i like to write. i've always been a writer at heart and probably always will be. i'm going to attempt to bore my readers about my life but i'll make it so interesting, they won't realize that they're reading shit.
i'm not proud of this one. i'm not proud of the subject of this story, either. re-reading this, i've realized many places where it feels choppy and rough, places where i could have improved the dialogue, places where i could have not sounded like a 16-year-old girl, places where i just didn't like the story.
everything in this is true, or is not. this isn't a first chapter, or a second, or a last chapter. it's kind of a stand-alone, but it also fits in with the greater picture that is my memoir.
oh, fuck it. i just have one question for you:
( Let me ask you hey, have you heard of my religion? it's called the church of hot addiction. )