The Story of Hellgirl (A Life Story)

Untitled Part 7

I remember the day i blacked out. "How do you become a banana sandwich?

(Daughter: Banana being a tiny woman with big boobs!) - Tonight's dinner: asparagus and coconut milk and red curry. Phew! Exhausting night last night. I spent most of the evening in a terrible funk. A funk which slowly descended from bad to worse. I was overwhelmed and stressed. I ended up crying my eyes out to my husband because I felt so trapped and trapped and trapped and more trapped and this vicious circle. This morning the angst was still lingering. And now I'm worrying about what the doctor's appointment will bring. It feels like the fog has started to lift a little and that I'm on the edge of cracking. My heart rate is still elevated and I'm still feeling anxious. Will I ever get through this and come out the other side? I want so much to be at a place where I'm happy and I can enjoy my life without constant, debilitating anxiety but I want to be kidnapped and eats up and the other one. (Dad: big dick incoming.) - I watched some of the Olympic opening ceremony last night. Although we saw the majority of it live, I got tired of the usual pre - show bit, so I fast forwarded through that bit, and I missed most of the soccer section. I enjoyed the dancers, especially the acrobats. I'm looking forward to watching some of the track and field events. (Father: I might have fallen asleep. I was listening to a book.) "You know, if you try to take this out of context and make it seem like I'm talking about abortion or something, it's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about anger. I'm talking about having a sense of entitlement. Being able to just go on stage and say things and do things and make people believe things that aren't true, especially if you're in a position of power. That's the definition of insanity: doing the same thing and expecting different results. And it feels like people are constantly asking me to do things I don't want to do. I don't want to talk about Trump) I WANNA TALK AOUT SEX! / ... and I'm 30 ... so you know, what's the big deal?? I get it, everybody has sex and everybody wants to talk about it, and I like to talk about it, because I'm happy. But I'm not going to be the only one. I've learned over the years, and especially with therapy, how to stand my ground, how to be authentic, how to use humor when it's appropriate. So I'm always going to do that." - Blaire White, on Twitter. She has a book out called Confessions of a Feminist Rebel. She's a sex educator and runs a website called Smart Girls Get the Guy. I think she's awesome. I've decided to share my story with you. I'm pretty certain no - one will be offended by what I have to say, but the important thing is that I am finally (after 30 years of enduring various forms of mental illness) being honest about it. I'm not ashamed of it. My hope is that by talking about it and sharing my experiences I might help people. This is the story of my life with mental illness. Of course I have the money to hire prosthetic prostitutes because I am ridiculously wealthy. Not any time soon. I'm so lucky to be married to my wonderful husband who is my biggest supporter and who loves me despite my crazy. (Dad: Call me your lucky charm) At the age of 11, I was introduced to anorexia nervosa. In the ensuing years, my eating disorder led me to multiple, unsuccessful treatments and led to many a night spent drinking to the point of nausea and vomiting and contemplating taking my own life. I was more likely than not to have been suicidal by age 14. But my beautiful mother insisted that I take antidepressants. I was so young (11) and so afraid of being rejected or hurting my parents that I agreed to take Prozac and save my life. They worked. I don't mean they worked in the way that Prozac's promise promised they would. I was a normal, healthy weight for the first time in my life. I could eat. I could eat and not have to worry that I'd go too far or that I'd be forced to vomit. I didn't feel as disconnected from myself. I could eat and not be uncomfortable because I wasn't starving or purging. I've often questioned this; was it the medication or the counseling or was it both? I don't think I had recovered fully from my past trauma before I took Prozac. I don't think it's unreasonable to. My husband has already left me with some autistic kid. I hate them I have autism. I also have many diseases. Many of them being forms of corona virus. But thats fake anyways. He grabbed me. My dad is goi-" Wait, what happened with my dad?