The story is complicated, and I’m not sure I even want to make it make sense for you (yes you, random clickhole casualty). I wasn’t even going to touch this name, I’ve spent years avoiding this name despite how incredibly common it is.
I sat down next to him to talk. He looked right at me, but it was shadowy. Is it because I can’t even really remember what he looks like anymore?
I want to remember him wearing a black rubber apron with nothing underneath, which I also find incredibly sexy. I don’t know why, but it is super hot. I used to think of My ex like that, who was insanely attractive in his welding gear and apron and gloves although it is probably a really stupid idea to be naked underneath. My only regret is that it took me up until this point to totally conquer the shame of having a fetish, which is so weird because I have been a dominatrix for most of my life.
Idk, I basically just stared at my screen for almost an entire hour.
I guess I just want to give people what I wish they would give me, and I guess on some level, we all do that to each other. The shame of it is we all want different things, and I definitely do not want what I have been given.
And I guess that’s why I keep trying to scrape things, pieces of myself, and my life, and what I used to have, together off the floor, because I miss that. I miss her so much. I miss having a life that might somehow mean something.
And me… I can’t find a man who gives a rat’s ass about me. No man I know would ever do anything like that for me. Literally all they care about is fucking me, they do not care if it kills me. I think the only reason I keep fucking them is because I am, although in a more adult and in denial way, still quite suicidal.
I’m crying anyway. I’m afraid the surgery didn’t work, I am in pain again and physically, with my hand on my body, it doesn’t feel right. I’m back to the state that I was when I started this page, waking up crying for no reason and then writing long streams of conscious thought to see if I can pick out some reason why, like examining the vomit of a suicide attempt victim to see if you can find any of the pills, to know what poison to treat for.
My family is also a wonderful array of browns, much more vibrant than that bullshit cheap furniture that was clearly made to look luxurious for the white trash people on that end of nowhere who wouldn’t know real quality if it killed their parents when they were young like Inigo Mantoya in the Princess Bride. I was embarrassed and disappointed that My amazing, accomplished Uncle had to die there.
I remember that there was a time not too many years ago that I used to feel this way about my boyfriend. What will I do when I feel this way about the boy, the way that I currently feel about my boyfriend?
I have to talk with the boy about going back to work. I don’t want to lie to him. If he leaves he leaves. If he wrecks my life in retaliation, like my ex did, then so be it. I have so many feelings about this, but being a selfish bitch and not letting anyone else have a say in a life I want them in is not fair, and I don’t want to do that to anyone ever again.