Fuck you Mr. Porter. I blame you more than anyone else in this fucking story. You don’t let a student out of your office when they have that mindset. You track them the fuck down. You call their teachers, their parents, you have a duty to fucking inform. Ugh. I may only be a grad student working under other psychologists’ licenses but I work as a school psychologist and I know you are a fucking disgrace. “She didn’t say she wanted to kill herself.” Fuck you. Everything she says SCREAMS “HELP ME!” Fuck you. You blaming, incompetent, piece of crap.
It hurts me to think how many people like Mr. Porter may actually be working in schools as supposed “counselors.” God. I loved this book when I first read it. I love this adaptation. But the more I know from both sides of this story, as the professional and the depressed kid, the more I want to make sure I do everything in my power to keep kids as safe and healthy as I possibly can.
Why a fox? Why not a horse, or a beetle, or a bald eagle? I’m saying this more as, like, existentialism, you know? Who am I? And how can a fox ever be happy without, you’ll forgive the expression, a chicken in its teeth?