bedhead_baby
stupid selfish baby
- Jul 16, 2023
- 115
I tagged this as venting, but it's more of soft discussion of my feelings. Gentle venting, if you will.
I often think about the lack of connection I'll have for my entire life. I'm asexual, but not aromantic.
I want someone to look into my eyes and smile. I want to see the soft expression of happiness, paired with the sweet sigh of contentment as they watch me. I want someone to take my hand, feel every finger and every groove and take in the warmth of my touch. I want someone to stroke back my hair, call me lovely, and kiss my forehead. I want someone to lay next to me and hold on to me when I'm scared to fall asleep. I want to be seen as beautiful, and my thoughts and passions explored and admired and shared as we grow. I want a soft kiss and their breath on the back of my neck as I rest. I want to be cared for when I'm sick amd worried about when I'm sad.
But to get that, I'd have to let someone touch me the way they want. I'd have to stay conscious while someone is tearing apart my insides, be it a man or a woman, while all I want to do is die. I have to feel someone's sweat pour onto me as they're feeling euphoric, while it feels like there's a knife plunging inside of me and I can hardly breathe. I have to keep from crying out while every touch grabs me too hard and bruises my skin. I have to keep from vomiting while someone puts a body part in my mouth. And when they're done and satisfied, I have to pretend like my body is still mine and I don't want to tear off my flesh and replace all my parts.
All the while, the world tells me I'm not real, not ready, or I'm lying. Because I find women beautiful, I must want to have sex. I feel incredibly sad and disgusted at the lack of sincerity and love as people reduce others to simple breeding machines. I want to know someone. I want to admire their body and their mind without being in pain. I don't believe there are many people in the world who truly care about connecting to others. I don't believe love will find me, though I give out so much to people who nod and move on.
I get told this will change, but I'm an adult. It won't. It's not a stand against society, I genuinely do not feel the desire or have a sex drive. Though even if I did, I would hope that a partner would want to make me feel good because they desire my happiness as much as I desire theirs.
I spent so much time trying to care for others and make them feel loved and appreciated and seen, to really know who they are and their desires and fears and dreams. And for what?
I don't regret the love I've given, but I'm still alone. I've had one very short relationship. I have no friends. And I don't think I will be able to find companionship without the sacrifice of my safety, so I sit and stare at my ceiling and fantasize about my death.
I imagine someone stroking my hair, softly telling me how much they love me and how safe I'll be once I'm dead. I reach out my hand to pretend someone is there to grab it, to guide me through as it becomes hard to breathe and I begin to fade. I wish in my final moments, that person would rest their head against mine and hold me until I've made it there.
Then I wake up. And I live my life, and imagine it all again as I go to bed. And someone wanting to walk me through death is probably far more likely than someone wanting to love me in life.
Tldr: I'm delusional
I often think about the lack of connection I'll have for my entire life. I'm asexual, but not aromantic.
I want someone to look into my eyes and smile. I want to see the soft expression of happiness, paired with the sweet sigh of contentment as they watch me. I want someone to take my hand, feel every finger and every groove and take in the warmth of my touch. I want someone to stroke back my hair, call me lovely, and kiss my forehead. I want someone to lay next to me and hold on to me when I'm scared to fall asleep. I want to be seen as beautiful, and my thoughts and passions explored and admired and shared as we grow. I want a soft kiss and their breath on the back of my neck as I rest. I want to be cared for when I'm sick amd worried about when I'm sad.
But to get that, I'd have to let someone touch me the way they want. I'd have to stay conscious while someone is tearing apart my insides, be it a man or a woman, while all I want to do is die. I have to feel someone's sweat pour onto me as they're feeling euphoric, while it feels like there's a knife plunging inside of me and I can hardly breathe. I have to keep from crying out while every touch grabs me too hard and bruises my skin. I have to keep from vomiting while someone puts a body part in my mouth. And when they're done and satisfied, I have to pretend like my body is still mine and I don't want to tear off my flesh and replace all my parts.
All the while, the world tells me I'm not real, not ready, or I'm lying. Because I find women beautiful, I must want to have sex. I feel incredibly sad and disgusted at the lack of sincerity and love as people reduce others to simple breeding machines. I want to know someone. I want to admire their body and their mind without being in pain. I don't believe there are many people in the world who truly care about connecting to others. I don't believe love will find me, though I give out so much to people who nod and move on.
I get told this will change, but I'm an adult. It won't. It's not a stand against society, I genuinely do not feel the desire or have a sex drive. Though even if I did, I would hope that a partner would want to make me feel good because they desire my happiness as much as I desire theirs.
I spent so much time trying to care for others and make them feel loved and appreciated and seen, to really know who they are and their desires and fears and dreams. And for what?
I don't regret the love I've given, but I'm still alone. I've had one very short relationship. I have no friends. And I don't think I will be able to find companionship without the sacrifice of my safety, so I sit and stare at my ceiling and fantasize about my death.
I imagine someone stroking my hair, softly telling me how much they love me and how safe I'll be once I'm dead. I reach out my hand to pretend someone is there to grab it, to guide me through as it becomes hard to breathe and I begin to fade. I wish in my final moments, that person would rest their head against mine and hold me until I've made it there.
Then I wake up. And I live my life, and imagine it all again as I go to bed. And someone wanting to walk me through death is probably far more likely than someone wanting to love me in life.
Tldr: I'm delusional