Principal’s Office

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:
“Human – Rag’n’Bone Man” ★
01:22 ━━━━●───── 04:16
ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ♡

–

–

–

My therapist when I started college was a lady named Danielle. We didn’t work out. Nothing against her work ethic, it was because she shared the same name as my mom. After her I started seeing my last therapist, Mike… I wonder if that was short for Michael.

–

It’s a common notion that a girl’s first love is her father, I don’t know what they say about mothers though. I was a daddy’s girl growing up, which was odd since he wasn’t the parent that raised me–my mom made sure I knew that during the custody battle; I should probably tell you about it before I continue, but I’d rather you use your imagination for a tad bit longer. I use mine a lot too, usually imagining my life if I hadn’t ruined everyone else’s. I mentioned earlier that my mom started showing favoritism after I ruined hers. Me? For some reason everyone started to place the blame on me from a young age.

–

There is another Danielle who is imperative to this story. You see, the day my mom got served with the court papers stating that she was being sued for custody, was the same day we finished packing up our house so we could move from Texas to Illinois. My mom was a stay at home mom at the time so we had to live with relatives until everything sorted out. My little brother went to stay with my grandparents in Arkansas. My mom’s fiance–I hated him–went on to Quincy. While he was there, or probably sometime before, he met a woman named Danielle, it was probably easier to cheat when you didn’t have to worry about getting the names mixed up. I was unaware of any of this until my sixth grade year… when I was told it was my fault.

–

February 13th, 2019. The night before Valentine’s Day my mom had called me into her room, when I walked in she was crying on the floor. Her engagement had officially been broken off. In her own words, “You’re the reason I can’t find love. It’s your fault my son is away from me.” She blamed me for a grown man’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. The next day at school I cried in the vice principal’s office.

–

Growing up my mom usually hit me with her hand, which I think was unnecessary since her words were enough to make me cry. Around this time that hand bawled up and turned into punches on my chest. I guess the separation made her angry because not after long my chest became my face. I remember once around April that same year she called me into her room after I had gotten in trouble, I don’t remember much that was said but what I do remember is her following me to my room, punching me until I fell down, then stomping on my face. I had to go to church the next day with a busted lip as she laughed and told everyone I ran into a wall–I’m an atheist now.

–

I wonder if anyone ever did a study on how kinks develop; I like being slapped on the face.