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Dear Diary,

Some days, I feel like I’m actually helping people.

Other days, I wonder if I’m just wasting my breath.

And then there are days like today—where I meet someone therapy will never fix.

Because some wounds don’t heal. Some people don’t want them to.

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The Boy Who Walked In

My new client shows up without an appointment. No name, no explanation, just… there.

Black leather jacket. Messy dark hair. A scar that shouldn’t be there—because it’s over his dead, empty eyes.

He slumps into the chair like it’s too heavy to carry himself.

I take one look at him and I just know.

This guy? He’s already made up his mind about everything.

But I still try.

“Let’s start with a name.”

He scoffs. “Pick one. I’ve had a few.”

“…Alright. Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Just sits there, staring at nothing.

Finally, he shrugs. “I woke up one day, and I was in your waiting room.”

Oh.

Oh.

No one sent him. No one booked this.

He just appeared.

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The Story He Didn’t Want to Tell

We sit in silence.

I wait.

And then he talks.

He used to be somebody’s son. Somebody’s partner. Somebody’s responsibility.

He wanted to help people.

He thought he could save the world.

And then—he died.

“…Joker?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl into white-knuckled rage.

That’s a yes.

I nod. “And now?”

“I came back.”

Simple. Flat. Empty.

“But?” I push.

His lip twitches. “But now I see the world for what it is. A joke. A lie.”

And that’s when I get it.

He didn’t come back as the same person.

Jason Todd—the boy who wanted to save people—died in that explosion.

The man sitting in front of me now?

He came back as something else.

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The Therapy That Would Never Work

“So… what do you want from me?” I ask.

Jason’s gaze is sharp, but distant. Like he’s here, but not really.

“Nothing,” he says. “You can’t help me.”

I exhale. “So why are you here?”

A pause.

A breath.

And then—

“…Because for one stupid moment, I thought maybe I was wrong.”

That—that hurts.

Because he means it.

For a split second, some part of him thought therapy, help, healing—was an option.

But it isn’t.

Not for him.

Not anymore.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost something,” I say carefully. “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt. You’re not alone.”

Jason leans back, laughing bitterly.

“I am,” he says.

And I know—I’ve lost him.

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The Last Thing He Said Before Walking Out

Jason stands up. Session over.

He doesn’t even pretend this was worth his time.

But before he leaves, he gives me one last look.

“Some people get better,” he says. “Some don’t.”

I swallow hard. “And you?”

He smirks, but there’s no joy in it.

“I’m going to kill every villain who made me this way.”

My heart sinks.

“Jason…”

But he’s already walking away.

I don’t stop him.

Because I can’t.

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Session Notes – Patient File #006

Client: Jason Todd. Former Robin. Murdered, resurrected, and emotionally wrecked.

Issue: Trauma, rage, existential crisis. Convinced therapy won’t work. He’s probably right.

Plan: None. He’s already chosen his path.

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Final Thoughts:

Not everyone wants to heal.

Not everyone can.

And that’s the hardest part of this job—knowing when you’ve already lost.