to sweat‚ my panic gripping me. The high I was riding on comes crashing down as I realize my predicament. I won’t be able to have my dream home with Sazzad. We won’t hold hands together and watch our male grow up. We won’t share a home‚ we won’t eat together‚ train together‚ we won’t grow old and die together. All my dreams‚ my love‚ my happiness even at the cost of my wild foregoing her half‚ lost in a minute. I try to walk away as fast as I can. I have to go away from here‚ before my mate sees
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I was diagnosed with depression when I was thirteen years old. I didn’t tell my parents until one year after I discovered my affliction. I often wallowed in self pity‚ For the next three years‚ I thought I was never good enough. I finally realised the road I was going on‚ was not where I wanted to be on. I would put such little effort into the things I would do‚ I felt useless. Despite not knowing who I was at the time‚ I knew I wasn’t going to let depression define me. I’m not saying that I now
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There I stood with my heart racing‚ ready to run five kilometers. To everyone else‚ this was an unimportant meet that even the coach said he did not care about. It was for me‚ however‚ more terrifying than losing my mom in the grocery store when I was a child. My first meet and all I could think of was my speed or lack thereof. I did not have distance spikes. I did not have a muscle roller. All I had was my heart in my throat paired with running shoes. Since the day before‚ my blood pressure had
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them in my arms. I finish my walk to my bike and place the milk and mayo in the basket of my bike along with the three half eaten jars of mayonnaise that are already sitting there still. I come to the top of the hill and I become anxious to go down. I steadily raise my feet from the pedals and give myself a gentle push. The little push was just enough to send me flying down the hill that was a struggle getting up before. The hard work has payed off and now I am on the easy road‚ things were looking
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I close the front door‚ kick off my shoes‚ and throw my bag down. Rummaging through the mail after multiple bills and shopping adds we never look at‚ I finally got it. This is the moment I have been yearning for since I was 12 years old‚ my letter from NYU. This will either make all my dreams come true‚ or have them all explode right in front of me. I sheepishly open the letter‚ not wanting to rip anything. I read it out loud‚ “Dear Dakota‚ we are pleased to announce that you have been accepted into
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barely grazed my fingers and my gaze followed it to the back row‚ not paying attention to how my feet were about to land. A split second after‚ I found myself curled up in a ball‚ grasping my ankle while my eyes started to water. Seeing as how it was our pink-out game‚ my tears began mixing with my makeup‚ creating miniature pink rivers streaming down my face. The athletic trainer darted to my side‚ trying to stop the crying‚ but nothing would work. While being escorted off the court‚ I did my best to
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breath‚ repositioned my hands‚ and continued. CREAK! This cannot be happening. Again? Seriously? SNAP! This was the day I ripped my fifth roll of film. The four previous times it happened‚ I exited the darkroom‚ plastered on a smile‚ and continued on. On this day‚ however‚ when the bell rang‚ I scurried into the nurse’s office‚ pretending to be ill. Sulking home and locking myself in my bathroom‚ the bottled up emotions poured out in tears of frustration and embarrassment. Being my eighth mess-up in
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the horrific smell of unwashed bodies came over me‚ almost making me choke in disgust. It was rather humid and I was finding it increasingly difficult to suck the oxygen into my body. I was suffocating like a fish out of water‚ labouring with every breath. The walls‚ the ceiling and the floor were all the same dull colour. My hospital room was small. I could not even take two large strides before I reached the other side of the stinking cage. Then an unearthly caterwauling sound filled the air. The
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I interviewed my grandmother‚ Cynthia Bonsey. She is 78‚ has six children and 10 grandchildren. She was a teacher in the early 60’s and married her husband‚ Roland‚ in 1961. She retired‚ in Lisbon‚ Maine in her early sixties‚ staying in the same house she raised her kids in. She was my biological grandmother’s best friend before she passed. After my grandmother’s death‚ Cynthia (or Grandma Bonsey) took over the role as my grandmother. Cynthia was mostly concerned with her arthritis when I asked
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entrance of my pussy! I tried to wriggle free but I was completely restrained by the other vines. The vine began to push its way inside of me; I surmised the rumours from the Argonian were true. I was getting pleasured by a plant! The vine pushed its way deeper and then began to expand inside of my canal. I felt another vine slip between my buttock cheeks and probe. The vine pushed its way inside my asshole‚ it began to expand and push deeper into my ass‚ mimicking the movements of the vine in my pussy
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