I feel like I’m chasing after pain. I want to feel it. I want to be punished.
I like to see a man that’s in pain. I identify with that. There’s a soul-crushing loneliness that a man feels when he’s been tortured. I identify with that. I feel that loneliness too. I can tell them what they need to hear, because I know what I need to hear. We aren’t so different, and I think we all want the same things. We all want to belong; we all want to be understood. One day, maybe I’ll find a man that understands me the way that I understand him.
I just want to be accepted. I want to repent for the disgusting things I’ve done, and have a man kiss me on the forehead and tell me that it’s alright. I don’t want solutions to my problems – I’ll find those on my own – I want someone to hold me and to tell me that it’s okay to just be who I am and not be better today. I want someone to love me.
I am bad – I want that to be acknowledged. I want someone who will hold me tight and tell me that I am wrong, that I am bad; but that they love me anyways. I just want some to really love me.
I feel like everyone – platonic, familial, romantic – has loved a version of me that doesn’t reflect who I really am. They love a sanitized version of me – the version of me who is a sum of my superficial actions and not a reflection of my unstated motivations. My motivations, my intentions, my beliefs about the world and the people in it are what makes me disgusting. I am disgusting. I am ashamed. I don’t know how to be any different. I can’t be different; because so much of how I feel about myself is dictated by what I’ve done and what’s been done to me.
I just wanted to be loved; to have a sense of security. I always took shortcuts to get there. Instead of being a person that was worthy on my own merits, I made dirty deals to contract a false sense of acceptance. M taught me a tainted sense of friendship; but now, I wouldn’t believe in the closeness – the intimacy – of a friendship without a sexual component. I believe, with fullhearted conviction, that a “genuine” platonic friendship is far outside my reach. I’m convinced – less so – that a true platonic friendship exists at all, at least in such a way that it would ever reach such a level of intimacy that relationship with sexual undertones could reach.
I think people lie to themselves about their motivations. everyone wants to fuck and be fucked. everyone wants to own someone – and you can only do that in the context of a sexual relationship.
Why is sex such a power struggle – why do I view it that way? I feel most powerful when I have a man withholding himself – obviously uncomfortable, filled with desire – in order to not cross my boundaries. I feel safe – in this wildly unsafe, unstable, intense, and overwhelming circumstance. Because in that moment, he’s withholding his desires for me. There is nothing hotter than a man telling me no when I’m begging him for more – especially if the reason he is saying no is purely because he wants me to feel safe. The moment they actually concede the game is somewhat over. I put my emotional walls up and I play with them as compensation for roleplaying my fantasy. If they really had conviction, if they really cared, they’d firmly turn down my advances. I just want to feel safe; I just want to feel loved. I don’t deserve that. Maybe one day? Probably not.
I think that the reason that I don’t feel deserving of love is because I’m damaged. Some damaged goods come at a discount, while others are just trash. Some damaged goods are usable, some are one-time-use disposable, some require such an investment that the person who salvaged them deserve all the credit for any value that they generate. I’m not usable – but maybe one of the other two alternatives.