Resistance.

"I can't do it. I just can't do it," I said. "Yes, you can", said Nate. "I think my parents have beat me down just enough to keep me here," I said. "I mean, I try to tell myself to be motivated. I try to tell myself I can do it. I try to better myself, eat better, work out more, write more- and I just don't. I can't. I don't like myself. I don't like who I've become. I hate looking at myself. I can't seem to shake it." "But you're not that person. And you can do those things," said Nate. "I know you can."
"I grew up with a mom who only told me what I can't do. 'You can't do this. You can't do that.' My parents never cared what I did. I never had anyone to back me up as a child. Back me up in school. They weren't around. I mean, they didn't protect me when I was little. A little girl. I was one of five. By the time I came around, they just didn't give a shit anymore. What kinda shit is that? I just don't get it." Nate looked at me with those eyes. He didn't say anything. He has the most amazing eyes. I like to cup his face in my hands and rub my thumbs along his high cheek bones. Just staring into his eyes. He's a good listener. He always has been. I like that about him.