I believe there is something inherently wrong with me. That I am basically flawed.
I believe that, when I meet someone, the impression I give is that of a bull in a china shop and it takes people a long time to warm up to me.
I believe women don’t like me because I look like Attila the Hun and men don’t like me because they think I am a lesbian.
I believe I am too big, that I talk too loud and too much. It turns people off.
I believe I bring out the worst in people because I am unable to defend myself or to stand up for myself, so they trample all over me.
I believe I am wishy-washy, just like Charlie Brown, even though I admire Peppermint Patty for her individuality. The same with Tigger.
I like him best of all the Pooh characters, yet I know I am most like Eeyore — always down in the dumps, always thinking nobody cares.
I believe that I have to please people for them to like me. I am constantly being helpful. I am a regular Miss Congeniality all the time; a Goody Two Shoes.
I believe that I am a whore, a slut, a harlot, and that nothing will make me clean again. Unlike Mary Magdalen, for me there is no Christ to forgive my sins.
I believe I am smart and intelligent, but I am too timid to accom-plish anything of any value.