Sometimes it is impossible for me to admit to myself that I am wrong, to admit that I need human contact in my life, that I lack boundaries, and that I am lacking a sense of direction. I’ve never discussed my future, in any serious sense, with anyone in my life. Instead, I plot and plan and seethe and stir by myself in my apartment.
When I ask questions of my potential partners or propose ideas to friends, I make my thoughts seem unimportant; they are not unimportant. All of my past relationships, platonic or otherwise, have failed because of me. I am not regretful or ashamed. I need someone to stir with me, to fuck shit up with me, to root for me, and most of all to grow with me. I’ve been told that I have an ego, all the best do. I’ve been told that I’m neurotic, I am. I was told, “you always were your own biggest fan,” by someone that I care about, but know I shouldn’t. It was something that was said to humble and embarrass me, but I’m tired of apologizing when I feel no remorse.
I punched my sister in the face when I was nineteen for trying to make me clean a spilled a bag of Tootsie Rolls. It was the same year my apartment got bed bugs; it was winter and I was depressed. I got hammered on E&J brandy and my best friend took part in tattooing “FTW” on my right calf. It is still my favorite tattoo. He suggested we watch Funny Gamesas a distraction from the repeated needle pricks. It became one of my favorite films, though I prefer the German version.
That night, at “home”, I thought a lot about slitting my wrists or hanging myself from the balcony- while the person that was supposed to be there for me more than anyone, sat on the couch in silence. No one ever asked, but I’m better now.
I was told the two most intimate things you can do with a person is fight them or fuck them.
I’ve been on multiple dates with people that were spoken for since July; after breaking up with my boyfriend of six years; after realizing I didn’t love him for the last three; but before fucking someone I probably should have never fucked and am still fucking.
In the past I have mirrored the loyalty of those that surround me. Those that worship me will be worshipped too; I have yet to find that. Until then, I’ll stay feral.
Every thought I’ve ever had about being domesticated (having the house and the dog and the hyper-masculine, hard-as-nails, man of a husband), translated to ‘weakness’ in my mind. I thought it wasn’t for me because I am proud, I am tough, and I am dominant.
Personal transgression is integral to my functioning and my familiarity with struggling has always been a constant in my life. I am convoluted and incisive to my core. The more I am given, the more I can take, and I will always get what I want.