Cleaning Supplies

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:
“My Michelle – Guns N’ Roses” ★
01:22 ━━━━●───── 04:16
ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

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The ironically hilarious thing about Histrionic Personality Disorder is it’s the only personality disorder that can basically be boiled down to attention-seeking, yet somehow it gets the least amount of attention. I mention it because people often mistake some of the signs of it for hyper-sexuality or just being obnoxious. Now it’s important to note that growing up I had unlimited, unsupervised access to the internet. So by the end of my fifth grade year I already had a borderline porn addiction.

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In my sixth grade year I had my first ever male teacher, Mr. Killday. Well actually, I had  male teacher in the fourth grade and thought he had the biggest crush on me, but that’s a story for another time. Mr. Killday was basically a knock off of Mr. Clean–shiny bald head, broad shoulders, and a nice smile, at least that’s how I saw him. If he would have never looked at me during class, then I probably wouldn’t be writing about him today.

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The only reason I wouldn’t describe myself as hyper-sexual is because I don’t like having sex. Which is odd because I think about having it almost every second of the day. 

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I had to sit in the front of Mr. Killday’s class since I have terrible vision and at the time I refused to wear my glasses. My early access to adult films gave me a pretty basic understanding of human anatomy; so when I was face to face with the bulge in his pants I did what I always do, assumed it was there because of me. My crush on Mr. Killday started the day he told me I reminded him of his daughter. Weird I know.  You know the saying, one bad parent fucks up their child’s kinks… or something like that.

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A lot of other things were happening that year as well:

1. My parents were ending their custody battle
2. I stopped talking to my dad
3. Unbeknowsist to me, I was about to be forced into family therapy

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I think family therapy is hilarious, not as a whole, but as my parents refused to get me a therapist for talking back to the voices in my head, but now they want me to go because I don’t want to talk to them.

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Honestly…I don’t even remember why I stopped talking to my dad that time. 

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