"I don't like people."
"Do you want to?"
“I would love to like people. It's just so hard to give a rational shit about irrational things."
"There's not one person you care about?"
"My dad. My mom is alright."
"How's your father?"
"Cold, I'm sure."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Were you close?"
"Yeah, he died at my peak of existence."
"What's that mean?"
"Like three days before I started college, he died."
"I can't imagine how that must've felt. Or still feels."
"Yeah, I mean it sucks, whatever. My mom takes it much harder than I do."
"I can understand why you would think that."
"I don't. They weren't even together."
"Were they always apart?"
"Not at all. They were together until I was about 13. He was a polygamous alcoholic. My mom would take that shit. I, however, did not."
"I mean, I just didn't take his shit. He wouldn't dish it to me or anything, but if he slipped up, I had to remind him. I didn't mind throwing a few swears and swords."
"This happened often?"
"Back to this people hating thing. I know that a lot of us tend to project our negative feelings on other people, making them seem as if they did something bad to us. It's usually the easiest way to avoid getting hurt. Do you do that?"
"I'm doing it right now"
"So what do you think that I'm doing?"
"Well, you're probably going to tell my business to the other shrinks at this place."
"I wouldn't do that."
"Okay, your significant other-I don't want to assume your orientation."
"That would be tempting, and I'd be lying if I said I never made mention of a patient to my husband before. But frankly, you're not unhinged enough."
"Are you sure?"
“Pretty damn sure."
"I wish I was crazy enough. Like, I'm not going to, snap and go on a rampage. I'm not going to do drugs to make the ‘demons' go away. I'm not going hang myself off of the pipes in my basement. I'm just going to sit and observe and frown. What's so damn 5150 about that?"
"I can't think of one thing"
“Yeah, me neither.”