This post was not born of good spirits. It should be no more fun to read than it is to write. There won’t be any uplifting messages. There are no lessons here. No hidden morals to be uncovered. It can’t be anything other than what it is.
I just need to be rid of it.
Like that damned spot, I need it . . . fucking . . . OUT!
It’s been haunting me and I can’t deal. I suppose this is how the bulimic feels when she’s sticking her finger down her throat. Or stuffing her face full of laxatives.
I’m not writing this well. I’m disjointed. But I guess it’s fitting. Be