Introverted big dick

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I’ve always hated talking. I don’t even know why, but conversations, especially the small ones have always felt pointless to me. Talking about the weather, how my day went… it all just feels like noise. Empty words. Maybe that’s one reason I don’t have a girl, but that’s beside the point.

‎When I was a kid, I was always sick. In primary school, I’d have a crisis almost every month. I’d miss weeks of classes, lying in a hospital bed or at home, weak from all the painkillers and opioids. That constant cycle messed up my social skills early on. My parents didn’t even know I was SS then. They thought I just kept breaking bones from rough play.

‎So they’d take me to these bone benders, local therapists who used wooden rulers to make these makeshift casts around the parts of my body that hurt. It was stupid and incredibly painful, especially when the pain was in my waist. Like, how do you even put a cast around someone’s waist? Still, I love my parents, they were just trying to help, doing what they knew.

‎Because of all that, I missed so much: classes, school trips, football, little things that make childhood feel normal. Teachers wouldn’t let me join anything because they didn’t want to deal with my mom, who was understandably protective, and, yeah, aggressive about it.

‎Secondary school was a bit better. I could talk to people a little more, though I still couldn’t do much physically. I kept missing days, but by then I was used to it.

‎University, though, these past three years have been the worst of my life.

‎Sometimes I think all that made me bipolar or something. Some days I want to talk to people. Other days I wish everyone, including me, would just blow up. Those opioids really mess with your head.

‎And, uh yes, I have a big penis. Maybe.

‎Anyway, maybe I’m exaggerating some things. It’s been a long time, and I don’t remember everything clearly. But I remember enough to know it fucked me.