A snippet of conversation this morning brought memories all crashing down on me.
What I mean is, I could tell you that one of my stepdads used to throw food at and on me when he was drunk and scream “cmere fatty get your sugar pops”, but I wouldn’t want you goin’ around telling anyone else.
It doesn’t matter how many men tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t see it. I see him standing in my doorway while I try to pretend I’m invisible.