This book isn't a memoir. It is a totally fictitious account of my life. Then, at the same time it fucking happened. My mom still hasn't finished her copy. Why? Why the fuck hasn't she finished her copy yet? TOO close to home? I don't know. It just guts me. Man, I put it all the fuck out there. I put myself on the line. Anyone who is anyone can read this now and say fuck this pathetic asshole, what did he think he'd get out of it?
Hell even I don't know. I guess I wanted to make a few friends who would read it and know how fucking real it was. I am so sick of tracking traffic to this blog, to that instagram, or wondering if this book is selling. I am so sick of needing to be special....you know why? She hasn't finished it. My mother hasn't finished this book. Fuck, I have friends who are already refraining from wanting to talk about it so the ZOOM is special for them. Fuck it, I am feeling so lost and empty right now. The shit about the pills, Janet losing her virginity, and who is Destiny's dad..all the rest? it fucking happened. All the hurt and the fucking build your kid up to desperately need a stranger to love him? That is very real. A song brought me to my fucking knees tonight.
If any thing or any one could love me that much? Christ. I would have existed.
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AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
September 2021
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