You wasted my money. Four hundred dollars down the drain -- for two hours. I have nothing against therapists, I really don't. We all go through terrible periods throughout our life, but we need supportive people, not deceitful ones like you. I came to you as a trusting, weak creature. I put my fate, to some extent, into your hands. I trusted you. And you took advantage of my state. You fed off of my fears, you thrived off of the miserable words spilling out of my mouth. You enlarged the doubt in my head, expanded it until I felt incapable of being a human. Instead of encouraging me, and reassuring me, you were after my wallet. Your wall of sincerity was forming cracks, slowly breaking through to show where you were headed: my wallet.

The first thing you mentioned, indirectly rather, was money. You insisted that I was so diseased that I would come to you multiple times a week and miss school, my main priority, just for you. I should have known. I should have known that therapists like you just wanted the money, just wanted to slap a disorder or two on me, and reap the benefits. After being visibly shaken by your ingraining words, my parents were worried sick.

They decided they wanted a second opinion, thankfully, otherwise I would have still been under your spell. My dearest aunt, who has known me since I was a mere baby, was a psychiatrist. I visited her, with my wonderful parents driving several hours away on a weekday. She told me that you were an idiot, and, I quote, "an evil money-snatcher". I never felt so relieved. Granted, I was going through some unnatural situations, but you, an unknowing, selfish woman, pretended to know me. You don't. So, please, stop shoving pills down the throats of unsuspecting kids, if they don't need it. Thankfully, I had my aunt to protect me from your manipulation. I truly hope that everyone can have such a support system.