If my parents brought me to a therapist

Mom:*kicks open the door**drops me on the floor* It's broken. Fix it.

Therapist:(is that SERIOUSLY how you spell it??) I'm sorry what?

Mom:*points to me* That pile of trash is broken. Fix it.*leaves*

Therapist:(THAT'S IT I WILL NOW CALL YOU TR) *sits down and takes my phone* it's part of my job to look at your phone and your social media. So what is your password?(idk if that's an actual thing that happens in therapy)

Me: I hate you i hate you go die.

Tr: It didn't work.

Me:

Tr:

Tr: oh.

(I got this last part from a Vine)

I would just be a pissy bitch the whole time.