So here I am. Alone and trippin. I can’t get over being called a borderline stalker. Man I really like this boy. He is a writer and I’ve been keeping track of his work for years. The biggest insult was being called his biggest fan. That’s the last thing I want to be. His fan. I want to be his everything. I felt such a connection when we met. Is it all in my head? How fucked up would that be? I’ve never tripped on any man in my whole life. There have been some that I have been sprung over but none that have consumed my every waking fantasy.

I’ve been crying a lot. And I’ve been listening to a lot of 2pac. He’s always gotten me through rough times. Shed so many tearz is on repeat. Why can’t I just let it go? I haven’t been able to for three years. It’s some deep shit y’all. It doesn’t make sense. And I’m not confused, I’m just pissed off. Yesterday I actually let it have power over me and I laid on my couch and watched T.V. all fucking day with the exception of taking a 2 mile walk. I haven’t done that in months. So what would Carrie Bradshaw do? Drink Cosmo’s, smoke cigarettes, and fuck someone else. That sounds like a plan to me!

This entry was posted in American Culture, Body Image, Fat Girl, Self-esteem, Standards of Beauty. Bookmark the permalink.

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