Michael Pezzullo, LMFT @mpezzullolmft - Twitter Profile

Number 1- you didn't write this. Number 2- when Charlie was out fighting for Trump, he did a million stops during October fighting for the cause . You did one, telling kids to hijack a bus and go for Chipotle. Number 3- what TPUSA has become under you, and the tweedle dee, tweedle dumb, is sad Number 4- any of you thinking that we, who loved and followed Charlie, take you seriously at this point 👎 Number 5- Erika, not sure what you were promised, but those who did promise you should reevaluate.

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

7 days ago

Post Midterms Thoughts https://t.co/u7YB5q1D9t via @YouTube

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

7 days ago

@boomboomclang Thank you!

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

7 days ago

Remember when therapists didn’t bully their clients into adopting their political views? I don’t. But it sounds nice.

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

7 days ago

@listen2tish Those are gonna be some messy divorces 😂

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

8 days ago

@Barb0_0sa Thanks for your condolences.

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Michael Pezzullo, LMFT

@MPezzulloLMFT

9 days ago

It seemed like other moms had no problem saying it to their sons. Even when they weren’t. I hoped one day she would. So I waited. Maybe she just needed the right moment, I thought. One day, that moment came. I was 15. I’d just gone through a growth spurt and suddenly I was being complimented everywhere I went. By friends. By complete strangers. Girls at school fawned all over me (not that I was interested). That afternoon we stepped onto the elevator in our building, only to be greeted by a neighbor who’d known me since I was a kid, but hadn’t seen me in a while. “Oh my god. Look at you.” I knew where this was going. “Isn’t he so handsome?” She turned to my mother, looking for what she assumed would be immediate agreement. And for a minute I let myself feel hopeful. That maybe if she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, at least she could just agree with someone else who could. She couldn’t. The neighbor’s expression quickly deflated. And she turned back to look at me. Not with pride anymore. But with confusion. Almost as if I was supposed to explain what was happening. My mother never told me I was handsome. Not that day in the elevator. Not on any day after that. She died yesterday.