Well, my little fat-loving enthusiasts, here’s a new photo o..

Well, my little fat-loving enthusiasts, here’s a new photo of me with makeup that makes me look like an aging representative of the world’s oldest profession. And with the photo, a fresh hate post! See the room behind me? Keen observers might recognize it—I’ve taken a couple of photos here before. Lovely room, isn’t it? It would be, if my brother could master the basic skills of politeness and…well, maybe just using his hands? Unfortunately, that’s beyond us. He managed to graduate medical school, become a psychiatrist, aim for a seat in the government, have a baby—but cleaning up after himself in someone else’s house and making the bed? Nope, not in the skill set. Oh well, the boy is only 32 years old; he’s got time to grow up, our little darling 😍.

And now, unexpectedly, a little irritation directed at my mom. I wouldn’t call it hate, because usually she’s pretty considerate, but today was…something. I was on my second floor dressing up and trying to take this very photo in a way that didn’t make the fat spill out from every angle. And then I hear my brother’s daughter trying to climb the stairs, with my mom encouraging her. I ask her, “Please don’t bring her up here.” I ask once. Then again. And she still brings her up. Into my room.

In my room, I have perfumes on a low shelf. I was so stunned—because I’ve asked many times not to have people in my room—that I just sat there on the bed watching it happen. And of course, the baby broke one of the bottles. Mom got scared, apologized, and left, but…what the hell was that?

I get that Mom doesn’t guard her personal space at all. My brother and his baby literally barge into her room and sprawl on her bed whenever they want. But I’ve fought hard to reclaim my room from their invasions, and now they only enter with my permission and under my watch. Seeing this kind of behavior from my mom and feeling so powerless—because I didn’t want to be rude—was just strange.

What’s weirder is that my whole childhood, and even now sometimes, I’m accused of being rude, tactless, overly blunt. I don’t get it. Maybe I have schizophrenia and just don’t remember, or maybe I lack self-awareness, but I overthink everything I say and do, terrified of hurting someone’s delicate feelings or violating their personal space.

I literally started this OnlyFans to vent about things that bother or upset me because I never express these emotions in real life—I try to resolve conflicts with compromises or prevent them altogether. And lo and behold, all my friends and acquaintances outside the house think I’m sweet, kind, supportive, reliable. But at home? I’m apparently some kind of goblin who won’t let my totally out-of-line relatives walk all over me.

I’ve spent my whole life thinking I’m some kind of moral freak, ashamed to speak up in front of others, deeply embarrassed by my emotions and myself, feeling like I’m inappropriate, laughable, shameful. I’m sorry it’s taken me until this ripe old age to start realizing that maybe I was fine all along.