It's not the chance that I might be a lesbian that bothers me. It's the fact that I have self doubt. An extremely foreign concept to me I might add. From a young age I've never truly doubted who I am as a person, and the fact that I am now is really pissing me off!
I don't do drugs - that's a stupid waste of time and a escape for the weak.
I don't drink heavily- it clogs the senses.
I don't go to clubs that's a boring waste of time.
I don't smoke- I've seen too many people die from it and have a healthy fear of ever needing a trache. (tracheotomy)
I don't watch t.v. most of the stuff on it is trite.
I'm not a religious person. I believe firmly that you do not need to go to church or pray to know the difference between right and wrong.
And I've never held true attraction for anyone in my whole life...sex is something that OTHER people engage in. It's something that on a good day I might be able to write vaguely about. It holds no interest for me-all right fine it scares me. It terrifies me to have someone in my personal space like that-I guess what I'm saying is that I hate sex...weird I know. But whenever I get felt up by a guy I remember a balding old man who used to give me candy and put his hands up my shorts. No I'm not fucking kidding that bullshit isn't funny. And I'm almost scared of the disgusting memories that being with a woman could bring me. Just scraping it annoys me that bitch Josephine may she burn in hell.
Maybe that's why I don't like shota consensual or non- maybe that's why I don't like rape...no I know why I don't like rape. I don't like rape because of that same old man. I don't like rape because I know what it's like to feel helpless and dirty and have no one believe you. I know what it feels like to want to forget shit but your fucking mind is your own worst enemy. I know because I've been there. Maybe that's why I write such romantic crap-because the concept of love is strange to me. I don't understand it, I'm scared of it but at the same time I fucking want it. I just don't know with who-maybe I should just get a pet of some kind.
I'm obsessed with strength can you tell? I'm obsessed with control I can admit it. I can't stand not being in control of my life, my body, and my mind. Because those are the things that I consider to be mine. Sex takes away that control, love takes away that control. UGH! Do you understand that? Can you understand that? You think I'm crazy don't you? That's okay I think I am too. LOL. Anyway back to the main reason I wrote this.
Some guy thought I was a lesbian because I didn't like him touching me. Actually he repulsed me, it's not that he wasn't cute...he was. But he was also married which is a big disgusting no-no. And if it hadn't been for that girl that I met in Borders last week, I would have laughed him off.
Maybe I am gay. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm bi which is completely unacceptable because that's a compromise. I can't stand walking middle roads I need to be absolute or I'll lose what little equilibrium I do have. LOL I just don't know and that pisses me off like nothing else-so what do I do? I write. I write and I escape. I write and I become a voyeur watch and record the movie playing itself out inside my head.
Hm. I guess I do have an addiction. Writing if I couldn't do that the voices in my head would rebel. No that's not a fucking joke either, I hear voices. No I'm not on medication. No they don't tell me kill things, or kill people. They're just there talking me through the day, reminding me of things I'd rather forget. Some of them panicking over something. Others yelling at me telling me I'm a moron for this that or the other thing. I'm so used to them by now that if I didn't have them I don't know what I'd do.
What the fuck am I talking about? Nothing. Something...but mostly nothing. Aaliyah is dead did you know that? She was 22 years old, barely two months older than me. And she's done a shit load more with her 22 years than I've done with mine. Ah well my old creed. People die. People die I've known that since I was a kid.
LOL that reminds me of my dad's funeral. His casket was brown fiberglass looking stuff. I remember the inside was white-very pretty. And my sisters had him put in a maroon colored suit-it looked polyester. I remember he had this weird cracked fingernail I don't know how he did it, but he'd had it as long as he was alive. Now he's dead...died when I was 10....what was that 12 years ago? I wonder if he's just bones now. Hell I don't even know where his grave is lol! No one sprung for a headstone. So he's buried somewhere in the boonies of Louisiana in the corner of some fucking cemetery no one brings flowers to his grave. Most don't even know where he's buried. Grass grew where they put him by now and I guess he's just another part of the landscape. LOL same thing with my mother. Same thing that's going to happen to me.
Fuck. I don't want be confused about anything my sexuality above all. Sometimes I go through the shit in my mind and wonder why I haven't gone on a killing spree long ago. And one of my little voices just says it's because giving into complete insanity is a weakness. LOL I haven't killed anyone because I think it's weak. I don't become a druggie or an alcoholic because I think it's weak. And if I am one thing I am not weak. Straight? Maybe. Gay? God I hope so it'd give me a reason to avoid men. Crazy? No I guess not. Hmmm.
I'll save this now, and read it in a week or so. I don't know if I'll put it up on my page or not. Probably not lol.