I Love The Way You Hurt

For the first time in my life I've felt awesome and validated. Like suddenly I have the ability to be attractive to the opposite sex. It's silly really, but its been a long time coming.

It's hard when you encounter someone who's a really good kisser in a bar. I mean, what's the probability of that happening again? I mean, should it even happen again? I wouldn't be complaining. I could kiss like that all day.

I rather like kissing a man with a little stubble, a bit rough around the edges really. It's hard to get out of my head, just like that one time I was dating a guy and he whispered in my ear, "Are you gonna come for me?" And I can never get that out of my head. I fucking hate that guy, but I can never get that out of my head. Hot.

Sometimes things get complicated

They always do. But its my body and I will do what I want to with it. Mine.

This Morning I Sat Naked From the Waist Down Staring at a Mirror

Welcome to a blog post about vaginismus.

Vaginismus is the involuntary contraction of the vaginal muscles, which can occur in response to past pain or intense fear of pain. In its most severe forms, it can make any type of penetration impossible. To those of you who can simply insert tampons on a day of heavy flow, go to the gyno, self stimulate, have sex, these things may have been uncomfortable at first, or painful. But for me, they are impossible. I have never worn a tampon, I'm a virgin, no g-spot orgasms for me, weird hysterical meltdowns at doctors offices. It feels sometimes that my vagina is literally ruling over my life. I have this part of my body--this mystery part, that I cannot access. It is no longer mine.

It frustrates me to no end. Sometimes it makes me wish I was never born. There is no solace from it, because it lives on me, mocking me. Teasing me. It is ruining my adulthood, my relationships, my pleasure, and so much in between. I am broken. I am defective. I make the people I love angry.

I had to learn everything from scratch. I had to learn to be sexual, to touch, to look, to probe. These parts on my vulva, I didn't know what they were, or what they were supposed to look like. Looking too hard used to make me feel sick and lightheaded. What is this thing?! Is this some kind of joke? I used to think incredulously. What sort of frightening, flesh-fold abomination was this? Everyday after my shower, I sat in front of a mirror examining. It got easier as time progressed, until now I touch my body freely without fear. It was a triumph.

But now it leaves one more problem. The inside. What lies within this wet and frightening place? I was determined to find out today. I sat down in front of the mirror, yelling at myself, "Normal people do this every day, so why can't you?" "This is my body, and I can do what I want!" And I sat patiently, finger in place, waiting for the muscles to loosen, for the stinging sensation to lessen and become bearable. And I pressed on, slower the the slowest snails pace until I felt this hard rock. I realized this was my muscle. The doorway telling me to stop; the thing trying to keep me out of my body.

And at first, I was angry, but then I realized. Look, look how far I've come. I can actually feel the muscle. I don't just know its there, I have stood before the gates and asked for forgiveness. And I have been greeted by a cold stare. But at least I have seen that stare with my own eyes. And it can't last forever.

Why I Hate Summer

Since the beginning, I have always hated summer. Summer, brings out the worst. Every year it makes me just feel like shitty death. I begin to question my very validity as a person. It's hot, I generally am unemployed around this time. I have no obligations, no plans. Just an endless sea of nothing. Relaxing all day. All day. It's not relaxing. It's torture. Especially for a person with mental illness. It feels like I'm burning in the million fiery suns of hell. It's hot, I'm forgetting to eat. My energy level goes to zero. I'm dehydrated cause I don't care about getting up to drink or eat anymore. I stop picking up my phone. I can hardly use the bathroom. I can't sleep, and when I do it's plagued by horrible dreams. Even my waking hours feel like fuzzy blurs between consciousness and fictional insanity. And each summer, it feels like its getting worse. I feel like I have less and less. Sometimes I feel like I'm at the end of my rope. The stress makes it hard to hold a steady stream of thoughts or make conversation. It frightens me. I feel alone. Violent even, because I'm just so fucking apathetic that I just want everyone to leave me alone so that I can just climb away on a desert island and vomit out all of the bad thoughts until I just die.

It's ridiculous, and scary. But sometimes people get desperate. Sometimes people lose their jobs and their money and their sanity and their roommates. Sometimes people feel utterly alone. Sometimes, people lose their relationships because they can't have sex or be normal and useful. Sometimes it makes people crazy. Sometimes, people can't think of any scenario where they would actually feel good. And that makes the long tunnel of life seem dark and cold and moldy. It makes it seem unbearable sometime. It makes people's compassion seem unfathomable even. Like some sort of feeding tube or life support. Like I'm just some decorative corpse being carted around for the sake of others. A hollow shell of a human. So useless so soon. Inadequate. No value.

What good does a person with no value have, with no view of the future in which there is no pain? No relief from pain. Forever daunting. Forever insulted. No way out. What does a person like that do?
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Nothing, that person does nothing. Who's to say what lives have value and what lives don't? The burden I place on others is minimal compared to others. Debts can be repayed. Apologies can be made. Illness can be managed. Jobs can be gotten. Pain is eternal, but summer is not. It comes and goes each year after spring. But fall is always a cool breeze away. And things will be. Okay. Not good. Not ideal. But they will be. Because that's the way it has to be.

What the hell twilight?

What kind of a book series involves a man falling in love with a newborn baby?

A really, frighteningly popular one. One read by thousands of impressionable teens that don't know what love is yet. Teens who will never get a clear and non-fucked up message about love from any other media. It makes me want to write a book for young teens with a normal view about love and relationships. But then again, what is normal even?

I can tell you what isn't: a grow adult thinking a baby is his soul-mate. What happens if she grows up and decides she doesn't want to be with him? He won't have another soul-mate, so she'll essentially be screwing him over for life, even after all the time he spent watching over her as a baby. He waited so patiently, and thus, deserves a reward. And what kind of a force unintentionally makes an adult fall in love with a baby? Does he really like her? How could he? It's not her looks or her personality, she's hardly existed in the world yet! Is it because he thinks she will grow up to be a watered down version of her mother? I mean come on, how long is he gonna have to wait before true love can happen?

It's just all kinds of messed up. But it gives me some food for thought on normal relationship.

So I used my mind, and I used my hand, it was what I want to do

I really want to do just what my body needs to
If I could just hold all the thoughts in my head and just keep them for you
I want to do just what my body needs to
If I want I just might do what my body needs to
If I could just purge all the urges that I have and keep them for you


Adult sexuality is a complicated thing. Heck, sexuality is a complicated thing. Especially when it involves all the issues I have. I mean how are you supposed to be a sexual being when you can't have the type of sex that society as a whole has branded as normal?

Written a long time ago, but just for reference

Ground Rules:

No Lashing out at me: I am not the one who’s in the wrong here

You must be willing to hear me out

No jumping to conclusions

No putting words or intention in my mouth

First off, you cannot reason with someone while they are having a full scale mental breakdown. A breakdown lies not in rational thought and resides at the place where pain and illogical intersect. I envy you for not knowing what that is like, but I am glad for you. Breakdown is not a good place to be. But it means that your specialty cannot lie anywhere but sympathy, and not in empathy. You do not understand what it is like to be that desperate. Desperation is a scary thing, uncertainty is a scary thing, not feeling safe and secure anywhere. Burning in the fiery torment of pain from which you see no end. You don’t know these things, I can see that for sure. I am glad for that. But you must be willing to open your eyes and see it in others. But you see, this is complicated, because now I have given you a very personal part of myself. Something that cannot be taken back. You have seen me at the apex of all things bad. It is a part that almost no one on earth has seen, it is a dark and frightening part of myself. The thought of you holding me while I was so vulnerable is beautiful and touching to me. However, it leaves out a very important part:

The part where that should have never happened. I should have never been pushed to that breaking point. We should have talked it out like mature adults in a safe space at a time where it was reasonable. Instead of cornering me in a place that was literally inescapable, humiliating. The part where you literally forced your opinion of us onto me, we didn’t break up, You dumped me. You dumped me knowing full well where I stood at that point and time. At a time that you knew was important to me, on a day that you knew was stressful already, but you did it anyways.

And it FUCKING HURT. I entrusted you with my feelings, I made myself extremely vulnerable to you, I laid myself out there, I allowed you to push that envelope.