All alone in my bedroom
With the lights turned down and my roommate gone
I know it's over, still I cling on
'Cause I'm my own right-hand girl
And I don't need anyone
But sometimes I miss your stupid face, and your taste
And your smoking gun

What the actual fuck is the point of therapy when you can't actually truly speak your mind about wanting to kill yourself without extremely high risk of getting forcefully admitted? Therapists say shit like "nothing you say leaves this room unless you feel like you're going hurt yourself or others" like it's so damn permissive and free and open. WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE IN THERAPY IF I DIDN'T WANT TO KILL MYSELF?