Because you wrote me your own letter over a decade ago as part of Step 9, and the one I drafted so quickly in reply was in gentle terms disingenuous, in bolder terms, a lie. I forgave you, or at least voiced my forgiveness to you, then because I wanted you better, needed you better. » Read more
“How do we know who we are sexually, what sex even is?”
This is one of those stupid questions I ask curled in the fetal position.
“We just do. We just feel it,” or some variant is the answer I’ve been given time and time again, » Read more
The day after it happens, I go to school with a headache and slivers of memory. There are pieces missing, things I can’t find an explanation for. When I see the smirking faces, I feel blood burning in my brain, my body reacting without any input from my mind. I bolt to the bathroom and throw up. » Read more