Some of us are torn between two identities. The Devil and The Innocent. I feel as though I play both. To the people in my day life I am a creature of lightness of good mind and behavior. Then on certain nights I feel a craving to be deviant, to do things that the people in my life would not condone. Two halves of a whole that never interchange or blend.
Since this is a blog I promised to stay true to I will explain. I am a sexual deviant. I won’t say I’m a nymphomaniac that seems too severe. I will say though that I do have an appetite for a certain lifestyle. Lately the hunger has only gotten worse.
I won’t deny, I am attached and to a very nice boy. I say boy even though he is a year older than me, only because he has the spirit of a child. My craving seems to disturb him at times and he treats me as though I was as fragile as china. When in reality I was built for rough handling. I’ve broached the subject with him 3 times now and he still doesn’t try and I’m afraid my craving is going to lead to a indiscretion.
So now I’m really divided.
I am wandering aimless
Through a desert
Of my own indecision.
My soul will surely die
Without the nourishment
That is happiness
Something happened tonight. Something that made me liken myself to a balloon. I’m half filled with helium struggling to climb ever higher, but hindered by the many strings tied to the people I love. Some of those strings express things like love, contempt, guilt and sadness.
I sometimes wonder as a balloon if it is me and my lack of helium that keeps me from reaching the atmosphere of my desires. Or is it the people that I’ve tied myself to. I’ve tried lifting these people up with me only to be thwarted by their incessant drama.
So what is this lonely balloon to do? I sometimes dream that I could find someone strong enough to snip the strings and let me climb, but maybe that is a disillusion in of itself. I also dream of snipping the strings myself by way of death and so I might pop under the suns hot gaze. Guilt and hope keep me from that dream though.
That is all.
Goodnight from this balloon to you.
One thing I cannot stand in this world is my mother crying. It is all at once heartbreaking, anxiety filled and at times annoying. She sobs over the many things she can’t control nor understand and I’m the shoulder she uses. Sometimes I can’t support her because the reason why she’s crying shouldn’t matter because it’s so miniscule in it’s meaning. Then again my mother could make Vesuvius out of a mole hole.
Today’s crying was brought to you by, my step father. He’s once again doing what he can for my step brother who is by and large a self centered, selfish and ignorant son of a bitch (his mom really is a bitch). He’s lost his cell phone and of course needs a new one, of which he will never answer or call us back on because he doesn’t feel obligated to.
I keep thinking to myself if he were my son, he’d be dead by now or locked up in the basement for his behavior. And so my mother (who’s slightly jealous of the attention my brother garners) is calling me and crying over the fact that he’s a spoiled brat and my ill father caters to him despite his condition.
I sometimes don’t know what I should do with my family. Run away from them? I’d miss them too much. Sit them down and talk to them? Everyone would be too stubborn to listen. Use electroshock therapy? I would do it in a heartbeat.
I was on facebook of which I rarely use. and I was looking at my friends list. It, like my big toe was short and stubby and unattractive. Then I wondered silently, why don’t I have more friends?
The the answer popped up, I’m a socially awkward hot mess who also has a deep distrust of women. As always I reassured myself “M having a lot of friends is not a measurement of who you are. Your friends are loyal and kind, the type of friends who although are tired of hearing you talk about the same things would gladly sit down and lend an ear, a hug, a reassuring word.”
So why do I think I need more friends? I think it’s because I’ve always been a little lonely and despite the fact that some friends are not the best influence on my life I have always held my arms open only to be stabbed in the proverbial face.
My family has problems. Middle class sort of problems. One of us may be bipolar, another an addict and me? I’m your basic depression laden non ambitious 20 something who’s trying to find something to do in life. Now my parents are, well they’re, how do I describe this. They’re crazy enough that a therapists would do well on making them his clients, the only problem to this scenario though is that my mother doesn’t believe in those things.
A brief history on my family. My mother is on her third marriage as is my step father. My biological father is a man I know little of and haven’t seen in 12 years. My second father, who FYI was the best of the bunch sadly committed suicide January 2013 after years of depression and alcoholism . My current father is a pack a day smoker who recently got diagnosed with cancer. Then there’s my step brother, I’ve known this kid since he was born and he’s your typical self centered teenager trying to find out who he is.
So why don’t I just move and quit my family? I honestly don’t know sometimes. What I do know is that living with them is not good for my own mental health. What I also know is that I claim far too much responsibility for them and if something were to happen like my step father killing my mother or vice-versa then I would feel somehow guilty.
Needless to say my family has problems, but when I look at the bigger picture I think to myself things could be worse then a voice inside says isn’t this bad enough?
Here sits a 28 year old female on the edge of tedious boredom. After overcoming certain depression and now in a listless state I have decided to start a blog in hopes of one thing, getting a good nights sleep.
And so our adventure in night time venting starts and soon you’ll be able to read all the little thought bubbles in my head that keep me from shutting down and powering off at night.