Ad 2:
2020-11-18 12:29:06 (UTC)

what's goin' on! in my head?

November 18, 2020 Wednesday 11:29 AM

The burn on the back of my hand scabbed over and is now in the process of disintegrating; the plasticky pink skin underneath looks round and wrinkled like a sealed-over butthole. It itches and the skin of my hand is dry from washing it 20 times a day. I had a dream that Matt said my pores were remarkably large and my mom pointed out an acne scar on my jaw. This is, I suppose, an improvement on the nightmares of the previous three days. Respectively, getting beat up and humiliated by my entire village, having my literature professor e-mail me some cutting feedback, and having some random lady get really pissed at me for no reason. But actually the dream with the angry lady was okay, because I was a man and I ended up having a boyfriend, sort of. I was dating this guy because he stole my car and I was trying to infiltrate his wealthy estate to get it back; he pulled me down onto the bed and my head was on his chest and he ran a hand down my ribs and it felt nice. Everything else was shit, though.

Oh, I've also been horny and it's annoying because this is concurrent with some very Trash self-esteem. I kept having vague wet dreams/nightmares (one in which, I believe, my dad fucked me??? I think this was actually the same night I had the angry lady dream, which kind of actually completely ruins all of the positive aspects—jesus christ). I hate it. Why are my wet dreams always humiliating and disgusting. I can't overstate this: it makes me want to fucking vomit. Okay. I'm going to try and forget about this now.

Anyway, I miss a couple weeks ago, when I was essentially asexual for all I cared about sex. It was like I forgot I had a body (except I did still hate it lol). Because I read fanfiction, I was still exposed to about the same amount of sexual content, but I did not give a care and it was wonderful. I miss that. I want to be bodiless. I hate having flesh and I wish I was a hot boy (yes I'm still on that). Boys can take up space. For some reason I don't feel like I can take up space.

I'm too entrenched as a girl, though. A girlchild. I'm whiny and petty. I don't like it when people touch me. I feel angry and hurt. I feel like a child. It's the touch thing, really—I don't want anyone to touch me. Even if I touch them; they can't touch me back.

My sleep has been somewhat better. I am not waking up stuffy anymore, but I'm still waking up with headaches, which is awesome. I want to throw up just for the fun of it. All my thoughts are linear, but they're too linear—instead of drawing back to themselves, pulling the important conclusions back into the front. Every thought leads to another, loosely associated, always breaking off before I can come to any conclusions.

I feel okay. Everything is difficult but that's okay. Things are better than they were last week at least. I have a lot to do, though. I have no idea how I've managed to keep the bean plant on my windowsill alive for so long.

My writer's self-esteem is very low but when is it not? All these other literature majors writing theses, and what am I doing? I feel stupid. Like a failure, in a lot of ways. A bad writer. I wanted to apply to honors fiction next semester but my favorite professor is the teacher and I don't think I'd be able to handle it if he rejected me. Just another person saying I'm not good enough. I need to stop with the self-pity. Sometimes I worry I'll end up one of those people who never writes anything. I'll just keep thinking about writing and I'll never write it. Or I'll start and I'll get far but I won't ever finish. That's what I worry about.

Sometimes, when I think about dying, I realize I can't because all I will leave behind is a dumb legacy of failure. Really, I don't know where my mind is at—I recognize that this is not a reliable POV right here. I haven't exactly failed at everything. In fact, I have done well in most things. I just feel like ultimately I've failed, but that is owing to my ego and also my terrible terrible self-esteem lol. Classic Smart Person Never Feels Good Enough. Anyway, I don't know how to parse this. Because, great, I shouldn't die because I still have a lot to do—but also, I probably shouldn't use fear of failure as a reason to live. Whatever, I have lots of other reasons to live. I don't even know why I'm thinking about this. I guess I'm just being morbid because I'm in a weird place right now, emotionally.

I think that's all for now.