Jul 27, 2015
Prior to my ex, I always tried to figure out a way to cover up my body when it came to sex. I was a big believer in “fake it ‘til you make it” and developed a dual persona in my later teen years: the big, bombastic, confident fat woman that was everyone’s confidante who gave great advice on how to love ones’ self and look good, while internally I was doubting every item of clothing that I put on, every declaration of love or compliment about my beauty. I had experienced sexual abuse at a young age and kept hurting myself in similar ways, under the proclamation of reclaiming my sexuality. By nineteen, I had turned fucking into a sport and I was gathering trophies into my late twenties between serial relationships.