No Grown-Ups Allowed!

No one left here remembers me, so this will be my diary. My collection of mistakes. The thoughts that will most ultimately lead to my destruction.

He’s my ‘one that got away’. I hate to admit it, but once it’s been thought it can’t be taken back.

And is that so wrong? Is it so wrong that I would feel that way? Yes, probably. Is it that the sex was good? Great? Made me feel over the moon? Or is it that he treated me like an equal, always? Never treated me like I was stupid, like I was less than? Both, I would imagine. And he keeps coming back- just to the fringes of my life. Just on the edge. Keeping me on the edge. Is it unfair? Is it what I deserve for ruining the best thing in my life?

I don’t deserve to have standards, but I act so entitled. “I deserve someone who can treat me like a king,” “Someone who can give me the life I was raised to believe I deserve,” “Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m being psychotic.”

I should end it. Tell him to feel free to hit me up while he’s in town, but..

I’m catching feels, again. Or they never went away. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle the rejection. More frightening, I suppose, is the idea of no rejection. Can’t think that thought. Can’t go that way. Can’t let that nasty little devil on my shoulder, Hope, have it’s way with me.

I should break it off. I’m not his first choice. I never will be. I’m no one’s first choice. If I could teach myself to accept that as fact, and be at peace with it, I could maybe be... happy? Ah, but there’s that demon again, rearing his nasty head. I don’t deserve to be happy. I’m aware. I’ve done some awful things, truly terrible things, and I shall never earn happiness.

I miss the drugs. They keep these thoughts at bay. Was it my decision to get clean? Not by a long shot. I don’t Want to be clean. I want out of my head. Away from these thoughts. Thoughts that I might continue this dull existence any longer. I want drugs that make me leave my every inhibition behind. Let me be the person that exists only in my head. Let me sniff away the pain, inside and out. Let me rot myself to the core, let the exterior match the interior, let people see the empty shell of a man where I once stood.

Is it a cry for help? No, not really. An announcement? I suppose, in a way. Announcing to the world, a world of people who give no fuck about me- and that’s fair, maybe easier? I’m all about easy.

But I’m frustrated. So frustrated. I can find imaginary examples all day of what I desire, who can’t? But the real thing? Why would that ever exist for me? I don’t deserve- I haven’t earned- I can’t expect there to be someone who, by day, can show me the finer side of life, and, by night, take control of me and make me theirs. I daren’t dream that I could find that perfect match, according to my brain. Someone who claims me as theirs over and over til there’s nothing of us left.

I must excuse myself from my thoughts. I must banish the Hope and the Happy and the Dreams and get as far away as possible. I must yearn for the shell of a man that others may see me the way I see myself, that they might let me go and drift into the nothingness, not even a fond memory, but a little black void in their thoughts. I must excuse myself from their lives, so that when I disappear, they’re unaffected.