Why am I so fucked up?

-



When I was a kid I was sexually abused by my moms cousin. I didn’t even know what had happened till my uncle showed a hentai about demons raping women. I did drawings inspired by the hentai and my parents who never gave me the talk thought I was a serial killer or demon possessed because I was extremely sheltered as far as culture I was exposed too as far as they knew. Yet my dad watched serial killer documentary’s on A&E they freaked me out because I though I was like them because of the drawings they discovered in my closet. This has lead to a huge amount of guilt and self hatred. 


Example I have always had a fascination with bondage stuff but never let myself indulge in it even with my partners who share in interest in it. If only because I just have some hang ups with it.


I made a friend who I loved talking to but because I am so fucked up and I feel like it is impossible for me not to screw shit up. I am not talking to her right now.


Spent most of the last couple of days suicidal because I can’t let stuff go… and I am learning to say I am sorry for how fucked on am and walking away.


Been crying a hole bunch and it’s always the same shit with me. Fuck people I don’t care about and have a strong emotional connection with a person who is in love with someone else.


Not sure why that is but I am praying and trying to change.


Don’t post much here right now but I needed to vent so you all get this word salad.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wayward Bound Or: a warped piano accompanying an epic f@%king poem. (Cluster one, of five.)

-
Image
        an Opera in D-Minor (Call me little horn!)   I wish I was a poet... Looking up at the Spun Sugar (The shade of clouds of the near dark) Whistling some bluegrass tune, as my sweetheart cooks our supper (Some slow cooker chili with jalapenos and banana peppers shore would hit the spot).   I wish I was a catfish swimming through the outer dark of space eating the light and swimming in the abyss. While space pirates dance in their shuttle craft with the naked women they have "liberated" as the carrier they attacked is set ablaze from the inside.   ...The maidens are never to be seen again...   I wish my bones to be picked clean by some prehistoric critter... that I may be devoured... that the loss of my life (through one hell of a struggle) would leave me content despite the meaninglessness of the pain. Because I know in my heart that things worked out.   I'm too tired to be optimistic But lived enough to know It's a thin line between b
Read more

On the potential distance of other worlds. (revision)

-
“My mission in life is to make everybody as uneasy as possible. I think we should all be as uneasy as possible, because that's what the world is like.”                                 - Edrward Gorey                             1          (A prelude and epilogue) "the ravens fly with quickening lines, dreams of mine but gets goodbyes." where shadows move, confused as signs and our lessons fall as loose as rhymes. Where the plague crow follows the storm yet, we are all so busy with our dream. The sign broken still stands alone, maggots also are fond of quivering my nightmare youth or sanity cries "Dreams of mine, remember" he sighs. of "give it your best please you must try." but in spite of the poetry still we die.                               2 Whenever the words escape or are said, "you deserve to get what you get." I feel as if I paraphrase the dead, "are we to believe miseries gift?" A gnostic with zen
Read more

What if Oedipus was my dad? (a reframing of the past.)

-
Image
                                          "To start with, here is a list of things I hate." -Tim Rogers.   I based my life on a lie, but the reality is there is a new mode of expression... It is irony through irony as sincerity or as it used to be called sarcasm.   Tim Rogers was my hero who I stalked (I didn't actualy stalk him I @ mention him four or five times on Twitter). then one day after a spree of @ mentions he @ mentioned me back, with a napalm bomb of reality, just the two-letter word "hi" and I was destroyed.   The important thing here isn't that Tim Rogers owned me (which he did!) it is that for some reason this articulate funny man brings out the inner troll in internet losers like me in a way that is embarrassing to the species.   It is like he inspires children to write a letter to Santa Clause and not ask for anything. His writing is rambling indirect and sometimes a blinding light to the rest of game journalism, almost as i
Read more