mom I'm your baby girl & you didn't protect me you trusted too much you loved too fiercely & too many degrees close to stockholm syndrome to notice me. I'm your baby girl & I don't know what's going on why I feel this way why I need to touch myself all the time I feel so *****+used+sinful+guilty+unwanted+ashamed but I need it I can't stop. I don't know why I hate people that smile at me, talk with exaggerated chipper voices (it's creepy). I don't know why they always have their hands on me, lingering touches on my head shoulders hair arms whispering in my ears hugging me {i don't know you or like you i'm scared of you get your hands off me everything makes me frustrated + angry + i don't ******* understand anything mum} Wicked Witch of the West you cry & cry all day tell me I'm stupid. You & dad repeat over & over a prayer you always recite when I act up "What in the hell ails you, child?!" you two think I'm flawed, all through & that you can spank & discipline my problems away.