u/catsrcoolerthanyou

"I'm different now!"

I say with a smile,

And then later that night?

I'm scrolling through the ghost of you.

Trying to catch a scent to find you all over again.

Images upon images of others I couldn't give less of a shit about.

Essays of text I skim just to test the sound in my mouth and figure out if it's you.

That's not what you'd say. That's not what you'd do. That's not what you look like. None of it is you.

My nails bitten down to stubs and my heart pounding and beating like a drum. My mind swirling with what could've happened to you. What you could be doing. Who you could be with. Why it isn't me.

Paranoia settles next.

I know you know where I am.

I'm right where you left me. Sitting in the same spot like a dog abandoned.

Pacing around a pole. Feeling my leash get tenser as my circles get smaller. Walking the other way. Feeling it get loose again.

Too loose.

I hate when this leash feels too loose.

If it's tight at least I know someone else is holding onto the other end.

Or at least it feels like it.

I'm a church leader now.

I give sermons on my blog.

Words and words I spout out that reflect my heart and bring reverence to the congregation.

Likes and reblogs abound.

Attention aplenty.

Abundance personified.

Messages filling the inbox to the point of spilling over, abandoned on the ground and flapping away from me.

Nothing else feeling right except the tug of my heart strings you still have on me.

Even in absence.

It's fucking annoying, you know.

The feeling that my missing piece is no longer apart of my world.

The feeling that it probably was just a piece I was cramming into myself to feel whole but I wasn't making them feel whole at all.

I'd rather just break.

I'd really genuinely rather just break.

Poetry is just paint splashed upon the walls at this point.

A desperate cry for help I'm not even sure who I'm screaming to.

A need in my heart I can't fulfill without the help of other people and other people feeling like monsters who want to hurt me to make themselves smile.

At least you expected nothing of me.

At least I wasn't anything to you.

A dissociated life brought back to a harsh reality.

Feeling each tooth in my mouth and every fiber on my skin.

A sensory nightmare accompanied by the feeling of missing you.

The worst feeling of all.

I'm never getting it back, huh?

And nothing else is filling the void?

What a rotten shame.

I thought my heart was bigger than this.

I'll keep passing it to people like it's a game of hot potato for now.

Giving in to the hype of other people even if they terrify me. Even if I feel like they might rip me apart.

Hopefully someone will hold my heart someday.

Hopefully it'll all feel warm again without ever finding another peep of you.

Or maybe I'll get to know you're ok.

I wonder if it'd hurt more than never knowing.

Seeing you ok without me.

I'm pathetic.

Listings upon listings.

Products upon products.

Various taglines, upselling each individual to its fullest potential- or at least attempting to.

Words and pictures plastered all over.

So I put up my picture too.

For sale like an object.

Desperate words trying to convince passerby that I'm the best deal they'll get-

Customer reviews stating quite the contrary.

"Too clingy, tried to get me to stop spending time with my friends- 1/5 stars"

"Made fake phone numbers because I blocked hers- 1/5 stars"

"Weird- 2/5 stars"

But those don't matter, do they?

Everyone here is a product just as well as me.

Desperate for a love that may never come.

For a forever home without threats of returns.

Each of us defective in our own way, hoping for someone who will love and appreciate our quirks as we learn to love their own.

So why does it hurt when I feel like a product?

Why does it ache when I feel like a bruised apple on the shelf, eyeballed and judged?

Like a piece of meat- all my bits of meat splayed across the counter of the butcher as people judge which of my parts are passable- which can be let into their homes?

"That review actually is kind of a turn on"

I get approached with leering eyes, an attempt at an earnest compliment feeling almost worse than the rest.

Part of me wishes I wasn't the pork on the table but rather the pig at the farm.

Wishing to be adopted in as a pet rather than eaten whole.

All of me wishes somebody would just take me home already, to decide my fate so I don't have to decide mine.

To force me to find my love upon them.

To keep me.

So that I don't have to do the same to another and feel the same hesitance and resistance I end up tossing to those around me.

I wish love was enough to tie me to another person.

I wish that there was just a string at the end of my pinky I could follow and follow until I find my person.

No struggles at the auction as I go to the highest bidder, as I go to the one that fulfills the most of my requirements just as I do theirs.

I wish we could just know.

But instead I'm online shopping.

Just as disgusted at myself as I am with others.

Hopefully I'll at least keep making some new friends.

Maybe that's all I'm good for in the end.

Content warnings on this one: A lot of opinions made from observing over long periods of time, possibly some bad takes. Be warned.

-----

Currently in the process of getting over myself and kinda diving deep into the idea of finding a partner- or at least someone to talk to with the intentions of finding a partner. And... I know why, but why is the sexualization of an obsessive partner such a common thing among our communities?

This is kind of a rehashing of a common topic around here, but I just wanna think it through for fun, honestly. Or maybe it's complaining for fun. Who really knows.

I get the logic in it, obsession is an inherently attractive trait in someone in this day and age. With cheating and disloyalty so common because it's so... readily available, it's a no brainer to prioritize a partner who is obsessed with you. Who won't- can't leave you. Because they're addicted to you. So it's an ideal.

But why is it so ridiculously common that the concept that 'not every person who has obsessive tendencies will like you' isn't getting through people's skulls?

This isn't intended as a scolding, or even informative, but an honest debate with myself. Do people think they can slide in dms magically, no prior interaction secured, and lasso in a 'yandere gf/bf/partner'?

It's giving off the vibes they aren't even picky, that any one of us is an equal... 'opportunity'.

And as I implied with my use of various labels: It's not just a problem I've seen with women. It's less common here, but I've seen the same constant string of sexualization and desperation without reciprocation towards men too.

It's like everyone is allergic to being friends and having a naturally evolving relationship where codependency blooms naturally. (I say as if this isn't unhealthy central, again, really just thinking through things here)

It's to the point where girl, man, nonbinary- I feel guilty messaging ANYONE because the intentions of so many are diluted down to a desperate bid for affection rather than honest to god feeling things out. Becoming friends. Getting along. Being ok with being friends. (Guilty of fumbling the ball on this one when my feelings get involved. Attachments are messy. And this is always going to be a messy community- these issues arent going away. I just like thinking and talking.)

This isn't exclusive to randoms, really. A good portion of the community is all about finding randoms to become obsessed with and hyperfixating on them with nothing more than a few words passed between them, which, nature of the beast really, but I digress. Just felt like mentioning that offhandedly so it didn't come across like I was denying reality a bit here- a lot of us kinda do it. It just sucks sometimes.

I feel almost like a good amount of people come across as characters anymore. Less like people and more like cartoons that you can toss a fictional crush on. I worry I come across that way to some people and that's why I attract what I do.

I'm not trying to scare off people either with this. I'm flopping like a fish trying to figure out what the fuck I want out of life and the big con of my brain is that I feel sickeningly dependent on other people to figure that out for me. So the more people I talk to the better in my books.

I'm just tired of sludging through people that I can tell from first message are appraising me like a pawn shop. And I'm scared that that being the habit adopted so commonly around me, I'll end up that way too without even realizing.

Anyways. While I'll keep posting here I'm slowly transitioning to tumblr, I think. It feels more personable to have someone approach a whole blog than posts with little to none of my personality shoved into them (unless it's a message based off of the many times I toss something up on making new friends subs, lol, but even those feel like lists made in desperation for anyone to talk to).

I want the warm and fuzzy feelings everyone wants, but first and foremost I just want friends. It feels easier in spaces like that. I don't know why.

Wishing everyone luck with finding or securing or maintaining their loves. Hopefully I didn't say anything too offensive, these takes honestly might just be lukewarm but (tmi) I'm on my period and sick and I kinda just felt like ranting at the world right now because life is limp and I cannot lift it up lol.

Sending love yalls way.

Sleep time for me.

-----

I just wanted to type that I love cats. Lol. That is all.

I feel the eyes on me.

Not directly.

But through the screen.

Eyes peering and inspecting my every pore.

My every word.

I feel the way they poke and prod at my boundaries.

Question my choices.

Vy for my attention.

Sexualize my love.

I stare back sometimes.

Deep dives into profiles with posts upon posts,

Trying to understand the other creatures I share this planet with in some deeper way.

Or maybe it's shopping flesh just like they do to me.

Eyes.

They won't stop staring at me.

They're watching my every move as the light reflects in my own,

My fingers tapping just for them.

I want more eyes.

They scare me but they feel good,

Even as people toss expletives into my inbox.

Even as I watch my words being torn to pieces.

Even as concern floods my inbox just as well as perversion.

The eyes feel good.

Because deep down I know.

I know the more eyes I feel on me,

The more I dance for them,

The more attention I get,

The more I suffer in the blinding light,

The more likely your eyes will be there too.

Ready to watch my performance come to a crescendo.

Ready to watch it come to an end.

And maybe then it won't only be eyes on me.

But hands as well.

And only one pair,

Staring back into mine.

No more glass.

No more screens.

Just you and me.

And eyes meeting soul.

And love in our hearts.

If I was prettier would I have been less disposable?

I feel myself, limp and doll-like on the bed. Looking at the ceiling.

If I could somehow shape myself like clay, if I could make myself be something pleasing to you, would you stay?

I find myself obsessing over singular hairs. Burning myself on curling irons. Shaving bits of myself I didn't even know I had. Staring at bitten nails and reminding myself to invest in fake ones.

I can fix myself.

I can.

Googling quick workout routines. Weighing how much my depression will keep me from it in my head.

Clothes.

How do I wrap myself up like a present? How do I make myself seem more appealing when I can only see myself as a lump of flesh? Like a sack of potatoes pulled together with a bow?

I do my best to cover up in some mix of shame and practicality- small scars are better covered.

But why don't I look right yet?

Over and over lining my lids with eyeliner as I try to perfect something I'm just not built for- eyes too heavy to have anything look good when relaxed.

So why do I have to be relaxed?

Peering in the mirror like I'm observing an alien as I position my features and try to memorize the feelings of the muscles. Try to put on a face step by step the things that don't come natural.

Everything in the world that just doesn't come natural to me. Everything.

And it's all for you.

All for the performance of a life time, to convince you to stay.

So won't you please ask me for an encore?

I promise I'll do better next time.

So please just love me.

Please don't leave me.

I'll be beautiful for you.

I'm not a religious person. A drop of spiritual, maybe. But ultimately, I don't believe in a higher power. Not even really an afterlife.

But I can't help but idealize a destiny.

I hear a song and I can see a perfect future.

And I can feel the tug of your thread, trying to pull me closer to you.

If we really are all tied together, like the legends say, I'm not tied by my pinky.

I'm tied by a tiny, tight thread around my throat.

I can feel my breath cut off as you pull me closer. Feel the way you're puppeteering my feelings as I long for you like air.

I can feel my nails digging and scratching at my skin as I try to take the leash off. As I try not to hope for a destiny that I don't even know will come true.

But you always pull me closer.

And my heart beats as a tail wags.

The yearning getting worse as I try to find out desperately who is tugging me through the tangled mess of the world's feelings. Trying so desperately to identify my own.

If you want me, you can have me.

I feel the words bubbling in my throat as involuntarily as hiccups.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

I'm tied to you after all, how couldn't I feel that way?

So even though it hurts, tug me more.

Please help me find you. So you never have to tug again.

Please save me from the choking you're putting me through.

So that I can hear it.

"I love you, too."

Loving isn't easy.

Except when it is.

And in those moments, it's too easy.

Scarily easy.

A vulnerability blossoming in my heart in a way that I can't control. Like vines of kudzu- all consuming. Overtaking buildings. Cities. My heart.

An invasive kind of love.

The kind that takes over my mind and destroys the gentle ecosystem of balance I've managed in my heart.

Loving new people is hard.

Until it's you.

I hate the way my heart pounds involuntarily.

The way I reach to you like a crutch. Wanting to lay my head on your chest and find myself in the depths of comfort that I could never provide for myself. The kind of comfort I'd have to balance 30 conversations to not even reach, but a simple few words from you make it overtake me to the point of dependence.

I hate the way my body contorts when I get told I'm good. When I get told I'm yours. The way my skin feels all ticklish all at once and my heart feels like it wants to leap from my chest to your hands.

I hate the way I love involuntarily, against my will.

It's scarier than hating. It's more terrifying than fear.

I don't know you.

I can't trust you.

So why do I love you?

Why is breathing harder? Why do I cry when you aren't around? Why do I panic like you're leaving me the moments I don't get a response? Why do I want to trust you so fucking bad it hurts?

And why am I so sure?

Why do I know that you're going to leave me too?

The way my feet drag through the mud while I try to leave my feelings behind is near painful.

Heavy boots covered in muck that is barely a centimeter from slipping over the lip and down towards my socks.

Infecting me again with sticky emotions I don't want to touch but know I'll have to someday-

This mud is unavoidable.

My only shining solace is a light ahead.

A hand outstretched and fingers reaching towards mine.

I hate idealizing people.

I hate that I do it. That I warp a person in my brain to match my every requirement for me to love them even if they don't fit. And if they do manage to fit, noticing a bump that my brain screams at me they just won't fit with it no matter what.

So I try not to. I really really do try.

But knowing the hand ahead of me is waiting- clean and free of dirt and willing to tug my arm near out of its socket just to help me heal...

Is it really not a God I just haven't had the privilege of meeting that has their hand outstretched to me?

Am I finally going to be free of the mud under my feet all thanks to someone lifting me up of their own free will?

People have snatched their hands away before.

I thought they were different.

But you.

I have hopes on you.

Maybe I won't be trudging much longer.

A pile of cans and glasses in my dead grandpa's yard. Next to his tent and dilapidated house.

I glance at them.

I see the alcohol mixed among soda.

And I'm lightly jealous.

I move to his tent.

Digging with gloves among things covered in dirt.

Piles and piles of things mixed with metal and glass. Digging for the sentimental. Finding drugs instead.

I move from the tent, sighing and pulling out my phone.

Texting you for comfort while my brain spins in a swarm of grief.

Fingers tapping across the screen. Hitting send. Waiting none so patiently for the indicator you're replying. The thing that makes my heart race. The thing that makes my mind swim with endorphins that I can't help but cherish.

A smile to my face even in the worst of times and the laziest of replies- something clearly thrown together while distracted but that I cherish like it means something. Like I mean something.

I step over old beer cans. Their labels faded and sun bleached. I look up at the sky and feel the Florida heat beaming on me. The black jeans I wore protecting my legs but not my body from the consequences of the choice.

And now suddenly it's a year later. And you're gone.

And I'm lying in bed in a panic about something that doesn't even matter- shaking like a leaf while decision paralysis takes me.

The cool fan air on me making me shiver. Making me wonder why it's even on.

I move to text you.

You aren't there.

And I understand my grandpa a little more.

If I had known what it'd feel like without you-I'd have slowly let myself die if it meant I could still have you too.

I think I'm a bad granddaughter for feeling that way.

Withdrawals suck.

"I'll leave you alone now"

Those were among the words you left me with at last contact.

There wasn't much thought put into them, was there?

Leaving me alone is easy for you, isn't it?

Alone.

I'm alone now.

I wonder if your mind whispers to you that it's better for me. I wonder if you have justifications lingering in your head like anything would actually justify the mess you've left of me.

I wonder how many times you've smiled since you left me here, all alone.

I wonder how many times your heart beat faster because of someone else since you abandoned me. Leaving me all too quickly at a sign of trouble.

Sometimes when I write I like to imagine what sort of emotions would twist in your stomach if your eyes hit my words.

You said you were always going to watch me, right?

Do these words hit your eyes in a way that makes your heart hurt? Or does it feel warm knowing you get to be such a star in my mind still?

If things really are just as hard for you as they are for me, like you told me, then maybe I'm not truly alone, as long as I have each and every account.

I know I still linger on accounts of people long gone from my life, staring at the updates reflected in my eyes, needing the drops of information the internet is all too kind to give to those who know the magic words.

I know you know this account.

I wonder if your fingers fly across the keyboard, typing out my username, keeping my words company as they make your heart beat in some way I don't get to know how anymore- I wonder if you read each and every one. Letting it hit your soul like bricks.

I wonder if you wish I'd just disappear this account like you did.

Or wish I never would've seen what I saw on yours.

I wonder if you'd still be in my life if I didn't see.

I should stop wondering.

But what else is there to do when you're alone?

You were ugly.

It's not true, honestly.

You were one of the most beautiful people I could ever have the hope of talking to.

The way your words left me spinning in circles- My heart twirling in my chest at the high of just getting your attention.

Every single time I talked to you a rush that I couldn't help but dive into.

But you were ugly.

But you weren't.

You were one of the only people I could depend on. You were a lovely soul that held mine close and whispered the words I needed to hear. That told me I was lovely too. That told me it'd be ok. That I was good.

But you were ugly.

You couldn't be!

You were the one that I wanted to spend almost all my time with, the one I needed the approval of. The one I wanted to make happy no matter what. The one I needed in my life like a drug. So you couldn't be.

But you were ugly.

I don't want to see it.

You weren't ugly in appearance.

But your heart twisted around mine like a vine. Digging its veins into mine like roots- draining the blood from it as you whispered sweet words. Draining the love from it for validation while I was left crumbling, trying all the while to please you.

You were ugly.

I can't admit it to myself.

The way you did the same to other people, telling me I was special while seeking validation from the greater world like it's what it was made for. Leaving me behind while I struggled on my own. Like a fish flopping in air. All the water leaving me. All my love bleeding out.

You are ugly.

Even leaving me now.

Abandoning me fully on the side of the road like a dog. Not a wiff of your scent left to track. Not a bit of your world left for me to see. Not a crumb of reassurance you're alright. Even though you told me there always would be.

I am ugly.

Because you left me.

My soul twisted into knots. Drained dry. Bad habits formed from the way you walked away overriding my brain. A broken lump on the road begging for affection but unable to give. Every word out of my mouth an utterance of self pity when I can't even manage to be a whole person for those who walk by. Unable to get words out of my mouth except for how sad I am.

I am ugly.

But maybe without me you're beautiful.

I can only hope.

Because I know I'm ugly without you.

Just some random thoughts I wanted to put somewhere but didn't know where to put them.

My current favorite singer (Malcolm Todd) just released a new song that kinda leaves a pit in my stomach with how much it relates to my situation that I'm still processing and hung up on and idk when I'll get over it because obsession is the nature of the beast.

"I Saw Your Face", short of actually seeing their face, perfectly encapsulates how it feels to have to leave someone for the greater good even though you just don't want to. I hate it. I hate being cut off from the stream of info. I hate being cut off from being able to care about their issues with them.

It's like losing a limb that you were just too used to. That you need to walk with now, your sense of balance tied to it. But you have to let go. You don't have any choice. It was killing you.

I wanted so desperately to work past the shortcomings. Work around everything.

But I couldn't. Too obsessed to be healthy and too obsessed to let go. It's a stupid position I let myself slide into.

I should've said yes the first time honestly. I wonder if my regret brings some sort of twisted smile to their face. I wonder if it hurts them too.

I kinda just wonder if they're really hurting as much as I am. Even if it's in a different way. I hope they're hurting more just because I couldn't feel the care while they were here. So I just kinda wish for them to be showing it while I can't see it.

I don't even really know if they liked having me around that well. They always said they did. And that they didn't mind me. But I don't know. I really and truly don't know. I couldn't feel it at all and I can't feel it now that they're gone.

I think that's a me problem. Not being able to tell if I'm actually loved even if it's said right to my face. It feels like someone's dangling a rope in front of me but I just can't grab it to see if it's real. I just can't use it to climb out of the hole of self hatred I have.

I don't understand how people know they're loved in their soul. I don't understand how that tether of security is there.

I just wish I could be with someone as obsessive as I am so that I wouldn't have a chance to doubt it but my brain is scared of being wanted so hard that it practically self destructs at the prospect, especially when it happens too fast.

Love coming to someone fast like that means they can leave fast too after all.

Anyways, back to Malcolm Todd.

The only reason he's my favorite lately is how tightly I feel his understanding of yearning. If not yearning then at least BPD because every single song I feel my entire soul in lol.

I wish I could have it all back but I'm too scared to feel anything at all now.

I'm tired. I think it's nap time.

Sorry it's so disjointed and not even in an entertaining way.

I wish I could cut myself apart and sew me back together in a way that was more pleasant and palatable for everyone.

I wish I was easily digestible.

I wish I was consumable.

I wish I was wanted in a way that felt warm and fuzzy and not insidious.

I wish I was a teddy bear and that my love was like soup that would be warm and make the world felt safe.

But I'm not.

And it's not.

And my brain hurts.