It is my belief that my knees are my most unattractive feature.
I am afraid of falling or biting something hard and breaking all my teeth.
My earliest memory of a family story: When my mom was four, her biological mother lined all the kids up in the living room and called her husband in from the kitchen. When he came through the door, she hit him over the head with a hammer. He went to the hospital, she went to jail, the kids went to foster care. I knew this story was shocking when I was young, but I didn’t begin to wonder why I had been told about it, and so casually, and when I was still so young, until I hit my twenties. It has only recently started to seem strange to me.
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