Episode 22

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Published on:

9th Nov 2026

Insanity

πŸ“ Chapter 15 of Gina's story (Episode 22). New here? Start at Episode 1 β†’ https://daddy-tissues.captivate.fm/episode/im-fcking-doing-this

My friends literally chant it at weddings: Gina never loses. Turns out there's one thing that can beat me, and it lives on my bathroom floor.

Superman didn't call. Again. Are we shocked? But this time I told myself I didn't even like him anyway, and I went on with my life β€” working, going out, and getting up at five in the morning to train for the Broad Street Run in the freezing fucking cold. Because back then I had a checklist: the man, the house, the money, the kids, and number one on the list, being skinny.

This is Chapter 15. Sunday binge days turned into 10 PM bowls of cereal and PB&J after PB&J, wrappers hidden in the trash like a dead body, seven-mile runs and laxatives to pay it all back β€” and thirty days of Shaun T's Insanity with one rule: no scale until it's over. Then came the scale, my mom, a therapist, a diagnosis I actually wished for, and a pill that made me feel nothing at all. And six months after our make-out session… a Facebook friend request from Superman. That bitch went in the icebox.

Plus: why Tammy Takedown is the only woman you call when you need to run 10 miles with no training, and the day she gave a pizza place a show it will never forget. And the thing I learned the hard way: you never know what it feels like inside somebody else's body, so don't judge.

Grab your daddy tissues. Till next time, my queens. πŸ–€

⚠️ Contains strong language and discussion of disordered eating (binge eating, bulimia, laxatives), body image, depression, anxiety, mental health medication and addiction.

πŸ“– Daddy Tissues is a true story told in order. Start at the beginning. Links to episodesπŸ‘‡πŸ»

New episodes every Monday.

Grab your daddy tissues. Till next time, my queens. πŸ–€

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Music: β€œDo It Anyway” by Scarlett Solo, used under license.

Disclaimer: Daddy Tissues is a personal storytelling podcast for entertainment, reflection, and connection. It is not therapy, legal advice, medical advice, financial advice, or a replacement for professional support. Names and identifying details may be changed or omitted to protect privacy.

πŸ“š THE WHOLE STORY, IN ORDER: every episode, start to finish

Transcript
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So I guess there's a thing with me and winning that I wasn't aware of.

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Obviously I like to win, but I didn't know it was obvious. This all became apparent to me when

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I was at my friend's wedding. They announced me as a bridesmaid and as I come out all of my friends

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were chanting and they've been doing it ever since. I'm not kidding. They will start yelling,

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Gina never loses. Gina never loses. Now I don't like to lose. Maybe that's why I was

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and selected by God to be delivered these special situations and look, I was honored.

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But in these particular situations, winning was just not even a possibility. And

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it I had to sit with that the loss many times. So no. Do I like to lose? Of course not. Who likes

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to lose? Can I lose? Yes. I've done it a million times. Are my friends making fun of me? No,

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they weren't. They're my friends. They love me. They think I'm fucking awesome because I am.

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Anyway, the point is, Gina does not like to lose. One day I spent 30 days doing a workout

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about that was called Insanity. And I'll tell you one thing. They did not lie about the name.

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Welcome back to your favorite fucking podcast. I'm your host, Gina Sullivan,

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and you are listening to Daddy Tissues.

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Okay. So where we left off, I had finally made out with Superman all over Philadelphia,

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the man I've been obsessed with since high school. The next morning I got up, drove him and his

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roommate back to their house. He let me in, showed me around for a little, and then I got back in my

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car and left. That's all I remember. Guess what? I didn't hear from him again. Are we shocked?

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No, of course not. But this time it wasn't detrimental. Yeah, I still wanted to talk about

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with him. Absolutely, because look at him. But I wasn't as sad because I convinced myself I

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didn't even like him anyway. The whole person I thought he was was the person I had made up in my

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head. And it wasn't necessarily him because what are the chances? What are the chances somebody has

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the perfect face, the perfect body, and the perfect personality? This isn't heaven, right?

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We are on earth. Reality is reality. You can't have your cake and eat it too. And in my situation,

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I didn't even have the fucking cake because he wasn't calling me and there was no way in hell

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I was calling him. So I went on with my life, being 24, 25, whatever the hell I was at that time.

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I probably dated some other guys. Can't remember anybody worth talking about. Obviously,

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they weren't that memorable. Remember, back then, there wasn't Hinge, Bumble, or Tinder.

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You actually had to meet people in person like an animal. Anyway, we will get to that in another

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episode. But it was winter and I was working, going out on my friends, doing my thing. And this

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was the time of the year I usually would train for the Broad Street run. 10 miles in Philadelphia.

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Me and my friend Wendy Waterhouse did it every year. Getting up at five in the morning,

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running outside in the freezing fucking cold. Why? Why would I voluntarily do that to myself?

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Well, as it turned out, I had some issues. I was obsessed with my body. I don't even know why we do

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these things. I was obsessed with working out and my body and eating and it was just a thing.

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I looked back at pictures of myself from that time and I would die for that body now. Back

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then, I thought I was fat. And I was determined to be perfect because I had a checklist. Get the man,

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get the house, get the money, have the kids, look amazing, make everybody think you've got

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the perfect fucking life. I don't even know why. Because who the fuck am I trying to impress

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here? I have no idea. But I wanted these made up people to look at me and say,

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holy shit, look at Gina. Who did she marry? Where does she live? What kind of house does she have?

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What kind of dog do they have? Which is hilarious because I didn't even want a dog.

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But I wanted to win because Gina does not lose. And one of the biggest things on my checklist

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was being skinny. Boobs, blonde hair, tan, hot, and preferably not smoking marbled

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lights. That's what I wanted. Being skinny was number one. What society does to women these days

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is ridiculous. What started out was a day that I didn't have to diet,

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became a Sunday binge day. Okay. All week I'd barely eat. Lunch was a yogurt and some strawberries.

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And on Sunday, holy shit, I would eat everything I could fit into my body. I would wake up,

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breakfast, ice cream, candy, cookies, McDonald's, whatever the fuck I wanted. Because Sunday

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was the only day I was allowed to eat those things. I just didn't know how to do balance.

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It wasn't a thing I did. I did extremes. I would eat until I was physically sick.

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And my brain would keep telling me there was more room for food. Gina, what else can you eat?

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It's still Sunday. What else do you really want? What do you love that you can't have for a whole

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another fucking week? Eventually, it wasn't just Sundays anymore. I started doing it at night.

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I'd be in bed at 10 o'clock, exhausted, and suddenly I'd start thinking about food.

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Peanut butter and jelly, bowls of cereal, Oreos, Snickers, and I'd get up and eat.

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Bowl after bowl of cereal, PB&J after PB&J. Sometimes I'd get back in bed and my brain

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would tell me to get up and eat more. And I'd be half asleep. But I would do it,

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even when I was already sick.

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Hiding the wwrappers in my trash like I was hiding a dead body.

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The next morning, I'd wake up and I would have to pay. I would need to find a way to make up

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for everything I had just shoved into my body. So I would run seven miles sometimes,

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taking laxatives. I'd be running going, you know what the fuck do you do this? I didn't understand

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what was happening to me. I felt completely out of control, complete Insanity. Now,

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on top of all of this, I was doing workout videos. I had my people,

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Jillian Michaels, Tracy Anderson, and Shaun T. Shaun T had this workout called Insanity.

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That was the actual name because holy shit, it wasn't insane. I was killing these workouts.

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I was a badass bitch. So I decided I was going to complete the 30 day program of Insanity

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and because I was also obsessed with the scale, getting on multiple times a day,

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I made myself a rule. I was not allowed to weigh myself until the 30 days was over.

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Not once. This was a big deal. I was also getting ready to go to Jamaica

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for my friend's wedding and I wanted to look amazing. So I had some more motivation there.

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So for 30 days, I did the workouts. Meanwhile, I'm still binge eating on Sundays

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and then at night and taking laxatives, still running, still hiding wrappers, but

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in my head, I was being disciplined because I would run that shit off, get those calories out,

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and I was doing everything else right. I knew when those 30 days were over,

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that scale was going to reward me. I'll never forget this day. It was a pretty big day.

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The 30 days were over. I was in my apartment on the river with my balcony. It was my final workout.

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For some reason, my mom was there. My son was with his dad. My roommate wasn't there.

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It was just me and my mom. So I go into my room, went to my bathroom, step on that scale,

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look down,

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same number, the exact same fucking number.

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Not up one, not down one, nothing. I lost it.

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I walked into the living room and just started crying, hysterically crying. My mom is looking at me,

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Gina, what's wrong? What's wrong? I can't even answer her.

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And then she looks at me and goes, are you pregnant?

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In her defense, the last time I cried like that, I was pregnant. But no, I wasn't pregnant.

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I was devastated and I was embarrassed to even tell her why I was crying like that because

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there are people in the world dealing with real problems.

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And here I am crying my fucking eyes out over the bathroom scale.

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But to me, at that very moment, it was everything. I had failed.

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Gina never loses. Right? Apparently, Gina had just lost to a fucking bathroom scale.

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It was like, Shaun T was my daddy and I was trying to make my daddy proud.

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And I fucking failed.

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My mom looked at me and said, Gina, I think you need to get some help.

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She wasn't wrong. It's fucked up. So I went to a therapist. I started telling her everything,

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the depression, the anxiety, the Sunday binges, the peanut butter and jellies,

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or use, the running, the laxatives. And this woman looks at me and says, Gina, you're bulimic.

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And do you know what I said?

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I fucking wish. I fucking wish. I'm serious. That's what I said.

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Because in my 25-year-old brain, bulimic meant skinny. And skinny was my dream.

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I thought she was a fucking idiot. I didn't throw up. I hated throwing up.

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bulimic is not something I did. I was like, I get to fucking tell people I'm bulimic.

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This is amazing. But then they're going to look at me and go,

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nah, you're not bulimic because you're fat. And I was not fat. Not even a little bit.

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Let me just put that out there. And then this woman explains that bulimia

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is not just vomiting. Bulimia is when you binge eat and then you try to compensate for it in other ways.

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Laxatives, excessive exercise and vomiting. I'm sitting there thinking,

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wait a minute, laxatives, check. Running seven miles with a menthol on my mouth, check.

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Oh, I'm a fucking professional. A professional fucking bulimic.

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Looking back now, that's heartbreaking. Because I didn't understand how badly I was hurting myself.

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I thought I was being disciplined. I thought I was working toward a goal.

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I had no idea what I was doing to my body.

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And apparently the eating disorder wasn't the only thing I had going on.

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That was just the first thing on the list. Depression, anxiety, OCD, ADD, ADHD, ABC fucking day,

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whatever the fuck else. Is there a rewards program? Do I get a free diagnosis after the fifth one?

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Because at this point, I feel like I should be getting some kind of VIP treatment.

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The more I learned about myself, the more I started thinking about my family.

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My dad, his brothers, my cousins, so many talented, amazing people who struggled with mental health.

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And I started wondering why. Genetics, generational trauma, something chemical.

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I don't know. But I've seen it throughout my family. And it makes me sad. I think about my grandmother.

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My grandma on my dad's side. She was an amazing woman. She cooked like nobody's business.

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She would sew. Her nails were always perfect and beautiful. And she was incredibly talented.

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At some point, she stopped leaving the house.

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She would say she was sick last minute, all the time. My dad would get mad at her.

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And then my dad became her. They didn't want to leave the house.

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I totally get it. I totally get it. There have been days when I physically could not get out of bed.

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I know what it's like to not want to fucking see people and not talk to anybody and not leave your

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house. I think about what she might have been going through. You never really know what somebody

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else is dealing with. You don't know what it feels like inside their body. You don't know what it

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feels like to wake up every morning and live inside their head. And that's why I try not to judge

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people. Because I have family members who struggled with addiction. And I've lost some family

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members to addiction. I think they were just trying to get some kind of relief from the pain they were

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feeling. I don't know. I can't speak for them. But I understand wanting to just feel good.

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And just wanting to feel happy. Because life is hard enough when you feel good.

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Imagine trying to raise children, work, pay bills, and take care of everybody

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when you're struggling just to get through the day. It's a lot. There are some days when

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you just don't want to even be awake. There has been pain where I just wanted to sleep through it.

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Like just sleep through until it was over. Getting out of bed was the hardest thing to do.

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Brushing my teeth, showering, forget about it. I get it.

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Anyway, back to the therapist. Because I've taken you through the entire family tree.

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You're welcome. So I started taking medication and something happened.

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I wasn't feeling sad, but I wasn't feeling happy either. I felt numb, frozen,

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and I fucking hated it. Because I want to fucking feel. I want joy. I want excitement.

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I want to love people. I want to experience life. And at that time, on that particular medication,

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I didn't feel like myself. One day I was going out for a run and I forgot to take it.

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And I remember feeling good that day. And I went, oh, I know why because I didn't

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fucking take that fucking pill this morning. So I decided I wasn't going to take it anymore.

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And I just quit. Quit the therapist, quit that medication, and just did not go back.

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Because feeling like that wasn't an option. Maybe it was something I should have discussed

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with the person prescribing it. I'm telling you what I did, not what anybody else should do.

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At the time, I just knew I hated feeling numb. So I stopped and I went back to my crazy ways.

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Now remember Superman? Of course you do. How could you forget this beautiful bastard? Back then,

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Facebook was the thing. Wow. One day, about six months after our makeout session,

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out of nowhere, I get a notification. A friend request from Superman. Mind you,

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I have been stalking Superman's Facebook for months, obviously. But I had never sent him a

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friend request. Absolutely not. He wasn't calling me. I wasn't calling him. And I certainly

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wasn't sending him a fucking friend request. So naturally, I ignored it. Not because I didn't

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want to accept it. Oh, I wanted to accept it immediately. But no. He was going on ice.

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That bitch was staying in the icebox.

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Called my friends. You're not going to believe who fucking friend requested me.

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And I left that request sitting there.

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Just long enough, not too long, let's not get carried away. Then I accepted it.

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Real cool. No message. Nothing. Then one day, I see him put a post up.

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Something on Facebook. And this post reads, does anybody have an extra Broad Street run number?

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I'm sorry, what? Because remember my friend Wendy Waterhouse? She had gotten into the

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Broad Street run lottery. But she hurt her knee. So she wasn't running. She had a number.

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Superman needed a number. God, is that you? I called Wendy out. And I told her the plan.

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You got to give me that fucking number. So then I messaged Superman. Real casual.

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Hey, I have a number for you. Then the conversation started. We arranged how he was going to get this

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number. And at the end of the conversation, he tells me, I'll have a barbecue after the

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very calm, very casual internally. Holy fucking shit. I had now had an invitation to Superman's house.

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How was I going to go there after the Broad Street run without actually doing the broad

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street run? Because I wasn't running the Broad Street that year. I hadn't trained. I hadn't entered the

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lottery. But now I had to do this fucking run. Because I was going to that barbecue.

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And I wasn't running 10 miles by myself. Wendy couldn't run because her knee was busted.

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I needed somebody who would agree to run 10 miles with me in basically a day's notice

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with no training. Who the hell would do that?

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Oh, I know exactly who would do that. Honestly, we should have called this woman

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Superwoman because she was the kind of friend who was down for whatever. And when I say whatever,

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she came up with the whatever. It was her plan. She did the plan. Tammy Takedown, one of my best

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friends. Now, I need to tell you a little story about Tammy so you understand exactly what kind of

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woman we're dealing with here. This is one of my favorite people, favorite memories of my entire

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life. So we're going to go back. Remember, Coolio? Of course you do. The one I told you about in

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Who is Vicky, the one who kept cheating on me with his step sister. Well, one of the times we were

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broken up, he started hooking up with another girl. Now, we're broken up, which obviously means

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he was not allowed to date anybody else. That's just the law. I don't make the rules.

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This girl, we're going to call her Rihanna, which was very close to her real name. It was

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something like that. Rihanna worked at this pizza place. And this pizza place had a giant

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glass window across the storefront like most pizza places do, which as it turns out,

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was a very important architectural feature because one day me and my friends decided that

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we were going to pay Rihanna a little visit. Now, my roommate Tiger Eyes had this black

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convertible that her rich daddy bought her. We all pile into Tiger Eyes's convertible,

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top down. We pull right up in front of the pizza place. Tammy gets out of the car, walks into

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the pizza place like she's going in to order some pizza. She asks if Rihanna is working.

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When they ask who she is, Tammy says, oh, I'm her friend. Tammy comes back outside.

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And instead of getting into the car like a normal behaved girl, we start blasting a very

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appropriate song, the explicit version, full volume. She positions herself right in front of that giant

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glass window and starts doing a striptease to the song that we all know.

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My neck, my back, lick my and my

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neck. You know what I'm talking about. That song. Loud as fuck.

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Tammy is doing her dance, taking it off in front of the pizza place, in front of the entire

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fucking world. And we're sitting in the convertible going, oh my god, there are children in there.

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Music blasting, watching this fucking woman put on a performance for Rihanna,

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for the customers, for anybody who happened to be driving by. And the whole idea was to get

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Rihanna fired. Did it work? I have no fucking idea. We never followed up. Honestly, that might have

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not even been where she worked. The point was the show. And Tammy delivered. Tammy always delivers.

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And to this day, that is one of my favorite fucking memories because that's Tammy.

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If you needed somebody to do something, Tammy's your girl, which brings me back

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to the Broad Street Run because now you understand why when I needed somebody to run 10 fucking miles

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with me with basically no notice, I know exactly who to call.

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Go, Spusters. No, I called Tammy and I told her what was happening. I told her what was up.

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Hey, do you want to go around 10 miles tomorrow with me? You only have a couple hours because

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I want to go to a barbecue at Superman's house. And Tammy, she was in. Of course she was.

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Because apparently I surrounded myself with women who were just as fucking ridiculous as I was.

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So now the plan was set. Tammy and I were running the Broad Street Run.

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10 miles, no training. And afterward, I was going to Superman's barbecue.

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But there was just one more little logistical issue. Tammy couldn't come to the barbecue

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and I wasn't going to that barbecue by myself. No fucking way. Grab your daddy tissues and I'll

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see you next time, my queens.

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About the Podcast

Daddy Tissues
Not your therapy. Just the truth.
What happens when a woman who has survived enough finally gets a microphone. Gina Sullivan is 40, divorced, raising three kids, and done pretending she's fine. Every week she gets brutally honest β€” and brutally funny β€” about divorce, dating after divorce, daddy issues, toxic relationships, gaslighting, co-parenting, and rebuilding your life when it didn't go the way you planned. No filters, no shame, no judgment. Just the truth that makes you say "oh my God, me too." Grab your coffee, your tequila, or your Ativan β€” and grab your Daddy Tissues. New episodes every Monday.
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Gina Sullivan

Gina Sullivan is 40, divorced, raising three kids, and done pretending. A Philly-born hairstylist who spent years doing therapy with foils on people's heads, she finally grabbed a microphone of her own. Daddy Tissues is her brutally honest, brutally funny take on divorce, dating after 40, daddy issues, toxic relationships, and rebuilding a life that didn't go the way she planned. No filters. No shame. Just the truth that makes you say "oh my God, me too."