Avery, the most important time of your life is spent in the womb with your Mother. You will grow over nine months with the lifestyle of a parasite clinging for a free ride.  During such time you will have no windows into the world of human vanity and I envy your position of ignorance. The moment you’re born, this world will want to hide you from yourself. Human civilization likes to brag about their abilities of free thinking and expressionism. I think of it more as a delusional defense mechanism. Its not horrible that we hide, the horror is in the methods of our lies. We drown ourselves into a mental mucus of self-hate, and a palpable fear of the vehicle in which we exist. We all continue to carry an identical burden without ever noticing the irony of relevance.

I want to tell you about my physical deformities and the self torment I have endured my entire life. To put it simply, I live in a body that I hate. NLazy ot a day goes by that I don’t fantasize physical perfection. I hate my body hair, lazy-eyes,  penis, fat belly, love handles, man-tits, teeth, and my flabby stretch marked arms. Most of these things are my fault. I could eat healthier, see a dentist, exercise and dress better; but I don’t. All that aside, there is one physical failure that haunts my conscious above all else. I was born with a birth mark on my right but-cheek. Not some cute little freckle colored shape. Were talking about an area of black splotches that cover 75% of the right cheek. Not only does this look hideous, it is also complimented by matching lump shapes that feels similar to cottage cheese in a zip lock bag. Half of my sexual partners don’t even know this about me. I would keep my back-side hidden from them and intimacy would be tainted by my deception. The strangest thing is that it changes every day. Some days it feels and looks like a bag of black cancer rotting beneath my flesh. Other days, it looks like a faint bruise. Sometimes, I secretly wonder if it is my own natural mood ring. If only it had some secrete power or purpose, but it doesn’t. It just exists everyday as if it has its own personality. I often wonder if it is feeding off me, like an emotional parasite fueling off of my confidence and self worth while clinging to a free ride.


This is about you Avery, not me. I have my problems and I will continue to suffer from them with sporadic degrees of severity; but I wish to be stronger. I must act as a role model and start abandoning the sickness that I wish to spare you from. It is time for me to embrace my imperfections and lead by example. Exposure is the only cure, and with it, I shall finally be free of this emotional burden.

You give me courage:


Love, Dad

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