I feel like I’m chasing after pain. I want to feel it. I want to be punished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=47"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":77,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/47\/revisions\/77"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=47"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=47"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/janedoe.blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=47"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}