this long procrastinated subject is as such due to its vastly complex web of disordered behavior. by this nature, where do i even start? do i start with my fierce desperation for validation? with my constant boredom? with my fear of loneliness? or is my ample sex life actually because of any of those reasons or is this chapter the product of overthinking? maybe i just really really like sex, though i am often disappointed by the men i let into my body so I'm not sure why I would like it so much. perhaps my exhibitionistic behavior encompasses much more than exploiting my body. maybe i glamorize and romanticize destructive behaviors, like a lana del rey song or sylvia plath poem.
i hold to the belief that it's a mixture between boredom and romanticization. while i do intensely desire validation, it is primarily because i attach it to a fictional and idealistic storyline rooted in my delusions. enemies to lovers, friends with benefits to true love. the thought of these tropes becoming my reality is addicting. i melted the first time a man paused making out with me to mutter that i am crack or when a man paused to ask if i was a demon sent to tempt him. maybe temptation really is all that i am. their desperation for that sex-craved look in my eyes feels like a scene from a movie, only its real. as a result, i crave their imminent moans and the jaw dropping awe on their faces after i treat them (as if it is deserved). because finally i am good at something that people appreciate.
no i am not so narcissistic that i am this blatantly confident about my abilities for lack of reason. these allegations of my talents in bed are legitimate and often complimented. "your the only person i want to suck my dick ever again", and therefore i am allowed to keep post upon my pedestal. of course, they quite literally only meant that in the "exclusive friends with benefits" way and not the "im in love with you and want to spend my life with you" way. but even if i was just a narcissist, fuck you for thinking i don't deserve to have such poise. truly i am better than most people.
the idea of people falling utterly head over heals for me in conjunction with my complete indifference of them is enthralling. i want to be an unsolvable mystery that they will continue to think of throughout their entire life as i can't even remember their name. i want to see the infatuation in their wide eyes as i perform my exhibitionistic schemes. i will look at them with such seduction that i fulfill all of their wildest utopian fantasies in a single moment, leaving them utterly vulnerable to my sensual enchantments as i climb on top of them. just as so many have treated me as a pocket pussy, i shall in turn objectify them. i have now come to the conclusion that is all i will ever be, so by now i must also conclude that is all they will ever be.
i have already succeeded in becoming that captivating mystery, as some have attempted to get ahold of me weeks, months, or even a year ensuing my ghosting. this is no exaggeration for the sake of story, by the way. in having already achieved the desire for recognition, i want more. the excessive attraction i feel towards validation is intoxicating. it is the only form of commitment in which death alone could do us part. it is the only drug that truly and repeatedly absorbs me. if only i lived in a cycle of such emotional inebriation, uninterrupted by the engrossing blackhole of reliving my past again and again and again and again.
it is rare to find a man whose name i genuinely care to remember. who i don't refer to by some vague aspect of our experience together, like "guy who buys me alcohol" or "guy with the long hair." it is also rare for me to go through the treacherous and arduous task of saving their number in my phone. in knowing no man lasts more than a few days, why go through the motions of pretending they are permanent? when my friends know their name without being followed by such descriptions that is how to know i have a real crush or infatuation.
on the other hand, i have the most trouble in that the only men who want me i do not want in return. and vice versa. the names i do want to remember never remember mine. a constant cycle of rejection and abandonment and "im not ready for a relationship." a cycle in which there is never a component in which i experience pure bliss, even if its temporary. though i wish there was one that lasts forever.
