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I don't even have an armchair
Jul. 30th, 2009 10:54 amListen. I am not your fucking shrink. I am not on call to talk you through every single one of your fucking neuroses because frankly, I don't give a fuck. If you have so many fucking issues that you can't fucking function, then you should be talking to a goddamn psychiatrist, not some girl on the internet you don't know. And you know what? Fuck you. You don't know me at all, I have no idea how you even found this journal/decided to be friends with me. You made it very clear that you didn't give a fuck about anything in my life, all you wanted to talk about was your new fucking problem of the week.
I have no problem giving my friends advice. Let me repeat that- talking to my FRIENDS and giving them ADVICE. There is a big fucking difference between talking to someone I care about and wanting to help them, and being used as an impromptu psychologist, talking you through everything from your fear of smoking to how long you should wait before calling a girl. Maybe I'd be more willing to help you if you hadn't made it abundantly clear that you don't give a fuck about anything but yourself. You'd ask one perfunctory question about what was going on with me, and then immediately dive into your problem of the week. Well fuck that shit.
GROW UP! Seriously, grow the fuck up. Of course its hard you fucking douchebag, its called life. Did you expect it to be easy? If you wanted an easy go of it you shouldn't have fucked up your chances at school. You should move out of your mom's house since you apparently hate her, and you should stop fucking burdening me with your problems that I DON'T CARE ABOUT, every fucking time you see I'm online. You made me stop signing onto AIM because I didn't want to risk dealing with your shit. But even then you found ways to fucking bother me all the time. I thought when I told you off two weeks ago you had gotten the fucking message. But no, yesterday you bother me yet again, when I tell you that I can't talk you get all passive agressive on me. Fuck you. You're blocked on AIM, you're blocked on GChat, and you're not welcome on this journal.
Go tell your issues to your fucking teddy bear, I don't want to hear another goddamn thing from you.
Fuck off.
I have no problem giving my friends advice. Let me repeat that- talking to my FRIENDS and giving them ADVICE. There is a big fucking difference between talking to someone I care about and wanting to help them, and being used as an impromptu psychologist, talking you through everything from your fear of smoking to how long you should wait before calling a girl. Maybe I'd be more willing to help you if you hadn't made it abundantly clear that you don't give a fuck about anything but yourself. You'd ask one perfunctory question about what was going on with me, and then immediately dive into your problem of the week. Well fuck that shit.
GROW UP! Seriously, grow the fuck up. Of course its hard you fucking douchebag, its called life. Did you expect it to be easy? If you wanted an easy go of it you shouldn't have fucked up your chances at school. You should move out of your mom's house since you apparently hate her, and you should stop fucking burdening me with your problems that I DON'T CARE ABOUT, every fucking time you see I'm online. You made me stop signing onto AIM because I didn't want to risk dealing with your shit. But even then you found ways to fucking bother me all the time. I thought when I told you off two weeks ago you had gotten the fucking message. But no, yesterday you bother me yet again, when I tell you that I can't talk you get all passive agressive on me. Fuck you. You're blocked on AIM, you're blocked on GChat, and you're not welcome on this journal.
Go tell your issues to your fucking teddy bear, I don't want to hear another goddamn thing from you.
Fuck off.
