I learned that, like me, she didn't fit in with her family (though she had to deal with more fucked-up shit than I did). That, like me, she never graduated high school. That, like me, she had insecurities and dreams and fears and dreaded spending time with her family sometimes.
We are different women. But gods is it comforting to be able to tell myself - sincerely, for once - that I'm not a failure, or a lost cause, or doomed to work in an adult bookstore for the rest of my life.
I wish I could thank her for posting those posts, and keeping them public, without sounding like a creeper. Ah well, it's probably for the best.
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