purging, I'm going to write my entry today instead of next week.
So I didn't hurt Dr. Harper's feelings saying that I missed Dr. Winchcombe. She actually suggested I talk more about him. I'm not sure how much I can say, or how much I want to say, but I'll let you know he was awesome. My parents disagree, but they don't really know him. Plus they're quick to blame what happened on him, and his inability to "fix" me. It's not his fault.
I started seeing Dr. Emil Winchcombe when I was a teenager. Like 15 I think. It was mandatory that I saw him at first because I really did try to kill myself. (That was the longest sentence I've ever typed. It's hard to look at.)
I just cried through writing that. That might be the first time I cried about it. I've been lying on the floor for the last half an hour. I know you're reading this. I'm so sorry.
I get why you didn't want me to see Dr. Winchcombe. I'm sure you were scared. You just cared about me. I can't fault you for that. I'm so sorry I put you through that. But you have to admit, Dr. Winchcombe figured out I was on the wrong meds. And I've told you until I was blue in the face, I wasn't trying to kill myself the second time. It was an accident. But I digress. We don't need to rehash that. It's in the past now.
I love you. Both of you. Thank you for putting up with such a fucked up daughter.
Okay, I'm exhausted. That's enough.
-Emily
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