I'm a therapist, and I work with the most dangerous patients.
I've seen it all.
A boy who planned to be the next school shooter.
A patient with OCD whose loved ones really did suffer every time he missed a ritual.
A choir boy who claimed he was being molested -- not by a priest -- but by God Himself.
A patient with PTSD who gave me nightmares.
A husband and wife who accused each other of abuse, and only one of them was telling the truth.
And how could I ever forget, Patient #220.
The problem is, my patients have a habit of dying.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm the common denominator.
Or maybe that's just the cost of taking on exceptionally broken clients.
Either way, I'll never stop trying to help.