Don’t Touch Me, I’ll Break

Nothing ever really has to go wrong in my life anymore for me to cry and feel empty. Things are wrong at the source, things are wrong with me, they always have been. I may not have a discernible mental illness, but the illness is there. Maybe it was there when I first opened my eyes, when I took my first step. I got crap on both sides of the family. Depression, wackiness.

It’s really hard to be more of an adult than your parents, to be more stable than your parents. And I’m not all that stable, so that’s really sad. I just burst into tears because of something that isn’t really much of anything, it was just frustrating.

I don’t know, I’m just rambling. It’s hard to look at myself and figure out what’s normal for me and what’s just plain wrong. Not all people are the same. I couldn’t even tell you my sexual orientation anymore, to be honest. Maybe that’s part of my suddenly fragile state. Just a few days ago I was provided an insight I hadn’t considered: perhaps my aversion to physical things is normal for me. Maybe, just maybe, I get nervous around guys who like me because I don’t want to be with a guy, physically or otherwise.

Honestly, actually thinking about it and attempting it has so far only served to scare the crap out of me.

I also realized, I don’t think I’m actually sexually attracted to anyone. Though thinking of certain people doing the dirty, and also certain kinks, those do turn me on. So I’m not completely asexual, I guess, but maybe I’m partly?

There just doesn’t seem to be much difference between me being obsessed with hot male and female celebrities anymore.

Rory is confused and tired of everything. Also, she needs a punching bag.

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About wewerethesame

Pagan. Writer. Owner of cats. View all posts by wewerethesame

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