Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree?
I don't really know how to start out this post without sounding like an asshole or a whore. But I've decided that I don't care, so I guess I'll just start out by saying that I am a touch-based person. I interpret love in three ways: acts of service, words of affirmation, and touch. I need help, I need words, I need skin. Let me tell you why. I'm going to tell you why because I've decided that this invisible person that I write to should know more about the strange brain that I am cursed with.
Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics is probably one of my favorite songs. Not because it's particularly mind blowing as an overall song but because of it's subtle, poignant words. But if you were to take away my unique, personality defining traits all you would be left with is this song.
I've traveled the world and the seven seas. Everybody is looking for something.
I'm the kind of person who can easily get wrapped up in her own head. I overanalyze, fixate on projects and goals, and spend hours in a day contemplating big ideas that I will never be able to accomplish. I fall in love with ideas and with concepts. This means it's hard for me to engage completely with people, seeming withdrawn. I sometimes feel like I should feel guilty for seeing the world bigger, seeing past the individuals.
I once had someone I loved scream in my face that I am detached. He was the person I was going to marry.
I'm afraid he's right.
Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you.
All day I help other people. I don't say no and I always show up early. I don't talk about myself. I am detached. I am numb. People only talk to me because they need me. Promotions, homework, networking, influence, relationships, feelings. I help them. I don't mind. I like being useful. I like being efficient. I am cold. I value logic. I get shit done. I like being needed. I don't tell people what I need because then I will appear weak. Everybody needs something from me. I get overwhelmed and shut down. I let myself be used. I don't care. I will always help if you ask for it because I love you.
I have to force myself to stop thinking that people don't care, but it's hard to not think that when you sit by yourself a lot.
It goes like this: Care about people. > People betray you. > No available outlet. > Numbness
Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused.
As I mentioned, I'm a touch person. Not not in the sense that I'm perpetually DTF, but I use it to bring me back to reality. When I get it, I ground myself, I am able to care for people. Oh, this person is touching me, therefore they must love me and therefore I can love them. This makes me more susceptible to being taken advantage of.
When skin hits skin, there is no longer a barrier between us. I can soak up your emotions and I can share mine. My walls come down and I am vulnerable. I feel the energy wash over me and I absorb it through every pore of my body.
By touch I don't mean having sex with every person I want to connect with. Sex can be a huge part of it depending on the situation. But I'm also talking about sharing each other's space, each other's skin. Fingertips tracing, arms holding, hair stroking, all the cheesy shit. And if I'm deprived of it enough, when my tank is empty, that's when it can get dangerous.
If I am numb enough, and I am energy depleted enough, I go crazy.
That's when I need abuse. I need bruising and biting and gasping for breath because I need something to make me feel. I don't even need to know the person very well.
It's not a good thing, I know. It's just how I am and I don't really know what to do about it.
It's more than just being stir crazy. It's more than just being horny. It's needing to trick myself into thinking that someone cares. I'm a drug addict waiting for my next hit. It's pathetic, but we knew that.
On the plus side, what is great about me being able to detach is I make a great one nighter.
I will forever and always be the girl next door.
Sweet dreams are made of these.
I can't remember the last time I had a good dream. I can't remember the last time I spent time with someone just because they felt like it. I just have to wait until I'm around people like me, and trust me, I'm counting down the days.
There isn't an encouraging or overarching message to this post. This is my brain being spilled over.
This is a safe place. This is my place. I can do or say whatever the fuck I want here and I cherish that.
This is the Confession.
~
Things I'm thankful for today:
1. Stuffed hippos that smell like cigarette smoke.
2. Boxers
3. Crime shows.
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