S Pink Premium Pointer Bio-Tagebuch (nur 3% Fantasie): Post-Orgasmic Post
People used to remind me that "not everything's either black or white", but that doesn't mean they don't exist.
Because, where is all that grey coming from?

Freitag, 26. September 2014

Post-Orgasmic Post

I'll never be able to put my mind into words.
I mean, like, everything: how I see things, what I think about them, their connections inside my head, and how I feel when I think about them or maybe even just watch or listen.
It's kind of stupid to even try, and still ...

Only a few minutes ago, I finished "taking my mind off of things for a moment" - i.e. I watched some porn.
The cute young woman in the porn video (I guess she was in her late twenties. But who knows?) had a big scar on her chest, like the ones you have after a heart surgery. You could even see that it wasn't fully healed yet, because the scar tissue was still quite reddened. For some reason it made her instantly more attractive to me.
I feel easily attracted to damaged things as well as damaged people - they're more interesting. Perfection is boring. It's like in that one Therapy song, "Happy people have no stories." To a certain degree it also triggers a protective instinct in me when something is "not as it's intended to be".
The things that happened have made me feel bad about that. But why?
Why should it be considered a bad thing when you don't want any harm to come to the people and things you love? I don't get it.
... it's another reason why I mostly try to keep my distance.
... and another reason why I don't know what the fuck to do.

I think I mentioned a few times already that it happens quite often that I cry after an orgasm, when the wave of the highest of feelings tremendously breaks at its peak and forces its way down again. You can't hold it back, it has to be this way. It hurts, because deep down inside of me I feel like I'm losing something very precious to me. Try to imagine the one thing you hold dear the most, something you wouldn't want to live without. Now picture it getting ripped out of your hands and set alight, and there's nothing you can do but to watch it burn until the only thing that's left of it is the pain of the most tragic loss. And not only do I feel powerless, but also guilty, because in my case it was partly my fault that everything came crumbling down on me. Something substantial was brutaly removed within the blink of an eye, and now it's gone forever and left nothing but memories that turned to a pile of red-hot glowing coles which slowly burn through your heart. Every. Damn. Time.
I find it impossible to describe, for there are only so many words. And they all manage to paint just a small picture of a much bigger surface, and they probably won't ever be able tell you what's underneath it all, no matter in what constellation I put them. It just hurts.

I bet I repeated myself for the 100th time now. Sure feels like it. I'm a broken record, constantly skipping a beat and moving in close circles, unable to break out. No wonder that I can't find any answers to my questions in order to make the song play on. I'm just waiting for the power to go out. It's ridiculous, pathetic. I know that there is an awful lot of people out there who would tell me to suck it up. And some of them would surely be capable of actually doing just that. But I can't.
Instead I feel wrong practically all the time, no matter what I do or don't do.

Nervous, anxious, distorted, disoriented, lost hope, lost faith, lost trust, damaged, exhausted, incapable, unwilling, disturbed, scared, angry, depressed, sad, scarred, confused ... fucked up ...
... how is it even possible that I still haven't physically harmed myself or others? Well, at least not actively and intentionally. I don't cut myself or anything like that, but it's not like sitting in a room for over two years would've done me any good. I don't make myself bleed. My mind forces me to a different kind of self-torture. I don't need to remind myself that I'm still alive, and I don't need to test myself if I can still feel, 'cause those are the only things I can do anyway: thinking and feeling, and nothing else. I can't do.
Why?
What am I waiting for?
Why am I still waiting for it?

October 13th is going to be my 31st birthday. Then it's going to be one year since I began to try again, and I've already fallen back down ... again.
Does that make me a failure?
But I can't have failed for as long as I still try, can I?
But I'm not actually trying, I'm just sitting here.
Does that make me a bad person?
Why?
I never wanted any of this, and yet I feel unable to achieve anything else ... and when I do it won't last. Whatever it takes, I don't seem to have it. The one thing that's been working just fine all along is my gift to destroy anything that dares to come near me.
I'm sorry.

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