It is not the dress whore. I refuse to allow that. I'm clinging on to something that I thought made me beautiful, but you keep wearing it, looking thinner and more like Barbie than I ever could. Damn it. Not one but two and three and four and now we're just counting.
Sometimes thoughts like this make me sick. I wish I could just vomit them out of my system and be done with it, but they stick to my throat, my mouth and hands like some nasty kind of glue.
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