Some Other Goon posted:
I am a socially awkward overweight female who suffers from various mental disorders, one of which contributes to my weight. I have on occasion plotted to kill my father's wife (not my birth mom) who was cruel to me for many years, and the whole family knew but never helped me, but have never followed through.. I was also sexually abused. I have also tried to kill myself. I currently go through therapy because I cut, not because I am "hardcore emo" but because I am one of the few who is genuinely sick, I am not proud of my cutting or suicidal rages, and all I ever wanted were friends who understood and support me through this mess.
I am 24 years old and have never even kissed a girl. I still live with my parents. I did two years of college but quit going even though I had a 4.0 GPA. There is something wrong with me where I purposely try to screw things up for myself. I make appointments and then don't go. I fill out my tax forms every year but do not mail them. I don't even cash my paycheck sometimes. I don't know why I do this but I cannot stop even though it is ruining my life. I have no friends and rarely leave the house. I do not know how to have a proper conversation and when meeting new people I end up feeling awkward and trying to leave. I cannot talk to anyone about myself ever. I tried seeing a psychologist several years ago but even though I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him I couldn't ever get anything out and eventually I just quit going. I have several medical problems, including what is probably an early sign of cancer but I know that I would be unable to talk to a doctor about anything and therefore have not seen one. For the last three years I have been planning to kill myself on my 25th birthday, which is about six months away now. I got a firearms license and a shotgun a year ago and am still planning on going through with it.
I lost my virginity to my older sister. She's not my half-sister or anything, but my full-blooded sister.
We were both homeschooled through high-school and have lived quite isolated lives. Our mom and step-dad were very religious and censored everything that came into our house (I couldn't even look the sears catalog without the women's clothing section being torn out). So, being young and horny and having no other outlet, it seemed almost natural that we'd look to each other for sex. It also didn't help that we had rooms next to each other on a separate floor from our parents and on the other end of the house.
Anyway, the first time, I was 14 and she came into my room and said she wanted to "try something," saying that it was a gift for me. Then she gave me an ackward blow job and when I blew my load I ran off thinking something was terribly wrong.
After that, she let me be and talked me into further experimentation. We ended up screwing every day, without fail, and I could convince her to blow me even if she initially refused. It was like asking her to share candy or something--"Please, come on please, come on.... come on... please? I'll be fast. Please?" "Oh all right." Meanwhile, Mom thought I was taking a shower while my sister was doing her hair. We had one bathroom, so pooping or brushing your teeth while someone was showering wasn't abnormal. I remember our step-dad sometimes commenting that I "shower too much."
I thank god that she had the smarts to use condoms, which she stole from our Mom and, rarely, bought them while we were in town. Still, because of the rarity of condoms, we actually re-used them. But I didn't mind it when we'd run out, because instead of no sex, we'd do anal and oral. Yeah, she was THAT paranoid about pregnancy--and thank god for that.
While we both had alternating fits of guilt, and I sometimes had terrible nightmares about going to hell or being left behind in "the rapture," we continued this until I was 17. A few years ago, my sister tried to blow me again (I was 21), but she was drunk and horny so I refused. But, god, that was hard to refuse, because she really is quite hot and the best sex I've ever had.
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The interpreter from the Mandela memorial tries to explain himself the only way he knows how.
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