I take a yellow pill to dull the pain – codeine … (an addiction that’s been steadily growing in the shadow of my diminishing alcoholism). I don’t care what you say, I have the right to decide what happens to my own body.

That’s the excuse I sometimes use when I cut myself. That, or the fact that I enjoy the pain. My friend says it’s because I want to be ugly, unattractive.

Because my earliest memory is being raped.

Yeah, that’s generally the point at which people stop reading. But it’s OK. Honestly, it’s OK. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, or embarrassed about. It’s just something that happened. In a strict, strait-jacket society that so loves to call me strong but for all its sweet thinking just isn’t quite modern enough to face facts.

Too unpleasant for you? Didn’t happen to you though, did it?

His name was Alan. Fuck! I am high! And he held me down on a toy car map rug. You know, one with little roads on it. I was four. Or five. I can’t quite remember.

‘First world problems’

Heh I’d rather starve.

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