MY PSYCHOLOGIST had three nipples.
That’s a fun fact for you all.
And now you know why I bottle so much inside.
How did I know my psychologist had three nipples? Well. He showed me. But don’t worry. It wasn’t weird or anything. He showed me in my foster mother’s lounge room.
Mr Brown was teaching me not to worry about teasing. Or something like that.
I said “ha ha, beard man. You’re a freak.”
I haven’t mentioned Mr Brown before. And that’s because I had a long list of psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers, mentors, witch doctors trying to solve my problems in the vain hopes that one day I wouldn’t spent my 19th birthday in a prison.
Yeah, I’m 25 and the most I’ve known about adult prison is from Orange is the New Black. So it couldn’t have been a vain hope, right? Right?
All those social workers, psychologists, witch doctors must have made a difference in my life? Right? Right?
They were either liars, or as dysfunctional as I was.
So what happened? Well.
I think maybe this blog will eventually get to that. But not today. Because I’m milking my story for all its worth so that it’s worth something.
Also, you’re probably thinking “what type of girl are you into!”
Yeah. Well. I’m dysfunctional and I’m a liar. I’ve worked out I get high readership with sexual/romance related posts. The three nipples thing? Nah.