"I can fix a fucking chair," Chester spat, grabbing the necessary tools and starting on fixing the chair. As he hammered a nail into place, he accidentally hit his thumb. "Fuck!" He kicked the chair away, sucking on the throbbing thumb. "Stupid fucking fucked thing! Why? Why can't I just do something simple? Why am I always so mad? I need a bullet, a fucking bullet. I shouldn't be cared for, Delvin. You should put a bullet in my fucking fucked brain."

He got up and stormed from the room, going to his bedroom and flopping down on the clean sheets on his bed. Soon he felt bad. He hated this. The anger, the regret, the shame... He just wished he could have some sort of mood stabilizer, but his condition made drug taking dangerous.