Just bought myself a MBP. Man I hate paying for my own shit.

When does trying become trying too hard?

I’m stuck in a rut. I’m overthinking and just expecting the worse as usual. I confided in S and she agreed, I was overthinking and making it worse for myself. Things weren’t that bad. In the grand scheme of things, it’ll be one of those moments that we’ll be laughing at a couple of months from now. Everything’s fine.

I can’t help it. I don’t want to expect the worse but I am compelled to do so. I know I can’t change the end results even if I run through all possible scenarios in my head. I know running through them brings only harm and has no benefit. I know all this but I can’t seem to stop. It’s actually more of an effort to not think about it than run through the motions. I tell myself I want acceptance from within and that if it’s over it’s over but I can’t stop.

I start bracing myself for catastrophe and then telling myself to relax, you can’t prepare for every slightly-possible tragedy. But I can’t. I don’t want to tell myself ‘I told you so’ when it happens but that’s what I’m screaming at myself now. Internally I scream, that I never should’ve put myself in such a situation again, that I should’ve known better than to forget how much it could hurt, that this is a direct consequence of me breaking my own promise to myself to never let this happen again.

Then there’s the part of me who wants it to work. Who wants it to it’ll work out. Who allows me to believe that it just might work out. The part of me where a lone, smothered voice beckons me to remember all the positive words I’ve accumulated over the past few years, words that I’ve used to build this pedestal where even on my knees I’d be as tall as everyone else.

“If you never play the game because you’re afraid to lose then you will never in hell stand a chance of winning.”

And that’s where my contradictions begin.

 

Have you ever wondered what it'd feel like to not exist?

Anti-twink

Note: I stumbled across the term anti-twink from Hetero-Challenged's blogpost.

Anti-twinks thrive on being wanted and desired, yet they also seek a man too good for them and that often entails someone who does not show their desire or want them in return. Anti-twinks are the gay boys who never learned to love themselves and thus feel a compelling need to fit the most desired stereotyped portrayed by mainstream media. Of course they're anti-twink, they want to be the only twink in town. That way they can be the most desired. They act like bitches because that's the only way they can hide their submissive side while also showing their vulnerability (or, feminine side) in their forever quest for the almost-impossible-man (AIM).

A man who encompasses all attributes of the AIM is a rarity. As hard as the anti-twink works to be the ideal anti-twink, the impossible man has to naturally fit into his stereotype (as defined by the anti-twink) with as little effort as possible. They are negatively correlated and both approach an asymptote, always nearing but never touching zero. For this reason, the more of an anti-twink the twink is, the harder it is to find his almost-impossible-man.

Finally, there is the anti-twink at the the topmost of the anti-twink pyramid, attitudes and beliefs and behaviours fully attuned to being the utmost anti-twink he can be. The AIM becomes the impossible man, and is impossible not because he doesn't exist, but because the most desirable of his attributes - unattainableness - ceases to be the moment he is attainable. For these anti-twinks, they must first focus on getting over themselves, or face the possibility of being alone forever.

What a fucking loser. LOL

Blame

Blame is a dangerous thing. It can be a verb, a noun, and a drug. You can direct, shift, or even suppress it. It can be projected both inwards and out. Most of all, it'll always seems harmless enough until it summons a tragedy bigger than itself.

Blame can blind you with emotion. It can propel you with the force of an erupting volcano, or shatter you internally like two conflicting twisters. It can overwhelm you, get you to forget to breath and leave you gasping for air.

Blame can become a habit. You who is a master escape artist will one day run out of options and in a clutch, ride the train that is blame. In your pursuit of freedom you cling on to blame and suddenly you are one stop too late, one time too many, too far from home.

Perhaps one day you will let go of the blame. And like all addictions, the only constant you can expect with withdrawal is regret.

I'm sorry, T.

Alone Again

"A lot has happened.

Somehow I am all by my lonesome, again.

I could ponder on about the million and one things I could've possibly done differently, so you would've done differently, so we would've done differently. I could contemplate and rationalise the pain I felt or inflicted on you so many times over that I couldn't feel it anymore. I could agonise over the way we ended things, the last time I ever saw your face, or kissed your cheeks, or felt the warmth of your tongue swirling like crashing waves, leaving behind a ripple that resonates deep into the very numbness of my soul.

I could think about you positively. When one is self-destructive, to think of another positively is to think of the other as doing it for reasons besides spite. I heard the jarring clatter of your heart being wrenched open, and the frantic pitter-patter of you keeping it all together. I saw the reluctance and pain and sorrow and tragedy and misery and agony in that kiss I had no idea was our kiss goodbye. I know you wished me well.

I could think of you positively.

I could imagine you in my mind, in our room, slowly but surely prepping yourself for the monumental task to come. I saw you organise our things, our life, into boxes and up onto the few shelves you could still spare me in your heart. The others went out down the garbage chute as you forcefully embraced freedom from the chains that chain, the bonds that bond, and the ties that bind.

I have an addictive personality.

Dissociation is addictive. Loneliness is addictive. Pain is addictive. Melancholy is addictive.

But so is freedom.

And if there's anything I hope you'd know it would be this:

I wish you nothing but the best,"

he said as he clicked in confirmation.

.

Just

I stayed through his suicides, through wrestling off the balcony, through him swinging knives. He couldn’t handle me being away for…. Half a year.

Then I realised, he loved me because he needed me.

I just..

.. loved him.