I don’t know the last time I wrote anything. I don’t know anything. All I know is I’m slowly walking down my own path to self destruction.
He told me not to fall in love in with him. Why? Too late now. This bitter sweet love that engulfs me. Makes me feel sick. Why do I do it to myself? I’m not what or who he wants. I can’t mould myself in to any one. I can’t even be me.
So I carry on. I sleep with others. In the hope for love. For affection. To feel worthy. But I end up feeling worthless. Like a piece of meat no one wants. The leftovers. Handed around like scraps at the dinner table.
Does it make me feel better? Do I feel happier? No. It’s a fleeting moment of sedation. The drug of choice. To be loved but conditionally. The condition being that I’m not the only one. I’m not loved at all.
I share and it kills me. I go with other men to soften the blow, every time he wants someone else. Fuck me and I’ll forget about him. For a brief minute, except when I can see his face. And all I want is him. But I can’t. I’m his, but he’ll never be mine. While I live and breathe, I’m still worth nothing. I’m not wanted, not needed.
So I go elsewhere. Pass myself around and hate myself even more. The slut has become. But all I want is him. I’m unrecognisable from the person I once was.
What have I done?
tetheredinthedeepend 