things i wrote at 15(ish) that are just textbook compulsory heterosexuality
When I say I like someone, do i really mean it? Everytime I’m exausted or depressed I tend to find myself a reason to keep going. Today’s reason is a poor fucker who’s only fault is being kinda cute and treating me kindly. In my head I have this distort picture of being a couple. If i’ll have a boyfriend everything will finally go right in my life! I could vent, he could comfort me, we could have fun and do all those things couples do. I don’t even know if i would like being in a relationship.. it looks like a full time job. We’ll have to go on dates, text for every stupid thing, and i don’t have time to fit a boyfriend in my schedule (especially a long distance one)
I think i was barely out of middle school when i wrote this.. you go girl get it I guess
So really, it was never about him as much as what he represents -the male gender maybe, maybe society, maybe just an imaginary hierarchy I made up-, and even then it was not really about that as much as my incredible need for approval to be someone I always had all the rights but never the courage to be.
Conclusion about me not giving two fucks abou the guy I liked for one year getting together with another girl. In highschool
Or maybe I never liked him in the first place. Quite the plot twist if you ask me, finding out that it was yet another boy I relied in hope to be fixed, making the amount of real people I genuinely liked up to zero if we don't count all my confused feelings for girls I am way too much comfortable with, you can hug her without fear of judgment while your two pair of boobs press together and she slaps your butt and you, touch starved piece of shit, are wondering how much time you can squeeze out of this soft creature before it's annoying/creepy/inappropriate.
The closet is literally made of glass. Also highschool.
I prayed that time. I prayed every night to be saved from my own sadness. I prayed that someone would save me by falling in love with me and showing me I was not worthless. Boy after boy I obsessed with them, their presence constantly on my delusional mind, because if there was a hope, even a small one that I could have one ally I was sure to be on my side and tell me that I am beautiful and the most wonderful thing ever happened to him then you could have been sure I would have gripped that hope with my claws and teeth. God never gave me a boyfriend.
Recalling my lonliness in middleschool where I picked and chose boys to obsess over.
I wonder if it's wrong that my dream is to slay men with a flip of my tangled, unkept hair when I pass near them. I wonder if this need of being the cause of a boner it's my desire to win the system at its own game or me being already part of the game and losing. I wonder what it feels like, to be so beautiful people want to fuck you. Do you feel powerful? Or do you feel like a piece of meat waiting to be beaten?
Just trying to understand why I so desperately needed to bee seen as something attractive to men, and asking myself if that would have made me happy since I grew up fat and ugly and thus i never had such experience