I discovered boys early, and it ruined me. Am I being dramatic? Yes, but I do actually think a passion for boys and a fairly severe mental illness are the two things which have made my life hard. Without these, I reckon I’d have been golden. Insufferably confident even. Ah well, they do say that God gives his strongest soldiers the toughest battles!
A chubby kid with a bob more suited to the middle aged neighbour who judges you for parking too close to her house, I lost weight when I hit thirteen, got braces and dyed my hair a blinding blonde (with the help of that famously premium hair care brand Sun In). Then I jumped on the dating horse as soon as some spotty private school boy trying on a ‘rude boy’ persona showed a modicum of interest. I didn’t stop until I got married (to husband number one) and thought those days were over. But then he fucked off a mere nine (!) months into our union and I got a blissful rumspringa of sorts in my thirties when I was the hottest I’d ever been and had a solid lid on the aforementioned mental illness. I was almost insufferable back then.
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