Do you ever happen to feel like shit every time you’re done sexually pleasuring yourself? Is it just me? I would not call it guilt as I’ve read other people say. It’s pure uncomfortableness in your own skin. 

Hormones. This animal instinct, a beastly need. Voices telling your essence to relief yourself, it’s going to be pleasant. A lie. Once the moment has passed, there’s nothing left but your uneasy blank corpse. 

I hate this feeling, it revoltes me. 

I’ve been trying to decide my future and was ready to embrace it and now I don’t feel ready anymore. I’m scared. I want to run, escape. 

I feel vulnerable, fragile. 

“Mom, I need to see a psychologist. I think I need therapy.”

“Why?”

“Because.. Because I don’t feel well. I want to kill myself.”

“What? What are you saying? Are you crazy?”

“Mom! That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you!” 

That’s how the conversation ended. I was left there trying not to cry at work and drop my tears inside the ice cream I was scooping for the customers. 

I feel bad. There’s no escape. 

I’ve recently bought a dress. Nude colored with balloon 3/4 length sleeves. Flowy chiffon that ends at the middle of tights. My mom says it looks like a nightgown and it does in a way. I’ve put it in my wardrobe all the same. I like it. Even if I know it will look better once it’s stained in red. Bright red blood spreading from my spike pierced stomach after I land on the house railing. 

Nothing new

I had made up a game with my friend. It struck me I didn’t know much about him, his family, his life in general so we made this game. We ask each other a question everyday and then we say something about ourself. Pretty nice huh. I believe we all have something we want to talk about but no one ever asks us and it slowly drowns in us sunken in the past. 

The first question he asks me <are you virgin?>. I don’t know why people care about my sexual activities so much. I see it everyday in my customers’ eyes. Words ready to pour from them like desperate tears. When I meet someone it never crosses my mind wether said person is virgin or a sex animal. Not saying I’m innocent, I’ve lusted plenty of times for someone. I’ve made sex to them countless times in my head. It’s not the same tho. 

At work this afternoon. Customer is done eating, I move to collect the empty plates. My knee brushes his leg involuntarily under the table. I still wonder how goddamn close was I. He looks first at his leg and then stares at me. <I’d bang her> declares he loudly to his friends finally, when I’m still right next to him. <that’s quite a coincidence, for I’d fuck myself gladly too. Actually I finger myself quite consistently, lucky me.> I think. Later, after he has paid he stares me some more, even after we’re done talking and he should move the fuck out this place. He stares to the point it becomes awkward, so I walk away. 

I like to talk to myself sometimes – a motivational speech to self.

To the me in the future,

It’s the me in the past, honestly it’s going to be just a bunch of hours. I’m a creep for doing this. Lol

I know it has been hard, you’ve run and swore inside your head as many times as the sun has risen above our heads and the ones of the people before. No matter what happens to you, your family and friends there’s still going to be another day. You’ve waited this day with fear for days and now it has come and gone by. It’s a rough time and there seems to be no salvation, no realief and inner peace. Let me tell you: you’re right! There’s nothing in this world if your own presence and as you long as you breath you get to move forward, day by day, strain after strain. You get to fight your own inner war, wether it is to yourself or to the world. Even if the world doesn’t give two fucks about you. You could die right now in this moment and the world wouldn’t even be reliefed or slightly concerned because it didn’t know about your lame self to begin with. So, wether it has all gone to shit or it has been fine, the time has passed either way. You get to wait your tomorrow again and hope again, cause that’s what our miserable life is all about: hoping and praying and being disappointed.

Don’t fear no more, accept what comes and move accordingly!

Panta rei. The present becomes past, the past becomes memories. The memories turn into stories. Bits of ourselves we tell each other’s to fall asleep late at night.