Here's the thing with sex though.
Emily and I realized tonight that I'm kinda like... Voldemort.
The men I've slept with are my horcruxes (I have 7, it works)
and although saying they're horcruxes is a little far... it's not.
See, it might not work like this for men, because they're a whole different thing,
but I feel that when I sleep with someone, I'm giving them a little bit of my soul.
A little bit of me, and once it's over, I can't get that back.
So the thought of having as many partners as I do is a tiny bit unsettling for me.
I know it's in the past, and so I have to get over it, but I do honestly feel sad about it sometimes. No, I don't consider waiting until marriage to be a sane choice at ALL (my opinion of course), but it does take a toll on some women emotionally when they feel they're either having sex with the wrong people, or too many people. And the question is, when is it too many? I think it's a personal number. But due to double standards, it's more acceptable for the guy to have a higher number, and not be called names for it.
I'm not worried about being called a slut, though. I'm worried about my heart, man. If I keep giving myself away (and sometimes, when there are strong connections between me and someone else, it literally feels like I'm handing them my heart on a platter), if I keep giving everyone a piece, what will I have left for myself? How many men will it take for me to be completely empty and immune to the beautiful ideas I have of sexual intercourse?
I don't want sex to be just something I do with hot guys, or something I do as a favor, or something I do because I'm feeling lusty. Fuck, I know I've let that happen to me, but I don't want it to anymore. I mean, 7 guys? To me, that's a lot. For me. Personally.
Let's say I get married at 22.
If I've had sex with 7 guys between the time I was 17 and 19 (and let's just say I keep my choices consistent), I'll have slept with around 17.5 men? WHAT THE FUCK? (wait, is that math right? I'm really not good at math, so I could either be off or totally headed down a path of complete skankosity).
That...does not sound like a number I'd like to have. Plus, how would I tell someone I've fucked seventeen POINT FIVE guys? What does that even mean?
What I'm saying is that I don't like having pieces of me scattered across America (and other countries too). I don't like being on lists and I don't like having my own long list. Yeah, I really fucking love sex, but I want to avoid the distress that follows it.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Just plannin' muh life
Okay, this post isn't sex-related (sorry everyone).
I've burnt about 13 bridges during my time in Minnesota. About 13.
And I'd just like to return to the place where I adored building bridges with lovely people, in a lovely city.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, craving Boloco milkshakes or Barracuda Tavern BBQ wings. And I am so homesick for the community I've been without for three weeks now-- my ninth floor biddies. Whurr dey at?
I've planned my whole life out.
I'm going back to Boston on the 16th, where I'll finish my freshman semester.
I'll return to Minnesota on May 5th (cinco de mayo bitches).
Then, around late June, I'll work on the Cape again.
August 29th, I'll start my sophomore year in Madrid, Spain.
For winter break, I'll either spend the holidays in Minnesota or Northern Ireland.
Then I'll return to Madrid and finish the semester.
By May 2013, I should be done with Suffolk. Because I want to transfer then.
Jenny and I both like the idea of New York City; it sounds wonderful.
I need to find a school there that I'll like, though. And one I can get into.
If everything goes as planned, I'll do junior and senior year at (insert NYC school),
and then... yeah. That's as far as I've gotten.
I guess this isn't my whole life. Just the next four years.
Note: do you see me living in Minnesota anytime soon though? No. You don't.
Because I won't be.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Don't Tell Julie
But I'm going to be the one that tells Clare about sex (she's reading this over my shoulder). And I'm excited to tell my own lil kiddies. I have it all planned out:
"Kids, Mummy needs to tell you something. There's something called sex, and you've got to know about it, if you ever want to enjoy life. When you're old enough, and you find someone that respects you, you're going to get feelings that might make you want to get naked. And that's fine, you can get naked. Sex is when two naked people that respect each other come together, like this (and then I'll have a very detailed diagram on display, with definitions and names for everything, and their levels of importance and such). When the sex is over, the girl will have high levels of oxytocin released in her body, and that will make her want to cuddle. The boy will not have these feelings. Sex is complicated. Also, use these (I then pass out condoms and pamphlets for birth control) when you're having sex with someone you aren't planning to marry, or if you're too young to have children. Alright, any questions?" And of course there won't be any questions because my kids will be intellectuals. I will say all this to them on their first day of kindergarten.
Coffee Closure
Today I went to coffee, for what he said was "closure". My question was, closure from what?
I was bothered that our ideals never matched up with each other's, but I suppose that meant that it wasn't right. Timing plays a huge part in who we end up with; you can call it fate or coincidence or serendipity, I don't care. When two people want the same thing at the same time, it works. That's just how it is.
We don't want the same thing, and I think closure was the wrong word. Assurance might be a better term. I was there to assure him that I had grown out of my young girl shell, that I knew what I desired, and it was different from what he desired.
It's tough. I don't like hurting others. After that, I went and watched the movie Closer, and Jesus, it was a more intensified version of the conversation I had with him. There's a lot of damaging and deceit that can swallow up relationships, even with people that love each other, and I know it. And I know that often, people lie to avoid causing pain. But, I don't know. I can't lie to those that I care about; in the whole scheme of things, it might sting then, but it at least assures the people around me that I'm trustworthy. I never want to be called a liar. I'd rather be an honest bitch than a lying one.
But frankly, men are my last concern right now. I'm having existential crises on the daily, and people think I want to get caught up in relationship shit? Nah, that's not how it is. I'm not fretting over school or guys or friendships or money-- I'm off losing my faith and questioning the value of my life, bro.
I was bothered that our ideals never matched up with each other's, but I suppose that meant that it wasn't right. Timing plays a huge part in who we end up with; you can call it fate or coincidence or serendipity, I don't care. When two people want the same thing at the same time, it works. That's just how it is.
We don't want the same thing, and I think closure was the wrong word. Assurance might be a better term. I was there to assure him that I had grown out of my young girl shell, that I knew what I desired, and it was different from what he desired.
It's tough. I don't like hurting others. After that, I went and watched the movie Closer, and Jesus, it was a more intensified version of the conversation I had with him. There's a lot of damaging and deceit that can swallow up relationships, even with people that love each other, and I know it. And I know that often, people lie to avoid causing pain. But, I don't know. I can't lie to those that I care about; in the whole scheme of things, it might sting then, but it at least assures the people around me that I'm trustworthy. I never want to be called a liar. I'd rather be an honest bitch than a lying one.
But frankly, men are my last concern right now. I'm having existential crises on the daily, and people think I want to get caught up in relationship shit? Nah, that's not how it is. I'm not fretting over school or guys or friendships or money-- I'm off losing my faith and questioning the value of my life, bro.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Found it!
After 18 years of not knowing where it was, my dear friend discovered her clitoris tonight. It was a big moment for her, and I was really proud.
Now, some people might laugh at that and say, "what the hell, a young woman didn't know where her own clitoris was?". They can shut the fuck up.
Half of you men don't know how to find our g-spots, and until I was 17, I was convinced doggy style and anal sex were one in the same.
With sexual health and the human body, no matter what age we are, we're always learning new information. That's why I think before we can decide what we do and don't like, we have to try everything out. For example, 69 sounded like a wicked fun, exciting and raunchy act. I tried it, and I don't really care for it. And this might sound weird as fuck, but I learned that I get pleasure when a guy grabs my neck during sex.
Only God can judge me.
I mean, you can't say you hate blowjobs if you've never given one, and you can't say you don't like swallowing if you've never done it. Like... girl, how do you know?
The only instance where I think it's totally alright to never try is anal. Dear Lord, that's just... ugh, so painful. Not even fun (for me, at least). I don't care what you say; my asshole is not an erogenous zone, okay?
My neck is, though. Touch my neck and I will have a very difficult time NOT fucking you.
When it comes to sexual acts, and our anatomy, I don't believe we should ever jump to conclusions. What feels good for me doesn't always feel good for someone else, and if you do something and don't like it-- you don't have to do it again! Explore though! Find your clitoris! Make sure you know what the frenulum is! Exploring doesn't hurt! ...most of the time.
Now, some people might laugh at that and say, "what the hell, a young woman didn't know where her own clitoris was?". They can shut the fuck up.
Half of you men don't know how to find our g-spots, and until I was 17, I was convinced doggy style and anal sex were one in the same.
With sexual health and the human body, no matter what age we are, we're always learning new information. That's why I think before we can decide what we do and don't like, we have to try everything out. For example, 69 sounded like a wicked fun, exciting and raunchy act. I tried it, and I don't really care for it. And this might sound weird as fuck, but I learned that I get pleasure when a guy grabs my neck during sex.
Only God can judge me.
I mean, you can't say you hate blowjobs if you've never given one, and you can't say you don't like swallowing if you've never done it. Like... girl, how do you know?
The only instance where I think it's totally alright to never try is anal. Dear Lord, that's just... ugh, so painful. Not even fun (for me, at least). I don't care what you say; my asshole is not an erogenous zone, okay?
My neck is, though. Touch my neck and I will have a very difficult time NOT fucking you.
When it comes to sexual acts, and our anatomy, I don't believe we should ever jump to conclusions. What feels good for me doesn't always feel good for someone else, and if you do something and don't like it-- you don't have to do it again! Explore though! Find your clitoris! Make sure you know what the frenulum is! Exploring doesn't hurt! ...most of the time.
All My Partners Have Been Musicians
I'm just... going to talk about all the men I've slept with. I like talking about it, and, each one explains a lot about me. Kind of.
1. The first. The one that started it all! Woo hoo! This was the one that helped me transform from a virgin to a... vixen? Nymphomaniac, whatever. Because we dated, I gained most of my knowledge during the time of our relationship. I can't think of many times when we "fucked". It was always very intimate and sensual, so we were either having sex or making love. Nothing kinky, either. That was fine. No strange sex stories, which is surprising, except for one time when we were doing it on an exercise ball and he pushed me on a cement floor and then came on my face without even warning me.
Oh, and the time he came and wiped it on my forehead saying, "Siiimbaaa". Not a lot of people let that one go. He also yelled out my sister's name during sex once. That was not okay. If I remember any more, I'll add them.
2. This one was tough. I was right out of a break-up, had just turned 18, and I met him at a diner 12 hours prior. I went to his apartment, not knowing who the fuck he was, and we drank Crown Royal and Jack Daniels. He was from Tennessee, so I was swooning over the whole "southern gentleman" deal. This was... fucking. Straight fucking. A little too rough for me, and what he said during sex made me crack up; it was too hilarious. "Goddamn girl" is a classic line. Others included, "I just, I don't know, I just like skinny girls, I don't like fat girls, I don't know why". He enjoyed spanking and hair-pulling, as well as chatting about threesomes. The condom broke. I never saw him again. This experience prompted me to get on birth control.
3. The third was a boyfriend, which was comforting. I didn't want to get into the habit of hooking up (ha, well...). Anyway, the sex lasted for a wicked long time, and although we only did it a couple of times, I can say that it was enjoyable. It was just like, I don't know, boyfriend-girlfriend sex. I really liked the kid, but the relationship didn't last long, so we didn't really get to experiment with much.
4. Oh God. This one was so disappointing and a bad judgment call on my part. I met him at the beach during the day, and that night, we met on the beach, had a few beers, and had sex. Jesus though, he was so boring. Just missionary and then he asked me to blow him. Okay, listen. I had a rule that I would only blow boyfriends. Well... that went out the window. And I so regret it. He DUNKED me. Dunking is when a guy puts his hands on the back of a girl's head and pushes down, giving her no room to breathe or show off her Cosmo moves. Asshole. I purposely avoided him after that.
5. Haha! This is probably, I don't know, the most fun I'd had in a long time. I liked having sex with this kid. It didn't even make me feel bad that I slept with him my first weekend of college. I knew we were going to fuck the first moment I met him. I went up to him and said, "Hello. I have a single dorm room". Fuck, that was that. We only did it twice, but damnit, he was GOOD. Probably the wildest (maybe second wildest) sex I've ever had. It was just fun; he did the hair-pulling, as well as neck biting (OH MY GOD) and talking dirty-- good talking dirty. Except for one moment, when he said, "tell me I have a monster cock". I... didn't tell him anything. He also liked bondage shit. And it was okay when he stayed the night. It was casual and comfortable and I like that we're friends now.
6. This was the worst one, hands down. The Venezuelan. I made a post about it earlier, you can read it. So terrible. Embarrassed to have even touched the guy. Terrified that I have to see him in the dorms all the time. Two months after we hooked up, he came up to me and said,
"Why do we not have sex anymore?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Why can we not like just do it for fun?"
"Uh, because I'm in love with someone."
"Why does that matter?"
Real life.
7. So far, this one's my favorite. I say this not just because, like, I like him, but because the sex had a lot of the components I love. Also, I had been anticipating it for a long time. So when I did have sex with him, it sort of felt like I was losing my virginity again (without the hymen and all that pain and shit). First of all, we first did it in the backseat of my car, in my church parking lot. Fogged up the windows like some Jack and Rose shit. Anyway, he knew ahead of time what I liked, so he did have more of an advantage than the others. But I love being dominated. And sex bruises are good bruises. And touching my neck is always a good thing. And he knew how to delicately balance between fucking and sex, and I loved that. Eye contact's important too; I like occasional eye contact, because I like feeling connected. The last time we did it though, and of all 7 guys this has never happened (although it'd be weird if it happened with most of them), he told me he loved me. Yikes! That was new! I'm not sure if he meant it, because it was said during intercourse, but it surprisingly... turned me on.
One thing all my partners have in common (besides being male) is that they are all musically-inclined. And STD-free. I think. Common theme I'm fine with.
1. The first. The one that started it all! Woo hoo! This was the one that helped me transform from a virgin to a... vixen? Nymphomaniac, whatever. Because we dated, I gained most of my knowledge during the time of our relationship. I can't think of many times when we "fucked". It was always very intimate and sensual, so we were either having sex or making love. Nothing kinky, either. That was fine. No strange sex stories, which is surprising, except for one time when we were doing it on an exercise ball and he pushed me on a cement floor and then came on my face without even warning me.
Oh, and the time he came and wiped it on my forehead saying, "Siiimbaaa". Not a lot of people let that one go. He also yelled out my sister's name during sex once. That was not okay. If I remember any more, I'll add them.
2. This one was tough. I was right out of a break-up, had just turned 18, and I met him at a diner 12 hours prior. I went to his apartment, not knowing who the fuck he was, and we drank Crown Royal and Jack Daniels. He was from Tennessee, so I was swooning over the whole "southern gentleman" deal. This was... fucking. Straight fucking. A little too rough for me, and what he said during sex made me crack up; it was too hilarious. "Goddamn girl" is a classic line. Others included, "I just, I don't know, I just like skinny girls, I don't like fat girls, I don't know why". He enjoyed spanking and hair-pulling, as well as chatting about threesomes. The condom broke. I never saw him again. This experience prompted me to get on birth control.
3. The third was a boyfriend, which was comforting. I didn't want to get into the habit of hooking up (ha, well...). Anyway, the sex lasted for a wicked long time, and although we only did it a couple of times, I can say that it was enjoyable. It was just like, I don't know, boyfriend-girlfriend sex. I really liked the kid, but the relationship didn't last long, so we didn't really get to experiment with much.
4. Oh God. This one was so disappointing and a bad judgment call on my part. I met him at the beach during the day, and that night, we met on the beach, had a few beers, and had sex. Jesus though, he was so boring. Just missionary and then he asked me to blow him. Okay, listen. I had a rule that I would only blow boyfriends. Well... that went out the window. And I so regret it. He DUNKED me. Dunking is when a guy puts his hands on the back of a girl's head and pushes down, giving her no room to breathe or show off her Cosmo moves. Asshole. I purposely avoided him after that.
5. Haha! This is probably, I don't know, the most fun I'd had in a long time. I liked having sex with this kid. It didn't even make me feel bad that I slept with him my first weekend of college. I knew we were going to fuck the first moment I met him. I went up to him and said, "Hello. I have a single dorm room". Fuck, that was that. We only did it twice, but damnit, he was GOOD. Probably the wildest (maybe second wildest) sex I've ever had. It was just fun; he did the hair-pulling, as well as neck biting (OH MY GOD) and talking dirty-- good talking dirty. Except for one moment, when he said, "tell me I have a monster cock". I... didn't tell him anything. He also liked bondage shit. And it was okay when he stayed the night. It was casual and comfortable and I like that we're friends now.
6. This was the worst one, hands down. The Venezuelan. I made a post about it earlier, you can read it. So terrible. Embarrassed to have even touched the guy. Terrified that I have to see him in the dorms all the time. Two months after we hooked up, he came up to me and said,
"Why do we not have sex anymore?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Why can we not like just do it for fun?"
"Uh, because I'm in love with someone."
"Why does that matter?"
Real life.
7. So far, this one's my favorite. I say this not just because, like, I like him, but because the sex had a lot of the components I love. Also, I had been anticipating it for a long time. So when I did have sex with him, it sort of felt like I was losing my virginity again (without the hymen and all that pain and shit). First of all, we first did it in the backseat of my car, in my church parking lot. Fogged up the windows like some Jack and Rose shit. Anyway, he knew ahead of time what I liked, so he did have more of an advantage than the others. But I love being dominated. And sex bruises are good bruises. And touching my neck is always a good thing. And he knew how to delicately balance between fucking and sex, and I loved that. Eye contact's important too; I like occasional eye contact, because I like feeling connected. The last time we did it though, and of all 7 guys this has never happened (although it'd be weird if it happened with most of them), he told me he loved me. Yikes! That was new! I'm not sure if he meant it, because it was said during intercourse, but it surprisingly... turned me on.
One thing all my partners have in common (besides being male) is that they are all musically-inclined. And STD-free. I think. Common theme I'm fine with.
Venezuelans
One time I had sex with a guy because he bought me Captain Morgan.
(Goddamnit I promise you I have morals, I swear I do).
Anyway, I had known him for about four hours, and I already disliked him because he was a business major, and said he loved the thrill of cheating on tests. Turn. Off.
But, we started having sex. And it was HORRIFYING. I guess he went to a military school, because he body was alright, but I was not aroused. Not one bit. But, while we were going at it (missionary position at this point), he looked up, and smiled at his own reflection in my dorm room window.
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me.
I was doing the dirty with the real life Narcissus.
After this, he asked to do anal. When I declined (I always will), he told me to "be brave!".
Excuse me? Did he just tell me to be brave and take it up the ass? Fuck that.
He then told me that he wasn't sinning because he "didn't come". If that's the case (which it isn't, according to Catholicism), that makes me sin-free for that evening.
I got off the bed and asked him to leave. He wouldn't.
He whined like a little child, "No, let me stay the night, I cannot sleep alone, oh please let us do it one more time, okay blow me, please, oh why are you making me leave? Put my clothes on for me."
I had now decided that I hated the guy.
He refused to leave, until I grabbed him by the arm and escorted him to the door.
Note to men: do not ever do anything that this boy did. It was one of the worst sexperiences I've ever had, ever.
(Goddamnit I promise you I have morals, I swear I do).
Anyway, I had known him for about four hours, and I already disliked him because he was a business major, and said he loved the thrill of cheating on tests. Turn. Off.
But, we started having sex. And it was HORRIFYING. I guess he went to a military school, because he body was alright, but I was not aroused. Not one bit. But, while we were going at it (missionary position at this point), he looked up, and smiled at his own reflection in my dorm room window.
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding me.
I was doing the dirty with the real life Narcissus.
After this, he asked to do anal. When I declined (I always will), he told me to "be brave!".
Excuse me? Did he just tell me to be brave and take it up the ass? Fuck that.
He then told me that he wasn't sinning because he "didn't come". If that's the case (which it isn't, according to Catholicism), that makes me sin-free for that evening.
I got off the bed and asked him to leave. He wouldn't.
He whined like a little child, "No, let me stay the night, I cannot sleep alone, oh please let us do it one more time, okay blow me, please, oh why are you making me leave? Put my clothes on for me."
I had now decided that I hated the guy.
He refused to leave, until I grabbed him by the arm and escorted him to the door.
Note to men: do not ever do anything that this boy did. It was one of the worst sexperiences I've ever had, ever.
It's A Thing
Basically, I'm talking to myself on here. So, I'm going to talk about myself without filtering anything.
Sex. It's... a thing.
Something about me is that I have a hard time remembering life as a virgin. I'm not saying that I lost my virginity when I was like, five or something, I'm saying that sex has become such a huge aspect of my life, that I can't remember life without it.
And while I have had plenty of slutty, whorish instances, I do have values when it comes to intercourse.
And while I can talk about it without EVER feeling taboo or uncomfortable, I can be a terribly nervous wreck in bed. Like anyone else, I'm fucking self-conscience under the sheets. But then I get over it.
I like being naked.
I once told a boy I could never kiss someone without having sex with them... this is pretty accurate.
BUT I HAVE VALUES.
It's just that, because I'm not a virgin anymore, it's like, okay, we make out for awhile, and then we put our hands in nice places and then our clothes come off and then it's foreplay and then it's sex! That's how it goes now! I can't just kiss someone and stop there. That's silly as fuck.
It's also awfully easy for me to orgasm. Oh God, it's awful.
Sex is not a private thing to me. It probably should be, but, it's not.
I tell everyone about it, save for my family, because that's awkward as fuck.
Freud is my favorite psychologist.
I want to write for Cosmo.
Because this... is really a thing.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
2011
I really hate summing up the year when it ends, because I don't like going by years-- too much happens to me annually. But. I'll do it this time.
Last New Year's Eve, I kissed a boy that I really, fully believed I'd be with for a long time. Uh, 2011 proved to me just how much I grow, and how much relationships can change. Looking back, I was a real pussy in the beginning of the year. The most important people in my life were also the most controlling and manipulative. Now, I didn't make this blog so I could talk shit about men that broke my heart. Because I have a tumblr for that.
Anyway, I finished my senior year strong. I really did love senior year. Besides the guy issues, the friends I made that last year were some of the greatest kids.
Summer was tough. I was sent 1500 miles away to work on a beach, all on my lonesome. A senior summer without my friends? It was terrible.
But then I started college. Fuck, the girls I've met here are all 'bridesmaid' potential. They are the nicest girls I've met, ever. They've truly become sisters to me, and some of them now know more about me than my friends back home.
Since I've started college, I realized that I'm not much of a party animal. My idea of a perfect Friday night is me in my dorm room with a bottle of wine and a Criminal Minds marathon. I also realized just how much I hate meaningless sex. I'd experienced it before, and thought of each situation as a learning lesson, but apparently I wasn't learning, if I kept doing it. But in my first month of college, I discovered that feeling empty and detached, or even angry after sex was not something I wanted to feel.
I'm not putting the blame on any of my previous relationships with men, but the other day, Emily and I discussed that... we thought it was okay because we were fucked over, and considered 'nothingness sex' as a way to cope. I can think of less painful coping mechanisms.
After that first month of bad decisions, I finally began to give up on that boy I kissed on New Year's Eve. There was no progress, no response, just constant confusion, and I was very much done with it. Also, I had sort of started to feel... like, uh, "stirrings" for another boy. But as I was beginning the process of letting go, the New Year's boy decided he wanted to hold on.
Such is life. All is fair in love and war, blah blah blah.
But this was towards the end of 2011. I was no longer a pussy, and I wasn't going to be treated like one. I knew, and this was tough, that I couldn't go back to someone I had been waiting so patiently for. I had been beyond lenient, and it was my turn to take control. I'm terrified I'll get thrown back into a place where I'll go back to him, because I know that's one of the most unhealthy and detrimental choices I could make.
The last month of 2011, I came home for the holidays. I had sex in my church parking lot. I get wicked self-conscience around the kid; I think that's a huge indicator that I might be, like, in love. It's different from the last time I fell in love, because that was young love, and it was my first one. It was pure and naive and fearless, like I was when I was 17.
But this one, yikes. This one is dirty. This one is after I've fucked six guys; this one is after I've felt sincere fucking disappointment; this love is one I think I'm afraid of, and afraid to admit.
And now it's 2012, and I'm sitting here thinking I did a lot of things (and people) within the past 12 months. I'm proud of most of them, I am.
Last New Year's Eve, I kissed a boy that I really, fully believed I'd be with for a long time. Uh, 2011 proved to me just how much I grow, and how much relationships can change. Looking back, I was a real pussy in the beginning of the year. The most important people in my life were also the most controlling and manipulative. Now, I didn't make this blog so I could talk shit about men that broke my heart. Because I have a tumblr for that.
Anyway, I finished my senior year strong. I really did love senior year. Besides the guy issues, the friends I made that last year were some of the greatest kids.
Summer was tough. I was sent 1500 miles away to work on a beach, all on my lonesome. A senior summer without my friends? It was terrible.
But then I started college. Fuck, the girls I've met here are all 'bridesmaid' potential. They are the nicest girls I've met, ever. They've truly become sisters to me, and some of them now know more about me than my friends back home.
Since I've started college, I realized that I'm not much of a party animal. My idea of a perfect Friday night is me in my dorm room with a bottle of wine and a Criminal Minds marathon. I also realized just how much I hate meaningless sex. I'd experienced it before, and thought of each situation as a learning lesson, but apparently I wasn't learning, if I kept doing it. But in my first month of college, I discovered that feeling empty and detached, or even angry after sex was not something I wanted to feel.
I'm not putting the blame on any of my previous relationships with men, but the other day, Emily and I discussed that... we thought it was okay because we were fucked over, and considered 'nothingness sex' as a way to cope. I can think of less painful coping mechanisms.
After that first month of bad decisions, I finally began to give up on that boy I kissed on New Year's Eve. There was no progress, no response, just constant confusion, and I was very much done with it. Also, I had sort of started to feel... like, uh, "stirrings" for another boy. But as I was beginning the process of letting go, the New Year's boy decided he wanted to hold on.
Such is life. All is fair in love and war, blah blah blah.
But this was towards the end of 2011. I was no longer a pussy, and I wasn't going to be treated like one. I knew, and this was tough, that I couldn't go back to someone I had been waiting so patiently for. I had been beyond lenient, and it was my turn to take control. I'm terrified I'll get thrown back into a place where I'll go back to him, because I know that's one of the most unhealthy and detrimental choices I could make.
The last month of 2011, I came home for the holidays. I had sex in my church parking lot. I get wicked self-conscience around the kid; I think that's a huge indicator that I might be, like, in love. It's different from the last time I fell in love, because that was young love, and it was my first one. It was pure and naive and fearless, like I was when I was 17.
But this one, yikes. This one is dirty. This one is after I've fucked six guys; this one is after I've felt sincere fucking disappointment; this love is one I think I'm afraid of, and afraid to admit.
And now it's 2012, and I'm sitting here thinking I did a lot of things (and people) within the past 12 months. I'm proud of most of them, I am.
Well, this was a personal resolution.
There are very few thoughts I have that only I know about.
This is because I'm a writer and a female. I write about everything that happens to me,
and if I don't write about it, I talk about it. And I put it on all my social networking sites,
because...that's what humans do these days. We advertise and announce all our diary entries.
And to-do lists. And wishes. And complaints.
I've forgotten how important privacy of the mind is, I think.
I very, very rarely keep things to myself (I can keep others' secrets, but not my own).
People know where to go if they want to read my poetry, but that's more subliminal writing. If they want to read my drunk tweets, they know where to go for that. And if they want to see 700-something pictures of me, there's Facebook.
But this is going to be a secret I'd like to keep. Something private. I know blogs are meant to be read, but I hope this one is read by either people I don't know, or...yeah.
This is because I'm a writer and a female. I write about everything that happens to me,
and if I don't write about it, I talk about it. And I put it on all my social networking sites,
because...that's what humans do these days. We advertise and announce all our diary entries.
And to-do lists. And wishes. And complaints.
I've forgotten how important privacy of the mind is, I think.
I very, very rarely keep things to myself (I can keep others' secrets, but not my own).
People know where to go if they want to read my poetry, but that's more subliminal writing. If they want to read my drunk tweets, they know where to go for that. And if they want to see 700-something pictures of me, there's Facebook.
But this is going to be a secret I'd like to keep. Something private. I know blogs are meant to be read, but I hope this one is read by either people I don't know, or...yeah.
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