Personal Narrative: My Experience At A Post-Chronic Illness

After years of therapy, I can share without the horrid flashbacks, my experiences at a post-Vatican II catholic elementary school run by nuns. Years would pass before realizing how deep this torment buried itself into the depths of my psyche.

In my school faculty members unmarried to Christ fell into one of two categories. On the one hand, you had the group comprised of widows or unmarried women who not only cast no shadow in the mirror of focused self-reflection but left no visible marks of their passage through classrooms and hallways. In the 8th grade, I theorized that similar to a star destined to become a black hole, the sexuality and vitality of these women collapsed upon itself and created a misery so dense that it couldn't stop draining the life force of any living being around. When I came of age, I was nonplussed by the plague of extemporaneous erections which weighed down quite heavily on the spirit of my then compatriots. One of these teachers would pass by and this dull ache in the depths of my abdomen would commence. Finally, my erection would skulk away in a way comparable to how my penis retreats to safety the moment the woman who I am on a date with tells me she is a vegan, or follows the friendship first approach to dating.
Next time I catch a donkey show in Tijuana I won't empathize for the workers as much. Clearly donkey shows are a mean of empowering women to rescue the sexual elements of their narrative from the patriarchy. No one should feel shame for bestiality, fucking animals is everyone's right as a sentient being and also college cheerleaders. Perhaps the 'shepherding the weak through the valley of the darkness' in Samuel Jackson's celebrate Pulp Fiction monologue quoting Ezekiel 25 :17, was an allusion to pimping the harlot sisters out from two chapters before. But that's a separate