Shit

The fucker with the ponytail smiled again.

"You've just got to realize that your shit does stink!"

The patient stared back blankly.

"Okay! My shit fucking stinks and I know it, I hate it! I want to die. I don't want to be like this anymore".

The fucker nodded slowly as he pulled a beautifully bound Moleskine notebook from his briefcase. It had a small pocket on the side that held a blue ball-point pen -- the kind of pen the patient loved to write with.

"You don't have to be. Take this home with you. Write a story about the person you want to be. Maybe you'll be surprised at who you find inside".

The patient grabbed the notebook, but when he looked up the fucker had disapeared.