Training wheels will come off this bike!
When I was really young my mother used to fall down in the living room because it was rather dark inside all the time because we could not afford light bulbs, and she had so many bruises on her legs and arms and face that some of her friends thought my father was like beating the shit out of her and that made us all really sad. Especially when our neighbor Marsha J. called the police and they came and talked to my father.
He was so shocked and embarrassed, and the whole neighborhood was talking about it. My mother would snap at anyone who even suggested that he’d hit her, but they just thought she was covering for him.
It takes so much *effort* to make people see you’re telling the truth.
That’s what I’ve come to understand.
I look really good in the mirror today. I’ve been wearing tiny shirts so I can show off my tummy. It’s so sexy that even gay guys would want to fuck me, perhaps. But I’ll leave that up to them, tee hee.
Oh fuck it. I feel like eating some food. But the mirror says, “Baby, that’d be a mistake. Look at your dashing self. Look at those ribs. Look at that ass. Look at the posters on your wall and mimic.”
And you know what? I listen. I listen because it makes me feel good that I can retain a strong, positive attitude, and that I’m fucking amazing and strong. And fuck everyone who says I can’t be the me I want to be.
Fuck Mark. Fuck my parents and their shitfaced fucking doctors. Fuck my tennis partner for ratting me out to our trainer, who made me go on a diet for three weeks or else face being ejected from the tennis league.
And you know what else? I WILL SURVIVE.
This is me, over and like a rocket, out. My next post will be happy. I’m determined. I’m so determined I could cry.
He was so shocked and embarrassed, and the whole neighborhood was talking about it. My mother would snap at anyone who even suggested that he’d hit her, but they just thought she was covering for him.
It takes so much *effort* to make people see you’re telling the truth.
That’s what I’ve come to understand.
I look really good in the mirror today. I’ve been wearing tiny shirts so I can show off my tummy. It’s so sexy that even gay guys would want to fuck me, perhaps. But I’ll leave that up to them, tee hee.
Oh fuck it. I feel like eating some food. But the mirror says, “Baby, that’d be a mistake. Look at your dashing self. Look at those ribs. Look at that ass. Look at the posters on your wall and mimic.”
And you know what? I listen. I listen because it makes me feel good that I can retain a strong, positive attitude, and that I’m fucking amazing and strong. And fuck everyone who says I can’t be the me I want to be.
Fuck Mark. Fuck my parents and their shitfaced fucking doctors. Fuck my tennis partner for ratting me out to our trainer, who made me go on a diet for three weeks or else face being ejected from the tennis league.
And you know what else? I WILL SURVIVE.
This is me, over and like a rocket, out. My next post will be happy. I’m determined. I’m so determined I could cry.