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My eight year old body is stone. My tongue swollen to the roof of my mouth in lumps. My lips too heavy for my face. Each knob on my spine three times too big. lace coverd with long sleeve wear of the wedding
I try to tell my dad; impossible with a mouth full of rocks.
All he sees is a distressed child.
My dad walked me through my episodes. He always found the absurd comical. I frightened my mother, because this was something she could not control.
To their credit, they accepted my realities. They could have called me bat shit crazy. I am blessed they did not.