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I’m old enough to realize that I was taken advantage of and that the men I talked to were less interested in me than -- disturbingly -- the idea of me. I always ask myself why I’m a writing a particular story.

Although interventions to reduce the incidence of LBW in both developed and developing countries have been disappointingly unsuccessful, the percentages of LBW and infant mortality rates have consistently declined in Cuba over the past decade, from a rate of 9.0% in 1992 to 5.1% in 2009 (Figure 1).

Sometimes, the heavy, quivering ache in the pit of your stomach is enough to know. Lying had become a part of me I just could not shake. At school, I had a reputation as a precocious, grade-grubbing, hand-in-the-air-squirming-in-my-seat-going-oooh-oooh-oooh-pick-me nerd. After hitting puberty, my mother and I fought every single day, multiple times a day.

I lied to my mother when she found out about just one of dozens of men I was having cyber and phone sex with. I didn’t get bullied, to my retrospective surprise, but I did win class Teacher’s Pet in high school unironically. Screaming, crying and name-calling had become a part of the daily grind. I was growing into my body too quickly for my mother’s liking, and it became her mission to shame me into containment.

Sixteen seemed like the perfect age, primarily because at 13, 16 seemed more than grown-up enough.

I remember him telling me that someday we would be together and he would protect me. I still don’t know if he just broke it off with me or if something terrible happened to him. There was the 26-year-old gas station attendant and criminal justice major from New York who my mother called the police on.

Definitely not just sitting around in an ugly bathrobe drinking hot chocolate. The next thing I knew, I was standing beside my mother as she gripped a copy of an e-mail I had sent just days before. The exact beginning of the three years I spent dirty talking with strangers online is a mystery to me.

No one had to tell me what a cop car was doing in our driveway. I don’t remember seeing her crying, but I know she must have been.“Don’t lie to me,” she said, “I know what you did. I lied through my teeth as she waved the evidence of my youthful indiscretions in my face. I was a wild, confused 13, stubborn and hurt and lonely. I can only guess it started after I was a miserable teen.

And that’s what stands out to me about my cybering days: the men.

There was the first guy I ever virtually did it with, a supposedly 19-year-old boy from Ohio.

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