Open Notes

When I was seven my mother took me to a psychologist who said very little over the years except "Your Mother is sick, Your sister is sick" He smoked cigars and took notes in 3 different colored pens, red, blue, green, depending on what I was saying to him. One time he had me speak into a tape recorder and another time he had me draw his portrait in pencil during the session. It was all a mystery to me why I was there and why I couldn't stop going. I always wondered what he was writing about me. Over the 8 years my mother drove me to see Mr. Brown the file he had on me got pretty huge.
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