Everything feels isolated.
Compartmentalized.
Emotionally complexed.
I was literally told this week that oversharing is a bummer, after I had summarized situations down to their core values.
That means seeing a monster from my past is a private affair.
Not a single soul would care enough to rub my back while I regurgitate pent up emotions that I've never shared.
At least they have my body, right? They have my fake cocks, they get my pussy. Everything in their life is a cake walk when all they have to do is mention there's something to pay for and it's paid. Top of the line, world class spoiled. Because that's the only time I get treated like a person worth being around. It's the only time I'm held or kissed or looked at so sweetly.. called nice names.
That's always how it's been. If I did something they wanted or approved of, I'd be rewarded with love. Like it's a privilege to be earned and I'm barely worthy.
One night he hit me so hard I had a broken rib.
When his family found out, I was told to take it on the chin and put ice on it. I was young, I had just gotten out of the mental institution after I was ejected from Sburb. I had no one but this guy who was putting his fucking hands on me. The only time he praised me was after we fucked, when he could throw it all over his blog about how he's coping with the idea that he's gay but that his new boyfriend is barely starting HRT. And god forbid if I said I didn't want to have sex. It was this whole emotional manipulation until I gave in anyway.
Maybe if I replace the feeling of his hands all over me with the hands of people who could care less about me it'd all blur until it was unrecognizable. I'm almost there, I think.
Another one of them did the same thing.. I remember he came over one night and I was so sick and on my period, but he insisted we fuck anyway. That it wasn't a big deal for him, that he could tolerate it. I tried saying no but he whined he never touch each other, and I just kind of let him have his way.
Then there was my ex who literally kidnapped me, brought me to a hotel room, and insisted I could sweat out a very problematic drug addict by bouncing on his cock.
Now I have someone living here who doesn't want to hear about my life. He'd rather me pay for everything, give him shelter, and fuck him than open up and relate to each other's common grounds like real fucking people do. When he said he was worried because I almost died and he was unaware of it, I believed him. I thought that maybe I had found someone who was going to care about me the way I'm desperate for. But now I'm questioning whether he's more upset that his - and I quote - "Meal Ticket" would croak and he'd have to go back to figuring out how to support himself.
Not a single person gives a fuck.
