There are … quite a few things I feel the need to talk about today, Doc.
I’m sorry I’ve missed our last few appointments… I suppose I wasn’t even going to come today either, but … well yea you know how it goes. right? right? This does happen to everyone, then? This sort of blockage or constipation or whatever – I am emotionally stale.
I think some people might call this depression but ho hum I guess I’ve just been denying that for a god five years now and would like to continue doing so.
The worst part is, Doc … I just don’t see this ending well. I get pills, turn myself into a happy zombie; its sort of an inevitability, but I think it can hold off another boy down the line… one more chance to set things on a more normal course of action. Instead of a breathless mutters of contentment I could be… oh I don’t know a functioning alcoholic or something.
That seems like a plan, right?
Oh yea I suppose… I just don’t find it that fucked up the way I get attached. I’m sure that you would categorize it as destructive or unnatural or whatever, but when I fall in lust or love or obsession or whatever this chronic condition is I can’t help but be a little excited about it. It gives me something to live for, something to dream about. Living for the chance to be in a restrictive contract with another, equally fucked up adult – that might not be everyone’s idea of paradise, but for me… all of that drama all of those nights are defiantly worth the effort and uncomfortable surprises.
I’m trying to say that I don’t like people, I don’t fit in and those people who I let in soon find that I prefer a safe amount of distance. The best of friends don’t touch me. I don’t like to be touched. There are, of course, people who I’ve let come close, but I’ve known them for quite a while. Perhaps that’s why this Michael thing has crippled me. Michael Michael Michael. Oops I said his name! Say what you want about my sexual habits, but I don’t let people come as close as Michael did. I think about certain … situations and suprise myself. Did I really let someone sleep in my bed?
And maybe I shouldn’t in the future. Maybe I should be more catious. Find a way to continue to temporarily obsess over boys from lower caste systems untill they try to fuck me and figure out their options. There are two, you know: commitment or fury.
It is strange to me the way I am able existentially observe my curosities but am unable to change them. If I could, there wouldn’t be any reason for you Doccy. Unfortunately, I seem doomed to dream about happily kissing boys who haven’t talked to me since I woke up in their beds confused and hungover.
At least I have the ability to get some, I suppose.
Drugs and alcohol help with that too, generally.
