I’m 5’8″ and 256lbs. Unbelievable to me. In Highschool I was 120lbs when I graduated. A year later I weighed 175lbs when I got pregnant. Lots of Cheetos? I don’t know. I really don’t know. That was almost 17yrs ago. All I know is that my sons sperm donor (my common law husband) first held up my panties out of the washer and said, “Anyone wanna go parachuting?” Really? I cried. I was carrying a child. A parasite eating thing inside of me and I wasn’t going on a diet. I wasn’t going to eat like a horse either. I did love Mexican and fried catfish while I was pregnant and didn’t hold back. Pistachios were my favorite at the end. My due date was August 31, the night that Princess Diana died. I remember I was eating Pistachios when she died watching the news cast. I’ll never forget that. The red ones. My fingers were still stained when I had my C-section on Sept 11th. It’s funny how you remember certain things. I had never given her a second thought but when she died I was thinking, “I’m eating Pistachios and she died. What a shame.” Now when I see news things about her I remember that time and feel sentimental. She’ll never know how much I remember her. My ex? I WISH I could forget him. You can’t do that though. Damn that. Fuck HIMMMMMM. He took my self esteem at such a young age, which is a another blog for another time, but the point here is, WORDS HURT. Words feel good. Words hurt a lot though most of the time. You remember the propaganda in the wars? This was my own war. I had my own propaganda. I didn’t realize it at the time but now I do. Especially now that I’m in a new relationship. Five years divorced. Finally found a guy that I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. I feel fat and ugly. Fuck you Paul. Yes I’ll say his name. I don’t care. When you read the other blog I’ll eventually write, you’ll be saying fuck you Paul too. Trust me. My sons dad would sit in front of our friends, show them a high-school picture of me and say, ” She used to be hot right? Now look at her.” In our 12 years of marriage we maybe had sex together eight times. And then the joke was we were done before the TV show came back on after the commercials were over. Who likes commercial sex? I did. It was all I did. The point is…just like you shave…you get razor burn…it lasts a few days. I know because my Sir expects me to be shaven. Lets talk about shaving your heart. Your soul. Your heart. That razor burn lasts a long time. Beware of the words you speak. I want to apologize to Bobby, a girl in high-school. I made fun of her and who knows what sorrow I put her through and what she’s going through now because of my ignorance. I was brainwashed that I was fat and ugly and now that I have a man who loves me for who I am…I can’t accept it. I cry every night. Which sucks. So watch your shaving. Please. Watch it.