⚠️ This is a true story, unfortunately.
🖤1st in a series
✅Completed
I labeled this as teen "fiction" because my target age group usually thinks of self-help books or text books when they hear "non-fiction" and don't realize a memoir reads like a...
My lists were finally complete. I'd made ten and cut them all out of the loose leaf I'd written them on, like trading cards. I color coded them in order of importance and gave them to Kiwi. I told him to follow the color sequence, to make sure all the lists were asked in the appropriate order. We rehearsed everything: the voice, the pitch, the tone, all of it. It had to be perfect. I instructed him to ask Dan one list every day but not to tell me anything until all the lists were complete, no matter what. Even if he said he wanted to marry me, don't say anything.
What I did was take all the old questions I'd asked before and amplified them with psycho-ology. For example, I asked if he was scared to talk to me, to which I predicted he'd say no. So the next question was, 'If you aren't scared, why aren't you answering Taylor?' Totally backed him into a corner. On another list I said, 'Taylor just wants to be your friend, so why won't you talk to her?' I predicted he'd say because he didn't know me. So, the next question was, 'You didn't know any of your friends until you talk to them, did you?' Mind blowing, quantum physics intelligent stuff like that.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A line up of annual Thanksgiving selfies of Ally and I...bc I like to be basic once a year.
Two weeks went by without mentioning a thing. My anxiety was building up, which I didn't notice how badly, until Thanksgiving Day. That was my favorite holiday. You could eat to your hearts content and still had a month to prefect your Christmas list.
The thought of eating made me sick this year, though. I couldn't remember the last meal I'd eaten. It had been days. I didn't get hunger pains or anything, so I just hadn't noticed. That was the one halfway good thing about anxiety. It prevented me from being an emotional eater. If I even thought about eating when I was severely anxious, I'd dry heave. I didn't get hunger pains, my stomach didn't growl, nothing. Everything in my body just knew to shut up and let it go.
I drug myself out of bed and turned on the Macy's parade, to get my mind off Dan. I took a bottle of wine and a wine glass out from under my bathroom sink and started chugging. I was on a mission to get a buzz, so I could at least give less of a fuck and try to eat. I felt less guilty about under aged drinking, knowing my cousins in Italy had been getting shwasty-faced on wine since they were twelve, so it was culturally acceptable somewhere.
