When I was a teen, I wrote poetry, prolifically.

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.


Two reasons

I wind up posting here for one of two reasons.

1) I'm feeling romantic/dreamy.

2) Self-loathing.

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?


not saying no

It's nights like this I fucking hate you.

Nights like this I feel violated. Feeling like my body isn't my own.

Nights like this I hate myself for not saying no. For being silent. For being here at all.

When the unthinkable seems reasonable. 

Maybe it's punishment for my sins. It kind of feels that way. I am good at self loathing and self-punishment. Some people have scars upon their soul, my scars 

It's nights like this I fucking hate myself.

i don't think i've loved anyone for a long time. not even myself.