taken from
karnythia:
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Post anonymously [by selecting the anonymous box]. Speak honestly, because there isn't any censure here. Post as many times as you like. One faceless wonder to another. You don't have to be on my friends list. You can just be stopping through. It doesn't matter.
Leave me an anonymous comment pouring your heart out. Say anything. Tell me your stories, your secrets, those things no one ever asks but you wish to tell. Tell me about your love, your hate, your indifference, your joy. Tell me about what's inside of you when you're reading through these entries on your friends list, and tell me why you continue to come back here. Tell me anything. Tell me what you really think of me or yourself. Anything.
Post anonymously [by selecting the anonymous box]. Speak honestly, because there isn't any censure here. Post as many times as you like. One faceless wonder to another. You don't have to be on my friends list. You can just be stopping through. It doesn't matter.

Comments
When we were leaving the house, my mother said, "Now go get yourself a man tonight! But pick a good one!" I rolled my eyes, knowing that the last place I would want to pick up a guy is in a bar, especially one in my hometown.
My mother caught the eyeroll, and said, "What, are you queer or something?"
It is the most hurtful thing she has ever said to me, and even though she said it in a joking fashion -- and even though we have never spoken of it in the six years since and I know she probably doesn't even remember saying it -- part of me has never forgiven her for that. And that same part of me probably never will.
Because the thing is -- it's not that I find the idea of being queer an insult. No, the main problem is because, even though I don't identify as "gay", I also don't identify as "straight." I fall somewhere in the middle, and that joking question made me realize something that I never wanted to.
My mother has always, always told me that there's nothing I can't tell her, nothing I could tell her that would make her stop loving me.
Thanks to that night six years ago, though...I know that's not true.
I hate my job right now. I work with a bunch of f*&^ing morons who don't listen. Sometimes I just want to throw up my hands and WALK OUT!