August 6th, 2005

(no subject)

Dear Doctor,
Please don't yell at me the next time you see me.
I am the unhealthiest eater in the world.
You've known me since birth. You know that.
But, it seems that tonight, because I ate 3 bites of a salad, I won't move my lazy ass off of this chair and go get something healthy to eat.
And you yell at me to not eat fatty meat.
Well, baby, I live off of cheeseburgers. Everyday, I get one from a fast food resturaunt, or from work. I know my family history. I know what my father died from, and trust me, I know it better then you do. I know that because I keep eating what killed him, I very well might die from it too.
But, do I care? I am a teenager. I know that I could very well have a heart attack any second because of how unhealthy I eat and all that, but I've got that "I'm invincible" attitude and the ever-so-famous "I don't care, I'll be fine" to match it.
So, don't yell. Think of back when you were my age, if you ever were, dear dinasour.
And don't complain when you get all excited that I gained 5 pounds, and then yell at me because I answer you honestly when you ask how I did it, asshole. The answer, "Um... cookies, french fries, and hamburgers" should not suprise you.
So, for now, I will continue to just sit here and be content. With my crackers, easy cheese, and chips ahoy cookies [with peanut butter!].
Have a wonderful day with all the old men and screaming babies.

Your faithful patient,
Me.