Yes, I remember my final day in group therapy well. I was heavily depressed, as usual. It was cloudy and raining. A certain Black youth told me, "Intellau, go over there."(As usual), and I obeyed him out of a desire for peaceful group time. A kid by the name of "Sean", another Black youth, criticized my writing and said "Wow....Intellau's writing is terrible"(He was handing out our goal sheets for the day); he also made sure to read my "discharge" certificate. I kept my discharge secret so I wouldn't be laughed at by my group "mates".
And as usual, on the drive home, the young girls in my transportation van started hitting me and drawing on me. Why? Simple: