Pride and Acceptance ?They loathe me; they shout the worst words (the kind that encircle you like flies; relentless) -burning, scathing words.It doesn't matter. I don't care what anybody else says.I am alone, shunned. I curl up in the wastelands of something I once recognised as my most intimate identity, but now feels foreign and outlandish; like myself. They're just words. I don't have to let them get to me.I am proud.I don't need anyone elseto accept me;I accept myself.
memories don't just fadeMy eyes are red and bloodshot, with low-lying eyelids.I widen them; it stings a little. So I squeeze them shut, and open them again - very slowly.I've been sobbing on my pillow; it's smudged with my mascara.Why didn't I take my makeup off before I went to bed?What was the point of that question? I sigh, I know exactly why there's no room in my mindfor thoughts about skincare.I turn back to the mirror on my bedside, and trail my gaze down from my pathetic eyes toward a purple gash running diagonally from my cupids bow to the left side of my cheek. My lip is split, so it hurts to talk now."If I slice your mouth sweetie
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