Vent.
I swear to fucking god I want a sugar daddy.
Or a brain transplant.
Because I either need to get an entirely squeaky clean brain that won’t get pissed every time she makes a “joke” about my autism or money to just fucking leave.
And that’s not even the worst thing she did in six hours.
Ah well. At least my father’s only implied that I had less than half a brain recently.
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