terrestreconfissao-blog

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He likes the way I taste

To put a flavor to lips is an odd thought, it's taste and a feel that doesn't properly work as a flavor.  Certainly not like a food.  Your lips are soft and supple, like a chew toy covered in satin.  But you taste like honeydew and silk, a sweet floral aroma gently misted over a meaty bit of earthen cloth.  Juicy enough to chew on and thin enough to slip between my own.  Like what I assume a rose would taste like to a humming bird.  Refreshing and cool but also hot and virile.

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My life; briefly

I grew up the daughter of an abusive alcoholic father and an OCD mother. I have one older biological sibling who, for most of my life, hated me and blamed me for my parents divorce, which happened when I was nine.

Because nine year olds are the leading cause of divorce these days.

My dad found another woman shortly after, who also had a daughter. She became my sister. We were cross adopted, which can only happen, legally, if the biological parent signs away their parental rights, which mine did, and shortly after she tried to kidnap me while still in the court house.

After this, my father is still an abusive alcoholic, but now I'm the only sibling getting hit. My older brother is all moved out and my new younger sister isn't his to hit.

"Its how they communicate"

We move to another state. I start showing all the signs and symptoms of an abused child, nothing is done.

I have an interest in boys and begin to feel sexual urges that are out of place for my age. Instead of getting help, I am punished and beaten for these things that I don't even understand. I am being treated as if I have the knowledge of an adult because I am having the compulsions of an adult.

Symptoms of anxiety and ptsd manifest. More punishments and beatings. Because that will make the symptoms stop or at least give me a "real" reason for having them.

I must be choosing to be like this. I have to stop. The harder I try to stop the worse the symptoms get, the worse the beatings get.

In eighth grade I start to cut my self. I need to make the symptoms go away before it causes another beating, I'd rather be in control of the pain I have to feel, because I have to feel pain to make the punishments stop.

They found out I'm cutting, and I'm being punished for it too. I'm going to have to hide it from now on. I get grounded and beated for feelings I don't understand and actions that I have no control over.

Everyone picks on me and I have no friends. We move, transfer schools 'start new' for the third time...

Still cutting

Oh, now you want me to see a therapist huh? Oh only until they offend you defending my mental health, then it's off to the next one with no closure. Ohkay oh until that one offends you.. for the same reason... annddd same result. Ohkay. Well this one seems to work, because she doesn't break confidentiality and makes sure she only talks about the thing I want her to. That way you don't know everything that's going on with me because otherwise, I'll just get punished, because that helps.

"Everything is my biological mom's fault. There's nothing actually wrong with me and anything that is wrong is just the lasting effects of her brain washing."

Ohkay. Yeah. That makes total sense.

My dad found condoms in my purse that were put there from some trolls at a school dance. I hung on to them to give to my sexually active friends. Because with all the transferring of schools I've taken sex ed like four times. Instead of talking to me about it or even ask me why I have them, he just assumes I'm out being a little harlot and he threw them at me in a therapy session and called me a whore (this is why we stopped seeing the second therapist, in case I lost you with the jumpy transition there) they weren't even mine. I was still a virgin. He beat me all the way home, I couldn't walk right for a week or two..

Nothing was done, no reports by the school or the therapist, nothing.

For the next 6 years I'll be scared to use a condom with a boy. Scared he'll find out. Mom put us on birth control to help with the depression and anxiety. Dad gave us a speech about how it's not a free pass to go sleep with everything with a pulse. I didn't have anyone I wanted to have sex with but I did anyways, with three boys in less than a year because of that speech. The first two were hardly sex. The third one was, rough dominating sex like I always imagined it to be.

I stayed with him because of the sex and because he was rude to my dad, I liked that about him.

But once a month he'd break up with me. I didn't figure out why until he third month, because he wouldn't be able to have sex with me if I was on my period. Once waited until I was at his house, I lied that it was that time of the month to see what he'd say.

He threw me into a tv stand. I told him I lied to see if that was why he kept going on breaks with me. He told me what I did was fucked up so he was going to fuck me.. up.

I tell everyone now a days that I stood up for my self and I went down stairs and told him family he threw me and why and that they all stood up for me.

But I just say that so people don't feel bad for me or so they don't find out he raped me that day and then made me sit there and watch tv with him for the rest of the afternoon until he wanted to rape me again.

According to him we had sex twelve times that day, something to brag about to his friends. A story I've even used to brag about. But that's all it was. A story.

Still cutting.

I'm sure I was still getting beatings at home or in trouble for something at school. But I honestly can't remember most of it. I judge what year I was in highschool by the boy I was dating because the rest of it is a blur. I had no friends. I never have, only my boyfriend's friends.

My next boyfriend was amazing everything I ever wanted. He got me my first bouquet of roses that Christmas and cookies and perfume and something else, but I can't remember. My dad said it was way too much and over the top. But that's the first time I loved someone. Truly. And he loved me. He was so good to me all the time. For Valentine's day he tried to get one dozen roses sent to the school but the office never told me. So he had two dozen sent to my house and came over that night with seven presents. He took me out at the fanciest resturaunt in town and then to a movie. My dad made him take most of the presents home, I wasn't allowed to have them because it was way too much and I didn't deserve all this.

My boyfriend just let me open them at his house the next day, I still have one of them, a Vermont teddy bear. My most favorite gift to this day.

It was still some of the best sex I've had to this day.

He broke up with me about a month before prom. I spent a week curled up in my bed in his sweatshirt. I couldn't move and I couldn't stop crying. I loved him so deeply. I still do.

We're friends now a days.

The next few were a blur and pretty shitty. Then I dated this obsessive guy thought we were going to get married after a month of dating. He was sweet and taught me a lot about my self. We broke up before my freshman year of college. I started dating another guy. Virgin. Never even kissed a girl. Never stood up for me either, total skeese.

Then I started talking with this guy. He was so nice. And talented. And smart. I enjoyed him. My parents didn't. They thought he was creepy and ugly. He was just a dirty hippy. He took me out on one date. I blew him off for a while. Then the night before Christmas eve I invited him over. He snuck in my bedroom window, everything after that was pure ecstasy. I can't even describe how good he was. My parents disliked him so much. I just blew him off more, but I couldn't get him out of my head. We had connected on a spiritual level. I felt it. For the first time I really felt it.

So like the world's biggest douche I started dating another guy.. it was good, until he knocked me up, cheated on me, and dumped me all in the same week.

I had an abortion. I'm still cutting, but less often. I hate myself. I'm lost.

But I was supposed to act like I didn't have an abortion. Wanna know what my biggest concern was after the pain went away, when is it safe for me to have sex. But I was so terrified of having sex. I hooked up with a guy, regret.

Then I met the second love of my life. Oh I was so in love, he was like a mix of my first love and spiritual sex guy. Oh man was he amazing. I loved him so deeply, when we broke up I spent two weeks in bed. Skipped all my classes, most of my meals, and just went numb. A life without him wasn't worth living.

Date the first guy I have sex with. He's incredible, earth shattering, so intelligent, incredibly giving. We've been dating for a year, things feel like they're going sideways.

Fast forward. We break up, go through a hoe phase have another spiritual connection but I'm so afraid of it I push him away. He had a guitar tattoo on his back and beautiful hair. Date different guy, (is this a pattern) it's stagnant, one year, I leave. Hoe phase #2

Spiritual sex, this one has a tattoo of a crab and smokes cigarettes, (here comes that pattern again) you guessed it, push him away, date another stagnant guy for a year.

Too afraid to repeat the pattern.

I'm very afraid.

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Why?

Why is it when I tell you what's wrong in my life, you tell me what's going so well in yours? Like that's gonna help?

What?

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Imagine how pathetic you are.

Imagine a life where you looked back and saw 'if only' written on every page.

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□◇□◇□◇□◇□◇□

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'If only you had this kind of passion when it mattered, when it was needed most.'

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

If only you had done the things you were supposed to, the things that didn't bennifit you.

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.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.•°•.

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Truth is, a life like this is pathetic at best and sad to look upon. When you project your faults on to everyone else the cracks in your foundation just get deeper. Someday your walls will come caving in and you will have nothing left to build on and no one left to help salvage what remains.

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<○>●<○>●<○>●<○>

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I hope this never happens to you. Though you may deserve it, I hope you never have to see this day come.

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《▪》•《▪》•《▪》•《▪》

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I wish nothing but the best for you, and honestly that's where you went wrong.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Careful pointing fingers.

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school sucks

I need to be doing a final right now, but here we are. fml

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Worry

You have me worried.

All mixed up.

Its not a good feeling underneath the euphoria.

Which I’ll admit is hard to get past.

But it’s there, worry.

I want all that you are but that choice is one I made for a distant day and I do not want you to come to harm over choices that have been made before your time and without your knowledge.

Knowledge is key. Its power its all that is or was. But you have so much. How do you not see. What is going on here.

Please.

Before you get hurt..

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#preach

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In this I believe,  that when I close my eyes every night without you by my side, an alternate version of me, of us, exists in an alternate universe so similar and parallel to how we live, yet so vastly different with what we have. In this alternate life, I won’t be writing poems about you. In this alternate life, you won’t be making yourself sad thinking about me. Because, in this alternate life, we have each other. In this alternate life you are happy, and I am happy, and we are both happy together. In this alternate life I won’t be wishing for your happiness, because I am a witness of your happiness and I can see your happiness clearly reflected in your eyes each time we say our goodnights, and sweet dreams, and each time we kiss our way to sleep. In this alternate life I won’t be imagining of how your eyes would crinkle when you smile, and we won’t be thinking and dreaming of alternate lives, and we won’t be wishing to hold each other close, even just for a second. Because in this alternate life We both make it. In this alternate life (maybe) The universe looked down upon us and before we are even born, He said, “I will make it easy this time.”

annon

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I write into my book everyday, Your faces stare back at me, eager Hungry. Stop. Waiting. Stop. Eager. Stop. I fill you to the brim,  photographs, poems, stories, words, feelings.  Everything for you to get your fill. Everyday, I open my book. Everyday, I write in the pages. Everyday. You see my everyday. You give input, you tell me of your likes and dislikes. You respond with opinions and facts. You tell me what its like. When I write that I am sad, you draw a heart on your keypad. When I tell you I am lonely, you riddle me with x’s and o’s  Why be sad when I have you, why be lonely when you fill my empty pages. But that’s all it is, faces to look at and pages to fill.  I am alone. I am scared. I am sad. I feel unloved, unwanted. I love you, enter. You don’t have to feel alone, enter. See I am right here to ‘talk’, enter. Whenever you need me, enter. D   i   s   t   a   n   c   e . That is what makes me feel lonely. That is what makes me feel scared. That is what makes me feel sad. That is what makes me feel unloved. That is what makes me feel unwanted. Everyday, I open my book,  Everyday, I write in the pages, Everyday, I fill you to the brim,  Everyday, patiently like a baby bird, waiting for it’s mother’s regurgitation. Everyday.  Today, you starve. Today, you are alone. Today, you are scared. Today, you are sad. Today, you are unloved. Today, you are unwanted. Today, I close my book.

My book, s.m.  (via sugarmagnolia802)

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Imitation is the highest form of Flattery

Why is it so hard for people to be upfront and honest? If you are actively ignoring someone or cutting them out of your life, then stooppp acting like your still friends when you see them in publiccccc. It's not hard. Just ask your self, do I want to be friends with this person, are they someone I was friends with for a long time? If the answer is no, DON'T PRETEND LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE WHEN YOU SEE THEM

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And I could see the world in her eyes... The rich soils of the earth wraps round her pupils, just outside her view. The deep green trees of the forest, spring from that soil, and their roots burrow deep inside her earthy soul. You can feel it, when you look into her eyes. Their strength: She stands firm, and strong as any oak... Reaching out, with open arms to the sky. Their flexibility: her passions stir her to dance, in the winds and the rain.. Twirling, and blowing about. You can tell, by the way she watches the skies, that she longs to touch the clouds, and to soar among the stars. I can feel the world in her soul, and see it in her eyes... Can't you feel it? The wisdom of an aged soul, here more to teach than to learn? I can. And if you open up your mind, perhaps you can too...

Christian Rollins, Inspired by a photo of mine 

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di·ver·si·ty noun; the state of being diverse; variety. Example; “there was considerable diversity in the style of the reports” Also; a range of different things. Plural noun: diversities Example; “newspapers were obliged to allow a diversity of views to be printed” synonyms: variety, miscellany, assortment, mixture, mix, mélange, range, array, multiplicity, etc.

The fucking dictionary, pick one up sometime.

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I don’t think I can build a suit of armor against sadness and depression and genetics with beads of happiness strung on a string. I know that life isn’t black and white like that. And if depression is the black and utter joy is the white, then maybe it’s in the in-between where the colors are, where I can find sorrow and joy often coexisting right in the same moment. Where I live most of my life.

Liz Petrone, “The Girl With the Antidepressant Past” (via twloha)