I have decided to try writing at least one new thing a week. Here is this week. Disclaimer: This is not about me or you.
GIRL WHO IS DEAD INSIDE
I hate comfort. The moment a man gets any closer to me than an arms length, I get bored. Not scared. Bored. Of course I’ll blame my disinterest and/or disappearance on fear of intimacy to save their egos, but really, I just get dry at the sight of a penis I’ve had inside of me more than four or five times. I’ve also come to learn that the average man typically only has about three and a half stories to tell that are truly interesting. After I’ve heard them, I just want them to go away.
I wish that I was afraid of commitment and stuff because that would mean that I secretly wanted it. But the truth is, I don’t give a shit about anyone beyond a shallow, ego boosting level.
Of course, I have the ability to enjoy short-term relationships if a man is constantly doting on my exterior features because it reaffirms to me that I am still pretty and that my appearance had not begun to match my cold, dark insides. I like saying romantic and funny things I don’t mean just to take pleasure in feeling their awe as they realize how smart and interesting I am on top of my good looks. I particularly enjoy pretending to sleep while I’m sharing a bed with a man, because I can sometimes feel him watching, probably thinking about how beautiful I look lit by the faint moonlight that spills through the blinds. I guess that’s pretty cool.
But after about one week , my brain will automatically begin searching for another empty outlet. And since I’m good at seeming innocent I always get away with having sex with a new person behind their back so that the cycle can begin all over again.
My girlfriends tell me that I do this because I just haven’t met the “right guy”, but I don’t’ think that’s true because I attract and destroy so many “right men” most girls would kill to be with. Anyway, my ability to feel nothing while I catch and throw away these men and their compliments like they are worthless pieces of garbage , makes me assume that if their theory is true, the “right guy” for me would be a lunatic asshole who isn’t nice at all, and I would rather not meet him ever. Because as horrible as I am, I have amazing self esteem. I know I won’t be pretty forever. And that will probably be my downfall. I’m going to die alone. I can feel it. But this is another thing I love about myself: I’m self-aware.
And actually, I often think that going to hell might be kind of fun. I could meet other evil people there and we can do horrible things together….like see what it would be like to rape each other or run around making demon noises. Yeah. So if I were to ever feel love, it would probably be there .
