At 25, I realize my father hasn’t met anyone of significance in my life, just these constant fictitious characters in the stories that helped me feel American.
So, I am curious: when does one become a “slut”?
I love him and everything is great. I feel safe like everything I have ever worried about no longer matters and every fear I have in life can never touch me. But I don’t want to marry him.
I couldn’t believe how healing the entire process was: the writing itself, the discussions prior to publishing, and then the conversations it allowed me to have after it was published. It felt like scrubbing myself clean after years of feeling a mix of blame and shame and disgust and numbness.
“I guess I come back to you in my mind when I do feel “crazy.” Crazy for being nostalgic over a bad friend, for me being a bad friend, and for our messed up friendship.”
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