Heaven... Hell

OK, after blowing up the garage on bonfire night, winding up in hospital with concussion and waking up to find I'd lost two days but regained a friend (Johnny came to see me in hospital - evidently, he cared more for me as a friend than he did for the fact that he was hanging out with Little Miss Crazy), my parents finally decided there was something wrong with me. Wow, ten out of ten for observation. Your daughter sets fires for fun and drinks about 3l of lemonade a day to keep her spirits up (theory: can't be depressed when you need to pee). Either that or they just snapped at the idea of massive structural damage.

In an attempt to save their house from fire damage, they signed me up with a counsellor. I had my first session a few days ago. I'm going pretty much every day.

"Hello, Samantha."
"Hi."
"Now, I want you to feel relaxed and comfortable around here. This is your sanctuary (etc etc etc)"
"OK, well, it'll help me relax if you call me Trash."
"Trash? Is that what you think of yourself?"
"No. Have you ever read any Stephen King? It comes from a firestarting character in The Stand - Trashcan Man."
The counsellor frowned at this point. Evidently I was like getting a Big Mac at the Ritz. Not what you expected, and you can't send it back really.
"So... you like fires, do you?"
"Love them. They're so beautiful..."
Yep, defiantly not standard fayre.

After a while, I told her an edited version of my life history. The counsellor decided that my problems stemmed from being ostracized my whole life, so I decided to react in a way that would get me the most attention and say "if you're going to treat me like a social leper I'll act like a social leper!" Hence the firestarting. She also said I'd lost my faith in humanity. Personally, I'm amazed that I even had a faith in humanity to lose.

Urg

OK, OK, OK, I haven't updated in, well, ages.

Can't be helped, you know. A series of computer bans and hand burns. Nothing major though, with the possibility of the roundabout. That was an accident. I was playing with a cigarette. But chain-smoking CHAVs used to hang out on there in the small hours of the morning, so they got blamed and natural justice has been served.

Johnny's not talking to me. Cat the Brat 'mentioned' that I might just be pyromaniac. Cat also has the joy of having no educational supplies since I did my old trick of setting fire to the contents of her locker (and my lastest set of burns dressings). But Johnny doesn't want the dubios pleasure of being friends with the 'crazy gril'. Just like all my other friends. In addition, I have no money. Because I have to pay for Cat's new books, papers ect.

I hate my life, and humanity in general. I'm typing this on a laptop in the garage connected to the router by a long cable. I'm not allowed to watch the fireworks this year. Ah, well, I'm sure I can make soem of my own. Cables, batteries, flammable liquids... I'm in heaven.