Why

I’ve been the fat girl. I’ve been the skinny girl. I’ve been the pretty girl. I’ve been the ugly girl. I’ve been the popular one. I’ve been the social outcast.

I know how it feels to have someone get in your face and tell you you’re disgusting. I know how it feels to sit wrapped in the arms of another and be told you’re amazing. I know how it feels to have someone tell you there are girls you marry and girls you fuck and that you are the latter. I know how it feels to have someone kneel before you with tears in his eyes, asking to spend the rest of his life with you.

I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve been so high on life I was floating on the clouds. I’ve been drunk. I’ve been sober. I’ve laughed til I peed. I’ve cried til my tears run out.

I’ve barely been able to scrape together enough change to buy Ramen. I’ve dropped obscene amounts of money on European baby strollers without batting an eyelash.

I’ve been called weak. I’ve known I was weak. I’ve known I was strong. I’ve been a quitter, a whiner, a perseverer, a bearer.

And when I close my eyes, I can relive every one of these moments in my life as if they just happened. I can see my reaction, feel my reaction, relive the moment. They’re as real to me now as they were then, and sometimes I need to get them out of my head once and for all. And that’s why I write.

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