Externalization

I. #

• I’m ashamed about the ugly red pimples I’ve had on my legs since elementary school. I remember my mother trying so many treatments to make them go away until I told her: “I don’t care about them! Just stop rubbing all these stupid creams on me.” I imagine she thought them disgusting at first. I’m sure she doesn’t anymore, but I still do.

• I’m ashamed about how much I sweat. I sweat just by breathing. My high school classmates always made fun of the “pancakes” on my armpits. I’m sure the girls found it repulsive. It’s rarely brought up so directly anymore, but I know it still surprises and probably, sometimes, disgusts people.

• I’m ashamed of how sometimes I can’t control when I fart. I laugh a lot and sometimes in the middle of conversation they just fucking slip out like I’m some degenerate slob.

• I’m ashamed of how unphotogenic I am. I hate how I look in pictures. I hate pictures. I hate mirrors. I have an eye that’s like retarded. It can never look symmetrical with the other no matter how hard I try. I hate how I look because…

• I’m ashamed of my weight and how fat I am. I’m ashamed of my addiction to food and sugar. I’m ashamed of my lack of willpower or willingness to change myself; to stick to a regular healthy diet. I know it’s killing me and I do it anyways.

• I’m ashamed of my stretch marks and how I’ll have them for life. Forever branded a loser who couldn’t manage his eating, his weight, his life, his health, his looks.

• I’m ashamed of how I’ve never, NOT ONCE, really dated a girl. I’m ashamed of how much of a coward I am. I’m ashamed of my fear of rejection. How I assume, how I pretend like I know that some girl would never be interested in me.

• I’m ashamed of how hairy I am, particularly if I don’t groom myself.

• I’m ashamed of how I never learned to work out. I’m ashamed that I never work out. My arms are literally twigs.

• I’m ashamed of the size of my dick. What a FUCKING meme. God does it look tiny when it’s not hard and GOD does it look skinny when it is. My first time, it took 2 fucking hours for my partner to get me hard; she had to coddle me like some fucking baby. And even when I did, I couldn’t cum for days. All because I couldn’t believe that she’d actually enjoy having sex with me.

• I’m ashamed of how I used her. How I lied to her. How I abandoned her. I’m ashamed of the promises I made to her. I’m ashamed of ever committing to her.

• I’m ashamed of my terrible financial management. I’m ashamed of all the money I’ve blown on my stupid findom fetish.

• I’m ashamed of all the time I’ve wasted.

• I’m ashamed.

II. Adri #

Tengo un hijo, lo amo mucho. Pero no se dio como hubiese querido.

Su papá abuso de mi y en muchas ocasiones me siento culpable porque fui yo quien estaba en el lugar equivocado y lo conociá todo normal.

Pero cuando lo hacía le dije tantas veces que no.

Tengo años luchando con todo eso.

El papa de mi hijo es esposo de mi prima. Siempre nos crecimos como hermanas.

Digo que estuve en el lugar equivocado porque el me invitó a tomar.

Me comentó cómo me veía cuando yo era niña, el tiene 35 y yo 24 que le gustaba verme en sostenes, cosas así.

Luego me invito a un cuarto de hotel. Yo sabía que el obvio quería tener relaciones, pero jamás me dije que si.

Ahora no se cómo decirle a mi familia que el es el padre de mi hijo. De lo que hizo. Y no se cómo decirle a mi hijo quien es su papá.

Siento que en parte falle. Que tengo la culpa. Que mi hijo necesita saber. Y que siento que el mundo vendrá contra mi.

Yo no siento nada por ese hombre después de eso. Me ha costado formar una relación.

Odio y detesto que jamás me ha preguntado por mi hijo, y el sabe que es su papá.

Porque en ocasiones lo mira como detallando a mí bebé.

No quiero nada de él, ni su dinero.

Sólo que mi hijo lo conozca como papá.

Me duele muchísimo cuando mi hijo llama papá a mí hermano.

Contributors: Me | Adri

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