I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if I had gone through life with the name Hugh Jass, and this was how a ten-year-old reacted to meeting me, I would probably think he was a nice young man, too.
Getting back into the kind of depression where thinking of making a meal makes me cry and need to sit down. The generational trauma in my family is too fucking much and I can’t believe how my aunt has been treated all these years.
