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Try me now.
I guess it’s for the best if he’s mad. If he’s not interested in me anymore. It’s not like we could ever be together. I’m stuck in this body. A body that’s volatile, that’s vicious, that I can’t trust. I wake up with this truth and fall asleep with this truth. A truth he can never know.
But I need him to love me ugly.
There’s no winning. The trauma is either your fault or it’s a gift. It’s either You should have done this to stop it or Look what good has come of it! If you don’t get over it, why can’t you get over it? Why can’t you get past it or learn how to cope? Or if you do find some way to move on with your life in a socially acceptable manner, then you’re so brave and so strong, and aren’t you amazing? Let’s applaud you for moving forward while there’s a knife at your back.
My strength doesn’t come from the bad things that have happened to me. It defies those things.