Therapy for Snow White

(this is from a prompt at:  http://www.writingprompts.tumblr.com/)  Write about a Disney Princess as if she is talking to her therapist)

Why did my mom have to die when I was so young?  At birth?  Tragic. I hate this!  Then I got so close to my daddy and he remarried a witch of a woman and then I'm sure she poisoned him and then tried to kill me.  If it wasn't for the huntsman I would have died instantly.  He had mercy on me thankfully. I just don't get it.  Why is it that every woman in my life hates me?  I'm not bragging about being the fairest of them all, but I keep getting in trouble because of my beauty, which I challenge.  Who likes a pale girl anyways?   I burn instantly if ever I go in the sunlight and it is so boring to be constantly in the dreary cloudy sky.  How frustrating!  Then when I finally escape I have to live with seven little men.  They are so sweet, though they sing all the time the same song, over and over again.  They invited me in happily even though Grumpy really didn't want me there.  Happy let me in, and I'm pretty sure Sneezy wanted me there too, I couldn't tell for sure though since he incessantly was sneezing while trying to sputter something out. Doc was so busy trying to take my temperature and read my other stats that he didn't respond to the inquiry of staying there either.  Dopey was, as usually confused about what was going on.  Do I love his smile though!  Bashful wouldn't look me in the eyes but I could see him nodding his head when he thought I wasn't paying attention.  Sleepy, as to be expected was in his room taking his third nap of the day.  (He usually takes 6 at least!)  They were quite the welcoming committee for certain.  I loved taking care of them and making them healthier dinners at night after their long days at the coal mine.  I have never thought of myself as motherly but with those seven men I found myself quite useful around the house tidying up and keeping their bellies full.  They were the best friends ever.  I am constantly impressed with how protective they were of me immediately.  They are still blaming themselves that I ate that poisoned apple.  They couldn't see the wickedness of my stepmother.  Her trickery was beyond their grasp.  Whose grasp isn't it beyond, honestly?  I'm constantly in awe of the experiences I've endured. It is no surprise to me at all that I need to see a counselor.  I don't know how I've survived thus far without one to tell you the truth.  No mother, dead dad, evil stepmother, living with seven strange men, and being here to tell the story is beyond the word miracle.  They haven't invented a word that fulfills that description enough.  Wow.  I'm going to be grateful each and every day that I'm here to tell the story of my crazy twisted up life.