Sassy and EY's erotic inspiration thread

[SassySheDevil]

Well, not originally. But, ya know, happy accident.

Fap Time USA!

lol you are a nut.

 

[SassySheDevil]

https://66.media.tumblr.com/7ecf5252602e54a237f7d38cfff26c08/tumblr_ph65yhQiQ41s3ibvu_540.jpg

https://66.media.tumblr.com/f791eb27225aa603e814d8c297100dcf/tumblr_o9hcmdAgsF1u9j00co1_1280.jpg

seemed like this belonged on this thread too.

I love these. Thank you ladies!!

 

[SassySheDevil]

This is a stunning picture, Sassy. Both your inner and outer beauty and warmth is shining.

Thank you Indie.

 

[SassySheDevil]

So I thought about this before writing it up and
I will apologize now because it's long.

So first the pictures....

 

[SassySheDevil]

The Story. Again. Please forgive me for it's length.


So I have a story of my own that helps maybe explain some of my “crazy”

First let me start with my size. I'm 4'11. I wasn't premature. I was 4#8ounces. My Dad said he could hold me in the palm of his hand. My Mom joked that she swore she farted and I was out. The Dr later looked at me, then looked at my Dad and smiled. You see. My Dad was 6'3. My Mom was 5'4. Growing up the Drs always offer their opinions about size and weight and they always told my Mom I was small and underweight.

So let the tests begin. By the time I was 7, I was turned into a pin cushion and they started running all these tests to figure out why I was so small. By the time all their tests had been run, we learned that there was nothing wrong with me, but by some cool skin test, I knew I'd never reach 5' So I knew at an early age that I would never be tall.

All my life people would look at me and my Dad and ask me what happened to me, like I was some weird abnormality. In first grade, I got laughed at for having to use the Kindergarten chair still. There were times I had to sit on books to see things. Clothes fit me weirdly and I didn't stop shopping in the kids section until I was in Jr high. Actually some stuff, I still can. I can still buy kids shoes even. By 6th Grade, I was done growing and had been called “short” so many times, you'd think it was my name. But that was when I learned to embrace it.

Guess what? I love being short. So fuck off.

In 7th grade. I experienced my first real tragedy. I lost one of my best friends. She was kidnapped, raped and murdered. I didn't know then how much this would change me forever. My life spun out of control and for the first time, I felt like I couldn't control anything around me.

We moved the following year after someone broke into my house when I was alone. Hiding under the house on the phone with 911 until the cops showed up, only to walk out and see snowy footprints on the floor throughout the house. Nope. Head now totally fucked up.

By the time I got to the new School. Between starting all over again with the short jokes, I got called a slut (for wearing short skirts) I was new. Skinny, with big boobs. All things I had gotten used to at my old School. But now, I had all these girls hating me, and these guys flirting with me. I'd go to Gym and the boys would run around with me and tell me to run faster. Then turn around and stare at my chest. “Careful, you're going to get black eyes, do you need me to hold them for you?” Girls whispering “See, I told you she was a slut” I didn't even know you could be a slut when you'd never had sex before. Learn something new every day.

The teasing got so bad, that I started wearing more bras to make my boobs look smaller. Then I started wrapping ace bandages around them. I had boys asking me out, but then just as quickly breaking up with me when they found out I wouldn't sleep with them. More reason for the girls to call me a slut. Sigh

Finally I got so depressed I just quit suiting up for gym. I told the Gym teacher that I was tired of being teased and since he didn't do anything to stop them, I would just participate anymore. So I got an F. Well, until my Dad went down to the School and threatened them with a law suit for sexual harassment. The following year, the school offered an all girls aerobics class. So even though my credits for Gym had been waved, I joined it. Didn't stop the boys from standing at the door and cat calling. Ugh.

At this point, I felt like I didn't have control of anything in my life. But I could control food.

So at 96# and a 28DDD I decided that I was fat. Maybe people would stop teasing me if I wasn't. Since I couldn't exercise at school, I could at home. I rode my horse until dark. I walked the treadmill for hours. I ace bandaged myself, and jogged until I could barely stand. I mastered the art of pushing my food around on my plate and I was already such a small eater, my parents barely noticed. I wore layers of clothes because I was cold. I withdrew from everything. Every day I looked in the mirror and still saw fat. I only unwrapped my boobs when I took a shower. I wore black and hid in my room. I hated everything and everyone.

It wasn't until one Teacher that I absolutely loved pulled me aside at lunch time and said “Okay. Enough of this. You will sit in my room every day and eat with me” I looked at her and said “I'm fine” She glared at me and said “The fuck you are” With shock on on my face, I sat there with my mouth open. Wow. She just swore. I'd never heard that.
She said “You will sit here and eat with me, or I will call your parents and you can eat with them” Shit. She meant business. She looked at my “lunch” 2crackers and an apple and said “You weren't even going to eat all of that. But each day. I'll bring you food. We'll start slow.”

She did this. Every day she made me go in her room, ever day she made me eat with her, every day she told me I was beautiful and listened to all my pains and she hugged me. She made me step on the scale because she had taken my measurements earlier in the year for Home Ec for a sewing project. I was 76# I started crying and she just held me until I stopped. Then she called my Mom and my Parents came down. Therapy followed.

So for the teachers on the board, to this day, this teacher is still my hero, don't ever think you don't make a difference in someone

I didn't want this to be so long. I want to tie this up by saying, this spiraled myself into a metabolism nightmare.

I went to therapy. But I didn't follow up with a Doctor to help me learn to eat again. Something I will forever regret. My metabolism was so messed up that when I ate, my body said “Hell yeah, give me that food!!!” When I ate, I started gaining the weight back fairly easily. By the time I met my husband (16) I was back to 96# but my boobs had shrunk to a DD. For my size that was still ridiculous. But I was learning to accept them.

I dated my husband all through High School and married him the year after I graduated. By the time we married, I was 130# and a 34E. I remember putting on my wedding dress, looking down and saying “what the hell happened? How did I get this fat? Thank god for all these ruffles”

Fast forward to kids. My first. I only gained 17#. I was big as a house. But that was not a lot of weight. My weight was now already out of control though. My boobs were their own table. After I had him. I lost it pretty easy. But he came 3 weeks early because he ran out of room to grow. C section.

My weight went up and down in the next couple years when I got pregnant again. With baby number 2. I didn't gain any weight. I actually lost weight. But fuck, could my boobs really get any bigger? Could my ass? I can't even see anything below my boobs, so I can ignore it right? Sigh
My daughter decided she wanted to fully cook. But since she was more than 7# she was C Section too.

Fast forward again. I've decided I'm going to lose this fucking weight. I do the new cool fad diet. HCG. 500 Calories. No Carbs/Sugar. I can do this!!! Spend the next year doing this and I lose 60 pounds. In this time, I lost my Mom and my Father in law and some how kept going. Look in the mirror every day and tell myself that my Mom would be proud. My family is proud. I can keep up with my kids, if I keep my clothes on, I look good, everyone tells me how amazing I look. Life is great right? “Just a couple more pounds, cause I can still see fat in my stomach” , “I can almost fit in my daughters clothes” (Lets ignore that she's a teenager and the size of a twig) “I can finally fit her shirts!!, but maybe just a couple more pounds because a size 4 still seems fat” (I started at a size 22) Now I'm out in public and people are telling me that I need to stop. I'm starting to look too thin. Too gaunt. But I tell myself “They don't see me naked. I can just go to 110# and be happy, I'm sure of it”

One day I saw a picture of myself and thought “Eww that is gross. Look at my face. I look sick” My daughter said “It's time to stop Mom” and looked at me with a sad face.

The next day I took my Dad to the Er because he was having chest pains and we found out he had Stage 4 lung Cancer. My entire world crashed right there in that hospital.

The next 8 months I spent fighting Cancer with my Dad. My world. I was always a Daddies girl and here I was watching my big, hulking father fade away. He was the hero of my world and now I was spinning out of control again. So as I packed his high protein meals for Chemo and radiation, who wants to pack a cucumber for myself to eat? So I learned the fine art of stress eating. Eat with Dad. He needs to eat. Eat your pain away because you have to be strong for him. Be strong for your kids who already lost 2 grandparents. Be strong for everyone else that doesn't understand why you are pushing them away. Food comforts. Food forgives. Food loves. When I want to cry, I'll eat. Don't let them see you cry! When I'm mad and angry at everyone. Eat, because. Well because that's just what fixes everything now. I mean, why not. I've basically gained all the weight back. So fuck it!

So when my Dad passed away and a part of me died with him. I finally let go. I went outside and screamed at the sky for taking away my hero. For taking away my control. For leaving me weak. For leaving me alone to take on the world without my parents.

Now, back in therapy trying to deal with all my crazy. And the Diabetes that I ended up eating myself into. My weight is a roller coaster, but the Demons still control me. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I see anymore. I've seen so many different versions of me now that I don't even know who me is.

My body has been through so many different ups and downs and I'm still here. It has taken me through this crazy life, and I should love it. But for some reason I can't.
I know people tell me how beautiful I am, or how crazy I am for not seeing the beauty in myself. They tell me they don't understand why I am so hard on myself. Even I shake my head when I see someone I think is gorgeous saying “I'm fat, I have no ass, I have small boobs” I will roll my eyes. Then I try and remember I don't know her storm. I don't know what she's been through.

I want to see what others do. With all my heart, I try. I want to like me for me. Not what I look like. I want to stop putting so much pressure on myself to look like something Society has told me is beautiful. I am me. No one else. Some day I want to look in the mirror and be at peace. Just smile and walk away. Tell the Demons to go fuck themselves because I am better than they are.

So today..even if I do this one day at a time. Demons! Go FUCK YOURSELF!!

I am sooooooooooooooo Sorry for such a long read!

 

[RjThoughts]

Sassy, I probably would have been one of the boys making fun of the boobs, until word got back to my sister, then she would have kicked my ass for doing it, then held me down for you to continue.

I had a mean older sister. Probably why she became a nurse!

 

[scotluvsoral]

The Story. Again. Please forgive me for it's length.


So I have a story of my own that helps maybe explain some of my “crazy”

First let me start with my size. I'm 4'11. I wasn't premature. I was 4#8ounces. My Dad said he could hold me in the palm of his hand. My Mom joked that she swore she farted and I was out. The Dr later looked at me, then looked at my Dad and smiled. You see. My Dad was 6'3. My Mom was 5'4. Growing up the Drs always offer their opinions about size and weight and they always told my Mom I was small and underweight.

So let the tests begin. By the time I was 7, I was turned into a pin cushion and they started running all these tests to figure out why I was so small. By the time all their tests had been run, we learned that there was nothing wrong with me, but by some cool skin test, I knew I'd never reach 5' So I knew at an early age that I would never be tall.

All my life people would look at me and my Dad and ask me what happened to me, like I was some weird abnormality. In first grade, I got laughed at for having to use the Kindergarten chair still. There were times I had to sit on books to see things. Clothes fit me weirdly and I didn't stop shopping in the kids section until I was in Jr high. Actually some stuff, I still can. I can still buy kids shoes even. By 6th Grade, I was done growing and had been called “short” so many times, you'd think it was my name. But that was when I learned to embrace it.

Guess what? I love being short. So fuck off.

In 7th grade. I experienced my first real tragedy. I lost one of my best friends. She was kidnapped, raped and murdered. I didn't know then how much this would change me forever. My life spun out of control and for the first time, I felt like I couldn't control anything around me.

We moved the following year after someone broke into my house when I was alone. Hiding under the house on the phone with 911 until the cops showed up, only to walk out and see snowy footprints on the floor throughout the house. Nope. Head now totally fucked up.

By the time I got to the new School. Between starting all over again with the short jokes, I got called a slut (for wearing short skirts) I was new. Skinny, with big boobs. All things I had gotten used to at my old School. But now, I had all these girls hating me, and these guys flirting with me. I'd go to Gym and the boys would run around with me and tell me to run faster. Then turn around and stare at my chest. “Careful, you're going to get black eyes, do you need me to hold them for you?” Girls whispering “See, I told you she was a slut” I didn't even know you could be a slut when you'd never had sex before. Learn something new every day.

The teasing got so bad, that I started wearing more bras to make my boobs look smaller. Then I started wrapping ace bandages around them. I had boys asking me out, but then just as quickly breaking up with me when they found out I wouldn't sleep with them. More reason for the girls to call me a slut. Sigh

Finally I got so depressed I just quit suiting up for gym. I told the Gym teacher that I was tired of being teased and since he didn't do anything to stop them, I would just participate anymore. So I got an F. Well, until my Dad went down to the School and threatened them with a law suit for sexual harassment. The following year, the school offered an all girls aerobics class. So even though my credits for Gym had been waved, I joined it. Didn't stop the boys from standing at the door and cat calling. Ugh.

At this point, I felt like I didn't have control of anything in my life. But I could control food.

So at 96# and a 28DDD I decided that I was fat. Maybe people would stop teasing me if I wasn't. Since I couldn't exercise at school, I could at home. I rode my horse until dark. I walked the treadmill for hours. I ace bandaged myself, and jogged until I could barely stand. I mastered the art of pushing my food around on my plate and I was already such a small eater, my parents barely noticed. I wore layers of clothes because I was cold. I withdrew from everything. Every day I looked in the mirror and still saw fat. I only unwrapped my boobs when I took a shower. I wore black and hid in my room. I hated everything and everyone.

It wasn't until one Teacher that I absolutely loved pulled me aside at lunch time and said “Okay. Enough of this. You will sit in my room every day and eat with me” I looked at her and said “I'm fine” She glared at me and said “The fuck you are” With shock on on my face, I sat there with my mouth open. Wow. She just swore. I'd never heard that.
She said “You will sit here and eat with me, or I will call your parents and you can eat with them” Shit. She meant business. She looked at my “lunch” 2crackers and an apple and said “You weren't even going to eat all of that. But each day. I'll bring you food. We'll start slow.”

She did this. Every day she made me go in her room, ever day she made me eat with her, every day she told me I was beautiful and listened to all my pains and she hugged me. She made me step on the scale because she had taken my measurements earlier in the year for Home Ec for a sewing project. I was 76# I started crying and she just held me until I stopped. Then she called my Mom and my Parents came down. Therapy followed.

So for the teachers on the board, to this day, this teacher is still my hero, don't ever think you don't make a difference in someone

I didn't want this to be so long. I want to tie this up by saying, this spiraled myself into a metabolism nightmare.

I went to therapy. But I didn't follow up with a Doctor to help me learn to eat again. Something I will forever regret. My metabolism was so messed up that when I ate, my body said “Hell yeah, give me that food!!!” When I ate, I started gaining the weight back fairly easily. By the time I met my husband (16) I was back to 96# but my boobs had shrunk to a DD. For my size that was still ridiculous. But I was learning to accept them.

I dated my husband all through High School and married him the year after I graduated. By the time we married, I was 130# and a 34E. I remember putting on my wedding dress, looking down and saying “what the hell happened? How did I get this fat? Thank god for all these ruffles”

Fast forward to kids. My first. I only gained 17#. I was big as a house. But that was not a lot of weight. My weight was now already out of control though. My boobs were their own table. After I had him. I lost it pretty easy. But he came 3 weeks early because he ran out of room to grow. C section.

My weight went up and down in the next couple years when I got pregnant again. With baby number 2. I didn't gain any weight. I actually lost weight. But fuck, could my boobs really get any bigger? Could my ass? I can't even see anything below my boobs, so I can ignore it right? Sigh
My daughter decided she wanted to fully cook. But since she was more than 7# she was C Section too.

Fast forward again. I've decided I'm going to lose this fucking weight. I do the new cool fad diet. HCG. 500 Calories. No Carbs/Sugar. I can do this!!! Spend the next year doing this and I lose 60 pounds. In this time, I lost my Mom and my Father in law and some how kept going. Look in the mirror every day and tell myself that my Mom would be proud. My family is proud. I can keep up with my kids, if I keep my clothes on, I look good, everyone tells me how amazing I look. Life is great right? “Just a couple more pounds, cause I can still see fat in my stomach” , “I can almost fit in my daughters clothes” (Lets ignore that she's a teenager and the size of a twig) “I can finally fit her shirts!!, but maybe just a couple more pounds because a size 4 still seems fat” (I started at a size 22) Now I'm out in public and people are telling me that I need to stop. I'm starting to look too thin. Too gaunt. But I tell myself “They don't see me naked. I can just go to 110# and be happy, I'm sure of it”

One day I saw a picture of myself and thought “Eww that is gross. Look at my face. I look sick” My daughter said “It's time to stop Mom” and looked at me with a sad face.

The next day I took my Dad to the Er because he was having chest pains and we found out he had Stage 4 lung Cancer. My entire world crashed right there in that hospital.

The next 8 months I spent fighting Cancer with my Dad. My world. I was always a Daddies girl and here I was watching my big, hulking father fade away. He was the hero of my world and now I was spinning out of control again. So as I packed his high protein meals for Chemo and radiation, who wants to pack a cucumber for myself to eat? So I learned the fine art of stress eating. Eat with Dad. He needs to eat. Eat your pain away because you have to be strong for him. Be strong for your kids who already lost 2 grandparents. Be strong for everyone else that doesn't understand why you are pushing them away. Food comforts. Food forgives. Food loves. When I want to cry, I'll eat. Don't let them see you cry! When I'm mad and angry at everyone. Eat, because. Well because that's just what fixes everything now. I mean, why not. I've basically gained all the weight back. So fuck it!

So when my Dad passed away and a part of me died with him. I finally let go. I went outside and screamed at the sky for taking away my hero. For taking away my control. For leaving me weak. For leaving me alone to take on the world without my parents.

Now, back in therapy trying to deal with all my crazy. And the Diabetes that I ended up eating myself into. My weight is a roller coaster, but the Demons still control me. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I see anymore. I've seen so many different versions of me now that I don't even know who me is.

My body has been through so many different ups and downs and I'm still here. It has taken me through this crazy life, and I should love it. But for some reason I can't.
I know people tell me how beautiful I am, or how crazy I am for not seeing the beauty in myself. They tell me they don't understand why I am so hard on myself. Even I shake my head when I see someone I think is gorgeous saying “I'm fat, I have no ass, I have small boobs” I will roll my eyes. Then I try and remember I don't know her storm. I don't know what she's been through.

I want to see what others do. With all my heart, I try. I want to like me for me. Not what I look like. I want to stop putting so much pressure on myself to look like something Society has told me is beautiful. I am me. No one else. Some day I want to look in the mirror and be at peace. Just smile and walk away. Tell the Demons to go fuck themselves because I am better than they are.

So today..even if I do this one day at a time. Demons! Go FUCK YOURSELF!!

I am sooooooooooooooo Sorry for such a long read!

That was a brave and poignant sharing, Sassy!!! You should be proud of that bravery. It is a story that will hit shared points in so many people's life stories. I feel honored to have read it

 

[Dribble]

I sassy

 

[NorthRockJohnson]

I you, Sassy!

 

[drtshare]

The Story. Again. Please forgive me for it's length.


So I have a story of my own that helps maybe explain some of my “crazy”

First let me start with my size. I'm 4'11. I wasn't premature. I was 4#8ounces. My Dad said he could hold me in the palm of his hand. My Mom joked that she swore she farted and I was out. The Dr later looked at me, then looked at my Dad and smiled. You see. My Dad was 6'3. My Mom was 5'4. Growing up the Drs always offer their opinions about size and weight and they always told my Mom I was small and underweight.

So let the tests begin. By the time I was 7, I was turned into a pin cushion and they started running all these tests to figure out why I was so small. By the time all their tests had been run, we learned that there was nothing wrong with me, but by some cool skin test, I knew I'd never reach 5' So I knew at an early age that I would never be tall.

All my life people would look at me and my Dad and ask me what happened to me, like I was some weird abnormality. In first grade, I got laughed at for having to use the Kindergarten chair still. There were times I had to sit on books to see things. Clothes fit me weirdly and I didn't stop shopping in the kids section until I was in Jr high. Actually some stuff, I still can. I can still buy kids shoes even. By 6th Grade, I was done growing and had been called “short” so many times, you'd think it was my name. But that was when I learned to embrace it.

Guess what? I love being short. So fuck off.

In 7th grade. I experienced my first real tragedy. I lost one of my best friends. She was kidnapped, raped and murdered. I didn't know then how much this would change me forever. My life spun out of control and for the first time, I felt like I couldn't control anything around me.

We moved the following year after someone broke into my house when I was alone. Hiding under the house on the phone with 911 until the cops showed up, only to walk out and see snowy footprints on the floor throughout the house. Nope. Head now totally fucked up.

By the time I got to the new School. Between starting all over again with the short jokes, I got called a slut (for wearing short skirts) I was new. Skinny, with big boobs. All things I had gotten used to at my old School. But now, I had all these girls hating me, and these guys flirting with me. I'd go to Gym and the boys would run around with me and tell me to run faster. Then turn around and stare at my chest. “Careful, you're going to get black eyes, do you need me to hold them for you?” Girls whispering “See, I told you she was a slut” I didn't even know you could be a slut when you'd never had sex before. Learn something new every day.

The teasing got so bad, that I started wearing more bras to make my boobs look smaller. Then I started wrapping ace bandages around them. I had boys asking me out, but then just as quickly breaking up with me when they found out I wouldn't sleep with them. More reason for the girls to call me a slut. Sigh

Finally I got so depressed I just quit suiting up for gym. I told the Gym teacher that I was tired of being teased and since he didn't do anything to stop them, I would just participate anymore. So I got an F. Well, until my Dad went down to the School and threatened them with a law suit for sexual harassment. The following year, the school offered an all girls aerobics class. So even though my credits for Gym had been waved, I joined it. Didn't stop the boys from standing at the door and cat calling. Ugh.

At this point, I felt like I didn't have control of anything in my life. But I could control food.

So at 96# and a 28DDD I decided that I was fat. Maybe people would stop teasing me if I wasn't. Since I couldn't exercise at school, I could at home. I rode my horse until dark. I walked the treadmill for hours. I ace bandaged myself, and jogged until I could barely stand. I mastered the art of pushing my food around on my plate and I was already such a small eater, my parents barely noticed. I wore layers of clothes because I was cold. I withdrew from everything. Every day I looked in the mirror and still saw fat. I only unwrapped my boobs when I took a shower. I wore black and hid in my room. I hated everything and everyone.

It wasn't until one Teacher that I absolutely loved pulled me aside at lunch time and said “Okay. Enough of this. You will sit in my room every day and eat with me” I looked at her and said “I'm fine” She glared at me and said “The fuck you are” With shock on on my face, I sat there with my mouth open. Wow. She just swore. I'd never heard that.
She said “You will sit here and eat with me, or I will call your parents and you can eat with them” Shit. She meant business. She looked at my “lunch” 2crackers and an apple and said “You weren't even going to eat all of that. But each day. I'll bring you food. We'll start slow.”

She did this. Every day she made me go in her room, ever day she made me eat with her, every day she told me I was beautiful and listened to all my pains and she hugged me. She made me step on the scale because she had taken my measurements earlier in the year for Home Ec for a sewing project. I was 76# I started crying and she just held me until I stopped. Then she called my Mom and my Parents came down. Therapy followed.

So for the teachers on the board, to this day, this teacher is still my hero, don't ever think you don't make a difference in someone

I didn't want this to be so long. I want to tie this up by saying, this spiraled myself into a metabolism nightmare.

I went to therapy. But I didn't follow up with a Doctor to help me learn to eat again. Something I will forever regret. My metabolism was so messed up that when I ate, my body said “Hell yeah, give me that food!!!” When I ate, I started gaining the weight back fairly easily. By the time I met my husband (16) I was back to 96# but my boobs had shrunk to a DD. For my size that was still ridiculous. But I was learning to accept them.

I dated my husband all through High School and married him the year after I graduated. By the time we married, I was 130# and a 34E. I remember putting on my wedding dress, looking down and saying “what the hell happened? How did I get this fat? Thank god for all these ruffles”

Fast forward to kids. My first. I only gained 17#. I was big as a house. But that was not a lot of weight. My weight was now already out of control though. My boobs were their own table. After I had him. I lost it pretty easy. But he came 3 weeks early because he ran out of room to grow. C section.

My weight went up and down in the next couple years when I got pregnant again. With baby number 2. I didn't gain any weight. I actually lost weight. But fuck, could my boobs really get any bigger? Could my ass? I can't even see anything below my boobs, so I can ignore it right? Sigh
My daughter decided she wanted to fully cook. But since she was more than 7# she was C Section too.

Fast forward again. I've decided I'm going to lose this fucking weight. I do the new cool fad diet. HCG. 500 Calories. No Carbs/Sugar. I can do this!!! Spend the next year doing this and I lose 60 pounds. In this time, I lost my Mom and my Father in law and some how kept going. Look in the mirror every day and tell myself that my Mom would be proud. My family is proud. I can keep up with my kids, if I keep my clothes on, I look good, everyone tells me how amazing I look. Life is great right? “Just a couple more pounds, cause I can still see fat in my stomach” , “I can almost fit in my daughters clothes” (Lets ignore that she's a teenager and the size of a twig) “I can finally fit her shirts!!, but maybe just a couple more pounds because a size 4 still seems fat” (I started at a size 22) Now I'm out in public and people are telling me that I need to stop. I'm starting to look too thin. Too gaunt. But I tell myself “They don't see me naked. I can just go to 110# and be happy, I'm sure of it”

One day I saw a picture of myself and thought “Eww that is gross. Look at my face. I look sick” My daughter said “It's time to stop Mom” and looked at me with a sad face.

The next day I took my Dad to the Er because he was having chest pains and we found out he had Stage 4 lung Cancer. My entire world crashed right there in that hospital.

The next 8 months I spent fighting Cancer with my Dad. My world. I was always a Daddies girl and here I was watching my big, hulking father fade away. He was the hero of my world and now I was spinning out of control again. So as I packed his high protein meals for Chemo and radiation, who wants to pack a cucumber for myself to eat? So I learned the fine art of stress eating. Eat with Dad. He needs to eat. Eat your pain away because you have to be strong for him. Be strong for your kids who already lost 2 grandparents. Be strong for everyone else that doesn't understand why you are pushing them away. Food comforts. Food forgives. Food loves. When I want to cry, I'll eat. Don't let them see you cry! When I'm mad and angry at everyone. Eat, because. Well because that's just what fixes everything now. I mean, why not. I've basically gained all the weight back. So fuck it!

So when my Dad passed away and a part of me died with him. I finally let go. I went outside and screamed at the sky for taking away my hero. For taking away my control. For leaving me weak. For leaving me alone to take on the world without my parents.

Now, back in therapy trying to deal with all my crazy. And the Diabetes that I ended up eating myself into. My weight is a roller coaster, but the Demons still control me. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I see anymore. I've seen so many different versions of me now that I don't even know who me is.

My body has been through so many different ups and downs and I'm still here. It has taken me through this crazy life, and I should love it. But for some reason I can't.
I know people tell me how beautiful I am, or how crazy I am for not seeing the beauty in myself. They tell me they don't understand why I am so hard on myself. Even I shake my head when I see someone I think is gorgeous saying “I'm fat, I have no ass, I have small boobs” I will roll my eyes. Then I try and remember I don't know her storm. I don't know what she's been through.

I want to see what others do. With all my heart, I try. I want to like me for me. Not what I look like. I want to stop putting so much pressure on myself to look like something Society has told me is beautiful. I am me. No one else. Some day I want to look in the mirror and be at peace. Just smile and walk away. Tell the Demons to go fuck themselves because I am better than they are.

So today..even if I do this one day at a time. Demons! Go FUCK YOURSELF!!

I am sooooooooooooooo Sorry for such a long read!

SASSY! BIG HUG! They locked me in a rubber room. After a week they let me go home. One day I will try to tell you. Thank you.

Big Hug love you fred

 

[Todger65]

Sassy, what a story. It brought a damp patch to my eye. No one should be treated like that through school years, or at any other time. School kids are the worst.

You have been very brave baring your life in front of us all and allowing us a glimpse of your struggles through life.

 

[AlliaPotestas]

You are a strong, kick ass woman Sassy, don’t you forget it,

 

[Erotically_Yours]

I you so much, Sassy! It was a very brave thing to put it all out here. Some things even I didn’t know about. You’re still one of the bravest, smartest, and sexiest women I’ve ever known. Your strength inspires everyone around you. Look around your personal life. Look here on Lit. There should never be any doubt in your mind that you are beautiful inside and out. You’ve helped me cope with my own inner demons — which I may share here at a later date — and I could never repay you for that. This thread is the very essence of the love you have for this world, and we will all hopefully inspire you to finally love yourself once and for all.

 

[SassySheDevil]

Sassy, I probably would have been one of the boys making fun of the boobs, until word got back to my sister, then she would have kicked my ass for doing it, then held me down for you to continue.

I had a mean older sister. Probably why she became a nurse!

Im only sad that I didn't have the security then, that I do now. I know that sounds funny. But now I know how much power boobs truly have. Id have been a fucking cock tease from hell if I knew then, what I know now.

That was a brave and poignant sharing, Sassy!!! You should be proud of that bravery. It is a story that will hit shared points in so many people's life stories. I feel honored to have read it

Thank you Scot. I really appreciate this.

I sassy

I you, Sassy! :

Thank you both. I'll take it! Im a needy little thing.

SASSY! BIG HUG! They locked me in a rubber room. After a week they let me go home. One day I will try to tell you. Thank you.

Big Hug love you fred

Fred, you've taught me so much about true strength and I love you for it. You and Emmy are my fighting heroes of strength. You amaze and impress me every day, and I am so glad to call you a friend. ❤

Sassy, what a story. It brought a damp patch to my eye. No one should be treated like that through school years, or at any other time. School kids are the worst.
You have been very brave baring your life in front of us all and allowing us a glimpse of your struggles through life.

Sadly, it's a huge part of why I am so loving and giving. I will move mountains to help someone in need and I have. Many times. I don't take in just stray animals. I have taken in many friends and kids when they've had no where to go, and that's a part of me I'd never change

You are a strong, kick ass woman Sassy, don’t you forget it,

Thank you Allia. I appreciate you saying that. You're pretty wonderful yourself!

I you so much, Sassy! It was a very brave thing to put it all out here. Some things even I didn’t know about. You’re still one of the bravest, smartest, and sexiest women I’ve ever known. Your strength inspires everyone around you. Look around your personal life. Look here on Lit. There should never be any doubt in your mind that you are beautiful inside and out. You’ve helped me cope with my own inner demons — which I may share here at a later date — and I could never repay you for that. This thread is the very essence of the love you have for this world, and we will all hopefully inspire you to finally love yourself once and for all.

Ah. EY my partner in Demon fighting. ❤ you have been such a blessing to my life. Helping me fight the battles every day. Your positive thoughts, Always make it hard to be down. Im glad we've helped each other. We came into each other's life when we needed it most and im grateful for all your love and support. My happy plane when I am down. ❤ Thank you for helping me start this thread and being there when I needed you.

Thank you again to all of you. To all who posted here, to those who emailed and PMed.

❤❤

 

[RustyIron]

The Story. Again. Please forgive me for it's length.


So I have a story of my own that helps maybe explain some of my “crazy”

First let me start with my size. I'm 4'11. I wasn't premature. I was 4#8ounces. My Dad said he could hold me in the palm of his hand. My Mom joked that she swore she farted and I was out. The Dr later looked at me, then looked at my Dad and smiled. You see. My Dad was 6'3. My Mom was 5'4. Growing up the Drs always offer their opinions about size and weight and they always told my Mom I was small and underweight.

So let the tests begin. By the time I was 7, I was turned into a pin cushion and they started running all these tests to figure out why I was so small. By the time all their tests had been run, we learned that there was nothing wrong with me, but by some cool skin test, I knew I'd never reach 5' So I knew at an early age that I would never be tall.

All my life people would look at me and my Dad and ask me what happened to me, like I was some weird abnormality. In first grade, I got laughed at for having to use the Kindergarten chair still. There were times I had to sit on books to see things. Clothes fit me weirdly and I didn't stop shopping in the kids section until I was in Jr high. Actually some stuff, I still can. I can still buy kids shoes even. By 6th Grade, I was done growing and had been called “short” so many times, you'd think it was my name. But that was when I learned to embrace it.

Guess what? I love being short. So fuck off.

In 7th grade. I experienced my first real tragedy. I lost one of my best friends. She was kidnapped, raped and murdered. I didn't know then how much this would change me forever. My life spun out of control and for the first time, I felt like I couldn't control anything around me.

We moved the following year after someone broke into my house when I was alone. Hiding under the house on the phone with 911 until the cops showed up, only to walk out and see snowy footprints on the floor throughout the house. Nope. Head now totally fucked up.

By the time I got to the new School. Between starting all over again with the short jokes, I got called a slut (for wearing short skirts) I was new. Skinny, with big boobs. All things I had gotten used to at my old School. But now, I had all these girls hating me, and these guys flirting with me. I'd go to Gym and the boys would run around with me and tell me to run faster. Then turn around and stare at my chest. “Careful, you're going to get black eyes, do you need me to hold them for you?” Girls whispering “See, I told you she was a slut” I didn't even know you could be a slut when you'd never had sex before. Learn something new every day.

The teasing got so bad, that I started wearing more bras to make my boobs look smaller. Then I started wrapping ace bandages around them. I had boys asking me out, but then just as quickly breaking up with me when they found out I wouldn't sleep with them. More reason for the girls to call me a slut. Sigh

Finally I got so depressed I just quit suiting up for gym. I told the Gym teacher that I was tired of being teased and since he didn't do anything to stop them, I would just participate anymore. So I got an F. Well, until my Dad went down to the School and threatened them with a law suit for sexual harassment. The following year, the school offered an all girls aerobics class. So even though my credits for Gym had been waved, I joined it. Didn't stop the boys from standing at the door and cat calling. Ugh.

At this point, I felt like I didn't have control of anything in my life. But I could control food.

So at 96# and a 28DDD I decided that I was fat. Maybe people would stop teasing me if I wasn't. Since I couldn't exercise at school, I could at home. I rode my horse until dark. I walked the treadmill for hours. I ace bandaged myself, and jogged until I could barely stand. I mastered the art of pushing my food around on my plate and I was already such a small eater, my parents barely noticed. I wore layers of clothes because I was cold. I withdrew from everything. Every day I looked in the mirror and still saw fat. I only unwrapped my boobs when I took a shower. I wore black and hid in my room. I hated everything and everyone.

It wasn't until one Teacher that I absolutely loved pulled me aside at lunch time and said “Okay. Enough of this. You will sit in my room every day and eat with me” I looked at her and said “I'm fine” She glared at me and said “The fuck you are” With shock on on my face, I sat there with my mouth open. Wow. She just swore. I'd never heard that.
She said “You will sit here and eat with me, or I will call your parents and you can eat with them” Shit. She meant business. She looked at my “lunch” 2crackers and an apple and said “You weren't even going to eat all of that. But each day. I'll bring you food. We'll start slow.”

She did this. Every day she made me go in her room, ever day she made me eat with her, every day she told me I was beautiful and listened to all my pains and she hugged me. She made me step on the scale because she had taken my measurements earlier in the year for Home Ec for a sewing project. I was 76# I started crying and she just held me until I stopped. Then she called my Mom and my Parents came down. Therapy followed.

So for the teachers on the board, to this day, this teacher is still my hero, don't ever think you don't make a difference in someone

I didn't want this to be so long. I want to tie this up by saying, this spiraled myself into a metabolism nightmare.

I went to therapy. But I didn't follow up with a Doctor to help me learn to eat again. Something I will forever regret. My metabolism was so messed up that when I ate, my body said “Hell yeah, give me that food!!!” When I ate, I started gaining the weight back fairly easily. By the time I met my husband (16) I was back to 96# but my boobs had shrunk to a DD. For my size that was still ridiculous. But I was learning to accept them.

I dated my husband all through High School and married him the year after I graduated. By the time we married, I was 130# and a 34E. I remember putting on my wedding dress, looking down and saying “what the hell happened? How did I get this fat? Thank god for all these ruffles”

Fast forward to kids. My first. I only gained 17#. I was big as a house. But that was not a lot of weight. My weight was now already out of control though. My boobs were their own table. After I had him. I lost it pretty easy. But he came 3 weeks early because he ran out of room to grow. C section.

My weight went up and down in the next couple years when I got pregnant again. With baby number 2. I didn't gain any weight. I actually lost weight. But fuck, could my boobs really get any bigger? Could my ass? I can't even see anything below my boobs, so I can ignore it right? Sigh
My daughter decided she wanted to fully cook. But since she was more than 7# she was C Section too.

Fast forward again. I've decided I'm going to lose this fucking weight. I do the new cool fad diet. HCG. 500 Calories. No Carbs/Sugar. I can do this!!! Spend the next year doing this and I lose 60 pounds. In this time, I lost my Mom and my Father in law and some how kept going. Look in the mirror every day and tell myself that my Mom would be proud. My family is proud. I can keep up with my kids, if I keep my clothes on, I look good, everyone tells me how amazing I look. Life is great right? “Just a couple more pounds, cause I can still see fat in my stomach” , “I can almost fit in my daughters clothes” (Lets ignore that she's a teenager and the size of a twig) “I can finally fit her shirts!!, but maybe just a couple more pounds because a size 4 still seems fat” (I started at a size 22) Now I'm out in public and people are telling me that I need to stop. I'm starting to look too thin. Too gaunt. But I tell myself “They don't see me naked. I can just go to 110# and be happy, I'm sure of it”

One day I saw a picture of myself and thought “Eww that is gross. Look at my face. I look sick” My daughter said “It's time to stop Mom” and looked at me with a sad face.

The next day I took my Dad to the Er because he was having chest pains and we found out he had Stage 4 lung Cancer. My entire world crashed right there in that hospital.

The next 8 months I spent fighting Cancer with my Dad. My world. I was always a Daddies girl and here I was watching my big, hulking father fade away. He was the hero of my world and now I was spinning out of control again. So as I packed his high protein meals for Chemo and radiation, who wants to pack a cucumber for myself to eat? So I learned the fine art of stress eating. Eat with Dad. He needs to eat. Eat your pain away because you have to be strong for him. Be strong for your kids who already lost 2 grandparents. Be strong for everyone else that doesn't understand why you are pushing them away. Food comforts. Food forgives. Food loves. When I want to cry, I'll eat. Don't let them see you cry! When I'm mad and angry at everyone. Eat, because. Well because that's just what fixes everything now. I mean, why not. I've basically gained all the weight back. So fuck it!

So when my Dad passed away and a part of me died with him. I finally let go. I went outside and screamed at the sky for taking away my hero. For taking away my control. For leaving me weak. For leaving me alone to take on the world without my parents.

Now, back in therapy trying to deal with all my crazy. And the Diabetes that I ended up eating myself into. My weight is a roller coaster, but the Demons still control me. I look in the mirror and I don't even know who I see anymore. I've seen so many different versions of me now that I don't even know who me is.

My body has been through so many different ups and downs and I'm still here. It has taken me through this crazy life, and I should love it. But for some reason I can't.
I know people tell me how beautiful I am, or how crazy I am for not seeing the beauty in myself. They tell me they don't understand why I am so hard on myself. Even I shake my head when I see someone I think is gorgeous saying “I'm fat, I have no ass, I have small boobs” I will roll my eyes. Then I try and remember I don't know her storm. I don't know what she's been through.

I want to see what others do. With all my heart, I try. I want to like me for me. Not what I look like. I want to stop putting so much pressure on myself to look like something Society has told me is beautiful. I am me. No one else. Some day I want to look in the mirror and be at peace. Just smile and walk away. Tell the Demons to go fuck themselves because I am better than they are.

So today..even if I do this one day at a time. Demons! Go FUCK YOURSELF!!

I am sooooooooooooooo Sorry for such a long read!

Sassy, I want to thank you so much for this story, we have talked about some of it over the time we have known each other. Seeing it all in a post like that, puts it together well.
This story is one of the reasons I say you are beautiful, it's straight from the soul and the heart of who you are, and from where you came. That takes real Bravery, I am so proud of you for doing that.

There are no Demons that can can break the heart and soul of who you really are. But they do mess with your mind and effect your feelings.

Demons live in mirrors and are liars, they project only an outer image of who you are.

One Day at a time Yes.
Never be sorry for a post such as this.
Your awesome and you rock.

 

[prop69]

thank you.

Sexy pic

 

[prop69]

I you so much, Sassy! It was a very brave thing to put it all out here. Some things even I didn’t know about. You’re still one of the bravest, smartest, and sexiest women I’ve ever known. Your strength inspires everyone around you. Look around your personal life. Look here on Lit. There should never be any doubt in your mind that you are beautiful inside and out. You’ve helped me cope with my own inner demons — which I may share here at a later date — and I could never repay you for that. This thread is the very essence of the love you have for this world, and we will all hopefully inspire you to finally love yourself once and for all.

DITTO

I agree with you

 

[Erotically_Yours]

Following Sassy's lead, I've decided to expose my inner demons too. Allow me to preface what follows below with this is not a call for attention or sympathy. Understanding and learning are much more productive anyway.

 

[Erotically_Yours]

I’ll start from the beginning. The very beginning in fact. I came into this world at a price. My mother had complications during her pregnancy. The doctors told her she had a choice: her, or me. She chose. It was a decision that my father did not agree with. And so, I was born, and her life ended. All of this I didn’t find out until much later in life. The story I was told by my father was that she left after I was born.

My existence was a constant reminder of what my father had lost. He was a prison guard and became an extreme alcoholic. I do not recall a moment when the smell of alcohol wasn’t on him. Anyway, being that constant reminder also meant that I was his personal punching bag — and that is putting it lightly. I had no other family than him. No mom. No siblings. No aunts, uncles, or grandparents. Only him.

It’s no secret that I was abused as a child. What is secret is the extent to which that abuse entails. My father was a cruel, sadistic person. He would slap me, punch me, kick me, tell me I was worthless, nothing, a burden — and those were the good days. The bad days...

One such bad day came while I was at home in my room playing video games. I was... 8 or 9 at the time. He came home after I got home from school at his usual time after hitting the bar for his fix. Just remembering the sound of his footsteps on the stairs haunts me. He came into my room, and I knew something was about to go horribly wrong. He was quiet. Too quiet. He had asked if I did any laundry. I told him no and I would get to it in a minute. This, of course, earned me a slap to the face. I broke down, started crying. He told me to stop, but I couldn’t. He grabs me by the hair, tells me he’ll give me something to cry about, and drags me out of my room, then throws me down the stairs. Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital with my leg in a sling. The doctor asked, “so you twisted your ankle on the stairs and fell, huh?” I ran the fall over and over in my mind. I remember the fall, I remember hitting my head, but not my ankle. That’s when I realized that my father had broken my ankle while I was unconscious to save his own ass. He would even later admit to it.

Another such bad day was when I was a little older. 12 I think. We were outside tending to the flowerbeds. Apparently, this is something my father and mother did together, so he felt compelled to keep them neat and orderly. I was on my knees pulling weeds and he had asked me something, I can’t remember what, but I do remember I smarted off to him. Next thing I know, *crack* and I blacked out. Woke up in the hospital, yet again, with an extreme migraine. “Shovel accident” is what they called it. Had five staples put in the back of my head. Still have the scar if you know where to look.

Days like that took their toll on my psyche. I became stronger. Meaner. Then one night, he came into my room, pissed I hadn’t done the dishes, and slapped me hard. I saw red, and as my head reared back, I drew my fist and hit him right in the jaw. Big mistake. He overpowered me and forced me to the floor face down. He had my arm locked. That prison guard training. Then he did the unthinkable... He raped me.

I was 14. That I do remember. It wouldn’t be the only time either. I fought. He’d win. After a while, I just let him. Easier that way.

I was never the same after that. My faith in God? Destroyed. My will to live? Gone. I tried to take my own life. Twice. Took a huge amount of his medications, mostly blood pressure meds. Both times I fainted, then woke up in a pool of my own vomit. My mind had given up, but apparently, my body didn’t get the memo. Not even death would grant me peace from my personal hell.

Going through school, I had made myself a reputation as the person you just don’t fuck with. I didn’t need friends. Sometimes, I’d start fights just to start them. In some sick frame of mind, I wanted others to feel a fraction of my pain. I wasn’t a good person, by any means. I was a troublemaker. A “raging bitch”.

That all changed my sophomore year when I met Amber. We had study hall together despite her being a senior and she sat beside me. For the longest time, we never interacted. She didn’t bother me, I didn’t bother her. Just how I liked things to be with other people. One day, the monitor left the room, and this jock douchebag from across the table starts picking on Amber. She was, after all, a lot of people’s doormat. They made fun of her. Called her “dyke” a lot. She never confirmed or denied that she was gay, but everyone assumed. I didn’t care one way or the other. Anyways, I was trying to study for my Calculus test (despite my rough upbringing, I still got good grades) and this asshole was getting on my nerves. Finally, I told him to shut the fuck up. He gets in my face and asks what I was going to do about it. Wrong move. I grab him by his dick, twist, then pull as hard as I could. He dropped instantly. His girlfriend stepped in. Wrong move. I grabbed her by the hair and slammed it on the table. Then, I sit down as if nothing happened in a room full of stunned students. The monitor comes back, sees two kids on the floor in agony, and, well, it went about as well for me as you’d think it would.

After my suspension and subsequent beating from my father, I came back to study hall and Amber finally spoke to me. She said “thanks” and we became friends. It was nice having someone to talk to for once, but I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about my life. That friendship blossomed from there, and soon after she was taking me places in her car. Shopping, movies, whatever else we could think of. I was more thankful to be out of the house than anything. Then one night, after we had seen some movie, can’t remember which for the life of me, she leaned over and kissed me. I freaked out. I was surprised, but not surprised all the same. Doing the only thing I knew how to do, I lashed out at her, told her not to talk to me again, and stormed into the house.

I spent the entire weekend thinking of that kiss. I was confused because I had every notion that I was straight. Weirder still, even before Amber came along, my father had a bunch of Playboys that I would sneak off and read. Seeing those pretty girls made me envious. I wanted to be like them. Loved and adored. Sometimes I’d masturbate to numb the pain after a beating, and at times, I’d so so while looking at these girls. I didn’t understand myself. Amber’s kiss... it didn’t feel terrible. So... I was a mess.

Next school day I ask Amber if we could talk after school. She agreed. We get in her car, and talk. I said I was sorry, and she was sorry too. As we talked, something came over me. I let my defenses down, and I kissed her. I knew then, I wasn’t straight.

We were inseparable after that. We’d make out every chance we could. Sex was inevitable, and I still remember our first time like it was yesterday. We had driven to this hilltop that overlooks the countryside. Mount Geez it’s called. Sounds cliche, but no one was there (it was actually closed off but we drove up anyway). We got in the back seat and started making out. She asked if I was ready, and I said yes. It was like a switch had been flipped, and this gentle creature took me like I never knew possible. I remember how her skin shined in the moonlight as we sweat from sex. It was... fantastic. Magical even.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I had something to live for. She made me feel there was good in people, that I could enjoy sex, that I was capable, worthy of, being loved.

One night shortly after, my father started his shit with me. I decided I wasn’t going to take it any longer. I had hidden a steak knife under my pillow just in case. Sure enough, he came in for his “fill”. He climbed on top of me, and I grabbed the knife, and I stabbed him in the arm with it. I told him, “you touch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you!” He left. So there I was, sobbing happily while clenching a bloody knife. For the first time, I had won. He never touched me again after that.

Time goes by. Amber graduates and I’m nearing the end of my junior year. Amber asks if we could talk. I knew something bad was coming. She drops the bombshell that she would be going off to Paris for college soon. She had every intention of going to culinary school to be a master chef. Her parents had it all paid for. She tells me that because I couldn’t go with her (financially I couldn’t) that we should see other people. She told me it wasn’t enough for me to only have phone calls and letters. I needed someone to hold and be held by. I hated her for saying that at the time, but she was right. Always wise, her. It broke my heart, and we enjoyed our final days together. I watched her get on a plane, and that was the end of us. Once again, I was alone, but I still held on to what she taught me; that life was worth living for. She not only taught me about myself but also saved me from myself.

More time passes. I graduate and immediately move out. Got a job at Target as a cashier, a crappy car, and an apartment. I quickly learned I wasn’t making ends meet. By complete happenstance, an acquaintance from high school gets ahold of me via EverQuest, an online video game. He asks me if I would go with him to a comic convention and be his pretend girlfriend. Said he would pay for everything plus $500. Rich kid, obviously. Being hard up for money, I took him up on it.

We go, and I play my part. It gets late and he suggests the four of us get a hotel room. Okay, but I insisted on a room with two beds. He said fine. We get to our room and he hands me an envelope. Inside was the $500 he promised. He then said there was another envelope with the same amount and I could have it if I slept with him. I was fucking furious!

I go to walk out and he stops me. He said that he was a virgin, and didn’t want to be one forever. Told me that I was the only woman he had ever been comfortable talking to, which was actually true given how awkward he was in high school. I told him I was a lesbian and wouldn’t even be any good at it. He said he didn’t care.

I considered my options. I could get a cab, spend nearly all the money I had just earned getting home, or, I could sleep with him. So, I slept with him. Not exactly my proudest moment, but I did at least learn that I could enjoy sex with men as long as I was the one in control. I didn’t allow him on top. I just rode him. Oddly enough, it was kind of nice.

After that experience, I realize that my day job wasn’t going to cut it. I immediately look into exotic dancing, figuring if I’m willing to fuck a guy for money, dancing naked should be easy. I’m quickly hired, get my contract set up, and I was nervous and embarrassed as you might guess. Fortunately, one of the dancers, an older woman, took me under her wing. She showed me some things, what to expect, and more importantly; to be in my own headspace. Shortly after, I began to enjoy it. I loved the attention. The money was great. And for the first time in my life, I was 100% free to do whatever the hell I wanted.

I put a lot of effort into my appearance. I still do. Even now, I still do the same routine I did as a dancer. I stay in shape. People here and in my personal life have always given me smiles and honeyed words. I am in no short supply of confidence -- on the outside. On the inside though? I'm a broken, fragile mess who freaks out over the smell of alcohol and loud footsteps on stairs. I harbor so much anger and bitterness that has built up over the years that I constantly struggle to keep it all contained. It's why I don't drink or do any other similar recreational indulgences. I must stay in control at all times. Even then, as was the case when I caught my husband of 16 years fucking some other woman in my bed, it comes out and I can't control it. By the end of that night, he lost two teeth and had a fractured jaw, and I was arrested. In a matter of days I had lost my marriage, my house, my job, and almost lost my daughter too.

This post has gone on long enough and honestly, there are even more wounds I'm leaving out. The point in me sharing all of this is that just because a person may have all those pretty physical features you wish you had, doesn't mean she isn't a broken, shell of a person on the inside. We all have our struggles. Our insecurities. It's so bad now that I can't even talk to people on the phone without severe feelings of anxiety. How fucked up am I?

But I'm trying to be a better person. I don't like being that equal opportunity dispenser of rage I was in high school. I don't like having these uncontrollable quirks I can't turn off. All I want is to be loved for who I am on the inside, not for my tits and ass that will eventually sag and get flabby in time and then leave me with no redeemable qualities at all. But then, who in their right mind would love someone like me? Every person I've ever loved has left me, so how am I to expect anything otherwise?

 

[scotluvsoral]

I’ll start from the beginning. The very beginning in fact. I came into this world at a price. My mother had complications during her pregnancy. The doctors told her she had a choice: her, or me. She chose. It was a decision that my father did not agree with. And so, I was born, and her life ended. All of this I didn’t find out until much later in life. The story I was told by my father was that she left after I was born.

My existence was a constant reminder of what my father had lost. He was a prison guard and became an extreme alcoholic. I do not recall a moment when the smell of alcohol wasn’t on him. Anyway, being that constant reminder also meant that I was his personal punching bag — and that is putting it lightly. I had no other family than him. No mom. No siblings. No aunts, uncles, or grandparents. Only him.

It’s no secret that I was abused as a child. What is secret is the extent to which that abuse entails. My father was a cruel, sadistic person. He would slap me, punch me, kick me, tell me I was worthless, nothing, a burden — and those were the good days. The bad days...

One such bad day came while I was at home in my room playing video games. I was... 8 or 9 at the time. He came home after I got home from school at his usual time after hitting the bar for his fix. Just remembering the sound of his footsteps on the stairs haunts me. He came into my room, and I knew something was about to go horribly wrong. He was quiet. Too quiet. He had asked if I did any laundry. I told him no and I would get to it in a minute. This, of course, earned me a slap to the face. I broke down, started crying. He told me to stop, but I couldn’t. He grabs me by the hair, tells me he’ll give me something to cry about, and drags me out of my room, then throws me down the stairs. Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital with my leg in a sling. The doctor asked, “so you twisted your ankle on the stairs and fell, huh?” I ran the fall over and over in my mind. I remember the fall, I remember hitting my head, but not my ankle. That’s when I realized that my father had broken my ankle while I was unconscious to save his own ass. He would even later admit to it.

Another such bad day was when I was a little older. 12 I think. We were outside tending to the flowerbeds. Apparently, this is something my father and mother did together, so he felt compelled to keep them neat and orderly. I was on my knees pulling weeds and he had asked me something, I can’t remember what, but I do remember I smarted off to him. Next thing I know, *crack* and I blacked out. Woke up in the hospital, yet again, with an extreme migraine. “Shovel accident” is what they called it. Had five staples put in the back of my head. Still have the scar if you know where to look.

Days like that took their toll on my psyche. I became stronger. Meaner. Then one night, he came into my room, pissed I hadn’t done the dishes, and slapped me hard. I saw red, and as my head reared back, I drew my fist and hit him right in the jaw. Big mistake. He overpowered me and forced me to the floor face down. He had my arm locked. That prison guard training. Then he did the unthinkable... He raped me.

I was 14. That I do remember. It wouldn’t be the only time either. I fought. He’d win. After a while, I just let him. Easier that way.

I was never the same after that. My faith in God? Destroyed. My will to live? Gone. I tried to take my own life. Twice. Took a huge amount of his medications, mostly blood pressure meds. Both times I fainted, then woke up in a pool of my own vomit. My mind had given up, but apparently, my body didn’t get the memo. Not even death would grant me peace from my personal hell.

Going through school, I had made myself a reputation as the person you just don’t fuck with. I didn’t need friends. Sometimes, I’d start fights just to start them. In some sick frame of mind, I wanted others to feel a fraction of my pain. I wasn’t a good person, by any means. I was a troublemaker. A “raging bitch”.

That all changed my sophomore year when I met Amber. We had study hall together despite her being a senior and she sat beside me. For the longest time, we never interacted. She didn’t bother me, I didn’t bother her. Just how I liked things to be with other people. One day, the monitor left the room, and this jock douchebag from across the table starts picking on Amber. She was, after all, a lot of people’s doormat. They made fun of her. Called her “dyke” a lot. She never confirmed or denied that she was gay, but everyone assumed. I didn’t care one way or the other. Anyways, I was trying to study for my Calculus test (despite my rough upbringing, I still got good grades) and this asshole was getting on my nerves. Finally, I told him to shut the fuck up. He gets in my face and asks what I was going to do about it. Wrong move. I grab him by his dick, twist, then pull as hard as I could. He dropped instantly. His girlfriend stepped in. Wrong move. I grabbed her by the hair and slammed it on the table. Then, I sit down as if nothing happened in a room full of stunned students. The monitor comes back, sees two kids on the floor in agony, and, well, it went about as well for me as you’d think it would.

After my suspension and subsequent beating from my father, I came back to study hall and Amber finally spoke to me. She said “thanks” and we became friends. It was nice having someone to talk to for once, but I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about my life. That friendship blossomed from there, and soon after she was taking me places in her car. Shopping, movies, whatever else we could think of. I was more thankful to be out of the house than anything. Then one night, after we had seen some movie, can’t remember which for the life of me, she leaned over and kissed me. I freaked out. I was surprised, but not surprised all the same. Doing the only thing I knew how to do, I lashed out at her, told her not to talk to me again, and stormed into the house.

I spent the entire weekend thinking of that kiss. I was confused because I had every notion that I was straight. Weirder still, even before Amber came along, my father had a bunch of Playboys that I would sneak off and read. Seeing those pretty girls made me envious. I wanted to be like them. Loved and adored. Sometimes I’d masturbate to numb the pain after a beating, and at times, I’d so so while looking at these girls. I didn’t understand myself. Amber’s kiss... it didn’t feel terrible. So... I was a mess.

Next school day I ask Amber if we could talk after school. She agreed. We get in her car, and talk. I said I was sorry, and she was sorry too. As we talked, something came over me. I let my defenses down, and I kissed her. I knew then, I wasn’t straight.

We were inseparable after that. We’d make out every chance we could. Sex was inevitable, and I still remember our first time like it was yesterday. We had driven to this hilltop that overlooks the countryside. Mount Geez it’s called. Sounds cliche, but no one was there (it was actually closed off but we drove up anyway). We got in the back seat and started making out. She asked if I was ready, and I said yes. It was like a switch had been flipped, and this gentle creature took me like I never knew possible. I remember how her skin shined in the moonlight as we sweat from sex. It was... fantastic. Magical even.

For the first time in my life, I felt like I had something to live for. She made me feel there was good in people, that I could enjoy sex, that I was capable, worthy of, being loved.

One night shortly after, my father started his shit with me. I decided I wasn’t going to take it any longer. I had hidden a steak knife under my pillow just in case. Sure enough, he came in for his “fill”. He climbed on top of me, and I grabbed the knife, and I stabbed him in the arm with it. I told him, “you touch me again, and I’ll fucking kill you!” He left. So there I was, sobbing happily while clenching a bloody knife. For the first time, I had won. He never touched me again after that.

Time goes by. Amber graduates and I’m nearing the end of my junior year. Amber asks if we could talk. I knew something bad was coming. She drops the bombshell that she would be going off to Paris for college soon. She had every intention of going to culinary school to be a master chef. Her parents had it all paid for. She tells me that because I couldn’t go with her (financially I couldn’t) that we should see other people. She told me it wasn’t enough for me to only have phone calls and letters. I needed someone to hold and be held by. I hated her for saying that at the time, but she was right. Always wise, her. It broke my heart, and we enjoyed our final days together. I watched her get on a plane, and that was the end of us. Once again, I was alone, but I still held on to what she taught me; that life was worth living for. She not only taught me about myself but also saved me from myself.

More time passes. I graduate and immediately move out. Got a job at Target as a cashier, a crappy car, and an apartment. I quickly learned I wasn’t making ends meet. By complete happenstance, an acquaintance from high school gets ahold of me via EverQuest, an online video game. He asks me if I would go with him to a comic convention and be his pretend girlfriend. Said he would pay for everything plus $500. Rich kid, obviously. Being hard up for money, I took him up on it.

We go, and I play my part. It gets late and he suggests the four of us get a hotel room. Okay, but I insisted on a room with two beds. He said fine. We get to our room and he hands me an envelope. Inside was the $500 he promised. He then said there was another envelope with the same amount and I could have it if I slept with him. I was fucking furious!

I go to walk out and he stops me. He said that he was a virgin, and didn’t want to be one forever. Told me that I was the only woman he had ever been comfortable talking to, which was actually true given how awkward he was in high school. I told him I was a lesbian and wouldn’t even be any good at it. He said he didn’t care.

I considered my options. I could get a cab, spend nearly all the money I had just earned getting home, or, I could sleep with him. So, I slept with him. Not exactly my proudest moment, but I did at least learn that I could enjoy sex with men as long as I was the one in control. I didn’t allow him on top. I just rode him. Oddly enough, it was kind of nice.

After that experience, I realize that my day job wasn’t going to cut it. I immediately look into exotic dancing, figuring if I’m willing to fuck a guy for money, dancing naked should be easy. I’m quickly hired, get my contract set up, and I was nervous and embarrassed as you might guess. Fortunately, one of the dancers, an older woman, took me under her wing. She showed me some things, what to expect, and more importantly; to be in my own headspace. Shortly after, I began to enjoy it. I loved the attention. The money was great. And for the first time in my life, I was 100% free to do whatever the hell I wanted.

I put a lot of effort into my appearance. I still do. Even now, I still do the same routine I did as a dancer. I stay in shape. People here and in my personal life have always given me smiles and honeyed words. I am in no short supply of confidence -- on the outside. On the inside though? I'm a broken, fragile mess who freaks out over the smell of alcohol and loud footsteps on stairs. I harbor so much anger and bitterness that has built up over the years that I constantly struggle to keep it all contained. It's why I don't drink or do any other similar recreational indulgences. I must stay in control at all times. Even then, as was the case when I caught my husband of 16 years fucking some other woman in my bed, it comes out and I can't control it. By the end of that night, he lost two teeth and had a fractured jaw, and I was arrested. In a matter of days I had lost my marriage, my house, my job, and almost lost my daughter too.

This post has gone on long enough and honestly, there are even more wounds I'm leaving out. The point in me sharing all of this is that just because a person may have all those pretty physical features you wish you had, doesn't mean she isn't a broken, shell of a person on the inside. We all have our struggles. Our insecurities. It's so bad now that I can't even talk to people on the phone without severe feelings of anxiety. How fucked up am I?

But I'm trying to be a better person. I don't like being that equal opportunity dispenser of rage I was in high school. I don't like having these uncontrollable quirks I can't turn off. All I want is to be loved for who I am on the inside, not for my tits and ass that will eventually sag and get flabby in time and then leave me with no redeemable qualities at all. But then, who in their right mind would love someone like me? Every person I've ever loved has left me, so how am I to expect anything otherwise?

It takes my breath away, that you two women would share such stories, so courageously, so honestly. Again, I feel honored to read your story and blown away by your courage. I also feel inadequate to help assuage pain. Abuse is never about the victim..it is always about the weakness and evil of the perpetrator!!! But survival and recovery is ONLY about the survivor! I so admire you for your journey to where you are and hope your journey continues until you shake the damage done to you bt the weak ass who hurt you!

 

[LizVegas79]

Oh my God! You are BOTH such incredible women!

EY you have to find that spark inside you that wants you to be that person who you want to be. I would suggest the same thing for you Sassy. Have either of you ever read any Michael Beckwith? He's amazing. I would highly recommend "Life Visioning" for starters since you both seem to be confronting the issues and feelings that are holding you back rather than trying to suppress them.

Not that I can possibly imagine what either of you went thru as children, but I do know that it only defines you if you let it define you.

Your ability to share and articulate your stories, wrestle with your rage proves that you are both already stronger than you may think. Find that spark inside yourself that lets you love yourself and imagine a better, healthier you. You will see that spark will turn into a flame and that you will begin to attract the right kind of people you need in your lives rather than repeating old familiar patterns of rage mixed with guilt mixed with confusion, anger and everything else.

Not to get too preachy or anything, but you both maybe should look to see if there are any New Thought communities near you. Specifically Unity, or a Center for Spiritual Living. They helped me tremendously.

If nothing else, they usually have great bookstores full of helpful, supportive and inspiring authors that can be there on your inner journey to an outwardly better life.

 

[Joxlrg]

One word

HUG

 

[SassySheDevil]

But I'm trying to be a better person. I don't like being that equal opportunity dispenser of rage I was in high school. I don't like having these uncontrollable quirks I can't turn off. All I want is to be loved for who I am on the inside, not for my tits and ass that will eventually sag and get flabby in time and then leave me with no redeemable qualities at all. But then, who in their right mind would love someone like me? Every person I've ever loved has left me, so how am I to expect anything otherwise?

Me. All your flaws, all your imperfections and insecurities, all your beauty, your amazing heart, and the support you give me every day. We fight this battle together.

But our quirks is what brought us together. This is how we bonded. Our inner Demons and opposite insecurities. You are a big reason I am reminded that physical beauty doesn't mean that person has a perfect life. I still remember the first time I talked to you thinking "but why would such an amazingly beautiful woman like this, talk to me?" And truthfully, this makes me sad. Because when people say something similar about me, I am sad.
Why should looks make us fearful to approach someone? The first person to really say something like that to me, has been my best friend for 5 years now. He didn't think I'd talk to him because I was "Popular"
So you help me heal. I help you heal.
Lit and support, and friends , and others showing us they also have vulnerabilities helps us all heal.

 

[LizVegas79]

So you help me heal. I help you heal.

Lit and support, and friends , and others showing us they also have vulnerabilities helps us all heal.

Exactly!

 

[hotcpu]

Sassy, Liz and EY

You ladies are all so amazing in your own right. I can not imagine the hurts and pains that you all have had to deal with in your lives. I only hope that I and all the other LIT family members can continue to help each other laugh, smile and maybe even a thoughtful moment or two as we continue this journey we call life!!

Thanks to each of you for baring your collective souls and showing the path that has led each of you here. It touched my heart to think about even the most gorgeous women that my path crosses still has insecurities that I may never even imagine.

I hope to use this information to continue to try to serve and brighten every person that comes across my life no matter how briefly! Thanks again to you 3 Beautiful, Brave and VERY STRONG Women!!