Sometimes I slip. Sad stories are sad, and it can be easy to get caught up in them.
But no one who identifies as one of my broken girls is coming to me for sympathy. In their own fucked-up little ways, they just want someone to see them as they see themselves, to acknowledge their reality and even embrace it.
It’s hard enough in this world, feeling like a worthless cunt. It’s even harder when you realize it arouses you to feel that way. The last thing you want is a man’s pity… his pity only tells you that you’re not even good at being nothing.