It was all roughly on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. I know my family didn't leave that photo, because we weren't on speaking terms. That's how I ended up in the halfway house. For some reason I was convinced my mom was trying to kill me. She's not exactly a saint, but she wouldn't put forth that kind of effort.

I practice everything my therapist tells me to practice. Things to say, reset techniques, and nothing is helping all that much either. Water is wet and people are garbage