Well sometimes it can bite you in the ass.
I’m watching Easy A and the counselor states that a real whore won’t admit to themselves about being a whore.
I don’t care who knows who I’ve slept with. I tell pretty much everyone who will listen or who wants to know.
I tell myself I’m a whore. I tell myself I’m not. I don’t know who or what I am.
God. What is wrong with me.
Honestly, I’m tired of wasting my breath. Maybe I vent my feelings for attention, maybe I don’t. Maybe I want people who honestly care about me to surround me, maybe I don’t. Maybe I want to find true love, maybe I don’t.
The thing is, I have a problem. Sex addiction, trust issues, whatever you want to call it, I have a fucking problem.
You can say that you know what I’m feeling, what I’m going through. You can have a very similar situation to mine, but I honestly think you’ll never know how I feel.
I used to think that. Those posts with thousands and thousands of notes that say “Is it me or…” or “Do you ever…” and you reblog it because you know exactly what their talking about, well I don’t think anyone can honestly relate to anything.
It’s your mind. They play tricks on you. You want to believe, you want to live and trust, you want to care. But no matter what, you push. You push people, family, friends away because you know that feeling of hurt. Of dead. That feeling in your heart, that excruciating sharp pain you feel when someone lies to you, uses you.
I really don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m just tired of wasting my breath. What happened to tumblr being for venting. For your personal issues. I don’t know, but I’m sick and tired of anons telling you otherwise. Judging when they deliberately say they don’t judge.
I don’t judge. I really don’t. I’m not the kind of person who goes on anon and asks someone why they don’t like gays, or tell them that they’re a whore because I see a post of them saying they had sex.
If you want to have sex, have fucking sex. That’s your life. For me, so what if I fucked forty guys. Give or take. Yes, I haven’t graduated high school. I like to blame a lot of things why I do the things I do. For instance, my step father. Another, because my memory of him dissipates when I have sex. Every stress, every memory, every pain I’ve felt my whole life, gone. You can judge. But this is me. What goes on in my head. What I feel. How I go about things. It’s not healthy. I understand that. It may seem like I don’t respect myself, I do. I care for my well being. But if I just let myself drown in the sorrow I feel, I could honestly take my life. I could go see a counselor, but I hate those consequences. I hate complications. I hate confrontation. I don’t know who I am. I know why I go about some things, I believe in some things that may counter act other beliefs.
I’m complicated. I get it. But this is certainly my life. I have no impact on any of you people who are reading this. I don’t. I’m just another human being out of seven billion others who have their own shit to worry about.
Thanks, now have a wonderful day.