A Collection of Spectacles

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He slapped my face repeatedly while tears trickled out of the corners of my eyes as I held them shut. Fifteen, maybe ten, maybe five minutes before I begged him to hit me. I needed to feel lower than dirt since looking inward for solace was useless. The reason for my sad state felt stupid, which sent me into a drastic spiral of embarrassment over feeling so deeply about a minor transgression. I wanted to be hurt and cry and I was granted my wish. During the past few days, my mother’s voice has occupied my thoughts. “Why would you want to feel pain?” We had a tearful discussion that day, during which she vaguely mentioned my old scars. I found it funny that someone who carried my existence could fail to understand me so miserably.

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