an alternative to ennui
Tag Archives: sex
I’ve been incredibly unhappy the past little while. Here’s why: I’m scared to talk to you. That’s fucked up. I’m scared and I also don’t know how. I think I’m a good communicator, but with you I’m unsure. You make me feel so bad about myself. I’ve never LOVED myself, but I’ve never been as insecure with myself now as you’ve made me feel. I’m terrified that while reading this you’re either going to laugh at me and trivialize everything I say or you’re going to throw your hands up and be rid of me. I’m so so scared that I don’t even know if I’ll ever show you this…
I’m sorry I met you at a time in your life when you didn’t want to open your heart again to another person. I’m sorry I forced my way in there and built a nest in your heart with this beautifully naïve notion that I love you and you love me and everything is perfect. Because everything is not perfect. It’s hard to see the beauty in what you’re building when you’re surrounded by wreckage and ugly, negative darkness. I just want you to be happy with me.
Jack, we really need to talk. We need to talk about the fact that I’m unhappy and that I don’t feel like I can talk to you maturely and rationally. You twist my words, make things about you – for once I would just like for you to listen.
You fucked me up. I have never been an anxious person and have never caused harm to myself so drastically until I met you. I’m done being empathetic and kind to those who have watched me suffer and added to my pain.
It’s so hard listening to you talk about Emily. So fucking hard. But I put up with it. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t hurt so bad if you didn’t feel like you needed to hide things about your hanging out together from me. By doing so, you just seem guilty. I will never forget that you “poked” her and brushed it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Because it was to me.
For a year I put up with your abuse – with you demonizing my kindness and the things people genuinely like about me. You made me feel worthless and now I feel worthless.
It sucks watching you bring pretty girl after pretty girl into your home. You are excruciatingly flirty and touchy in my presence and I don’t want to put up with it. You have the audacity to think I’d cheat on you? Boy, I was fucking devoted to you. I would move heaven and earth for you. The sad part is, I still would and I know it would go unnoticed and unappreciated. It’s too little too late to tell me you love me right after making me feel like garbage. That’s abuse – making someone feel trapped and shitty, yet saying you love them and cherish them a mere second later.
I’ve deduced that I was manic the year I met you. Dealing with a break up that felt forced and being pursued by you, all the while you telling me you wanted to be with me, that I was perfect, but fucking someone else. Not just someone else, someone who is your best friend. Someone you continued to fuck and canoodle with even after we were “together”. And I’m the crazy one for not being able to let it go?
I see you one-two times a week and you force me to hang out with people and in a space that is incredibly unhealthy for me and brings up old memories. I can never forget the time you forced us to “hug it out”. It felt like a fucking spectacle for your enjoyment.
I just want to be treated with respect. Stop undervaluing me – cutting off my words, interrupting me, being jealous of every person I talk to. I’m about to fucking snap because of it. And no, I am not on my period.
March 24, 2017.
I can simplify anything. Overly complicated issues are a product of irrational, emotional people – they cannot see the way amidst the fog. It goes as follows: matters of the heart are complex and emerge from a sad place. You can romanticize longing and that feeling after sex when your worries melt away and all that you see are those brown eyes filled with… something. Begging me to know what that something is. But all I see is sympathy and compassion. Otherwise, everything else is enveloped in a thread-bare blanket. Mislead, I believe in its false protection and warmth. For that blanket is falling apart before my very eyes and I am too stubborn to let it go.
I was born in this pink ghetto,
nested between white, plastic bars – I cannot leave.
I see above me planes and trains and cars and spaceships –
all going somewhere, somehow, somewhen.
And I wanna ride them.
I can ride them, but I cannot pilot them.
I can straddle them –
feel the vibrations and pulsations between my legs,
but not in my hands.
My hands are unworked.
I should. would. could not tame them,
make them bend to my will –
But their will is greater.
Those with the scruffy faces, the hard hands, the Idontgiveadamns.
Rather, I am forced to give a damn –
to give a care.
I bend under these expectations,
Bend and bend and bend and
snap. they would
between the walls of this pink ghetto.
Underestimating how strong I am.
I was born in this pink ghetto.
Nested between white, plastic bars – I cannot leave.
But one day
I wish I could become sexless and nobody would want me. The truth is, the guys squirming in the friend zone have it tough. But what about the girls on the other end? Why are they the offenders and blamed for not reciprocating such feelings? My count is three… I think. Three guys I deemed ‘friend’ who left when I refused to open my legs.
The only difference between boyfriend and friend is that I would be physically intimate with one and not the other. Otherwise, friendship – a platonic relationship – can be just as strong as a romantic/sexual relationship. I have never had a boyfriend. I have never felt strongly towards anyone to the point of pursuing a more meaningful relationship with them. I don’t believe in getting into loveless nothings simply because that’s expected of me. I tell myself that I don’t want to be tied down. That I have more important things to think about, like my two jobs and final year of University. But really, I should just come clean and say “yes”. Yes, I would like a boyfriend. I would like to find that person I trust with all my being. Who causes me physical pain when we are apart. To kiss and share all my insecurities with. I would not feel pressured into having sex with them. I would want to have sex with them. I would love their flaws and they would love mine. There would be no awkward silences. We would become each other. I want that. I really do. I just don’t know how to find him.
I could make due with a friend. A friend who doesn’t turn on me the second I refuse to sleep with them. Who, after sharing my insecurities about relationships with, would not exploit them and make their unrequited love feel like a fault of my own. Why is it even called unrequited love? These boys don’t love me. Or maybe they do. I’ve been trying to see it from their perspective and maybe, maybe they love me. But it feels like more of an infatuation: the impenetrable girl they could add to their roster and brag to their buddies about. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just date one of them. Fuck it – let’s try this out. Let’s pretend I love you back and we can make out, share ice cream. It will be so. much. fun. Or maybe I’m just terrified of sex. Of being bad. Of being ugly. Of being exposed – naked and vulnerable – the way I do when I type these entries.