The problem was, and still is, I am crap at titles. I hate titles. They are the last thing I do when I write a book. So I have hundreds of poems without titles.
I miss cutting. I'm not even badly depressed or experiencing deep emotional pain.
But maybe that's the reason, I"m not feel much of anything. I am apathetic, I am emotionless, I am bored to death.
Cutting would at least be feeling something.
I guess that is probably depression. But, I have no compulsion to do much about it.
1) I'm feeling romantic/dreamy.
Lately I've been feeling like I am 20 year old me. Not 32 year old me, though I haven't felt the body's age in years.
Old issues coming up. Unresolved feelings, regrets, old wishes and dreams. Talking to people from the past. Trying to find the old connection. Getting caught up in old obsessions.
I have found the best way to deal with my mind, is to let it go. Acknowledge the feelings, let myself get caught up in them if need be. But realize that they are just thoughts. Just because I have a fantasy about being in an open relationship or fucking the guy from my past that I never had the chance to, doesn't mean I need to run off and try to do those things. \\
I used to believe, if I felt something I had to pursue it, that it was going to happen, or at I wanted it to happen.
There's a paradox. I desire/fantasize about/feel something, but I don't want it.
I do think that writing romance comes from my long-felt, never acted upon, desire to be in an open relationship. I recently said it was because I wanted to experience being a slut. Which I sorta do. But I also long to flirt with people- it makes me feel sexy and fun. I long to make out with people. I think those are the kinds of slut I want to be, not an actual slut.
It's just a random thought that passes by my head on occasion. I have no idea what it would be like in practice. Maybe I would hate it.
Alright. Random thoughts from my head. This is my journal. But I feel better about it if I put it in public. Is that weird? Not so public that I'll share it social media, but public enough that I can imagine certain people are reading it and thinking of me. Even if they aren't. weird right?
He was sexy. There was no denying that. He also scared me. I remember the flash of wonder, "What would it be like?"
I didn't want to get physical. The thought didn't cross my mind. All I wondered is What would it be like to to taste those lips?
I see it in my mind. We're in a tete a tete and I lean in close, touch my moth to a cheek perhaps, maybe lips. If I am lucky there will be lips.
Would he be surprised? Then he'd recover, pull me close, kiss me back. Warm strong lips.
Could I acquire a new taste for beer in the depths of his mouth?
I swoon, visibly I fear, at the thought of tangling tongues. I have to walk away, to regain control.
His hands look capable. If I let myself I could imagine them all over my body. I could weave a fantasy where they elicit delighted gasps and waves of pleasure.
But, those thoughts lead down a dark path. Hiding away in the dark, to do what I swore I didn't want to do.
I don't want to even really share a kiss. It's enough to imagine, to fantasize. It's fun to dream what could be without indulging one bit in setting forth into reality.
There is violation in saying yes or not saying no to that which you do not want. It is not being violated by another, or letting yourself be violated, as much as violating or betraying the self.
When I don’t say “no”, I leave the situation feeling spiritually raped. Not by you, but by myself. I stumble to my own space feeling used and empty. I cry silent tears if I cry at all. Not wanting you to witness my guilt.
I have lived so long wanting to please others. I have characterized myself as submissive, giving, caring, pleasing, being a doormat- whatever name fit the situation, that absolved me of responsibility. But, I see now the wrongness of this view. Being pleasing is not a character trait. It is a choice, born of the desire to be more likeable. I let that desire shred my soul, until it came to pass that I had no idea who I was anymore.
I still don’t know who I am. But, I no longer violate myself by saying yes when I mean no. I no longer need you to like me because I will say yes whenever you ask. If you like me it will be for what I am. If you do not that is OK too; I discovered I like me at the very least.
And to those fantasies of submission? They work best when they remain fantasies.