reasons why i hate my vagina:
if i don't piss immediately after sex there is a 90% chance i will be in severe pain for two days after, thanks to urinary tract infection.
guys i'm not really into will think i'm tight and the guys i really like will not get the same experience.
the most painful thing i've ever had done to me was a procedure to keep me from making lives.
i had to choose between most painful thing ever done to me or years of pills, shots or other inserted devices.
my ideas don't count in a room full of men.
i'm often late for things because i sometimes won't get out of bed until i've had four orgasms.
i'm less useful at work where physical strength is required.
i make a lot of bad decisions.
i will never know how another person feels from the inside.
in the most unsuspecting times and places, i will become painfully aware of how bad i need to fuck something.
guys can't make me come.
i have to work twice as hard to be recognized in my place of work.
10.3.15
end up in richest poverty.
I'm starting to feel the nature of my addiction shift to another dimension.
I'm starting to feel like I might not be a sex addict.
It might just be much worse.
Another weekend full of bad decisions. Nothing new.
Except when I came home this time, I felt very honestly
that I could be
seriously mentally ill.
The idea of crying came to mind but I needed to go out and try to live my life.
I went to a cadaver lab today in drawing class.
Standing in a room surrounded by shelves of lifeless bodies, I was frozen.
On a table in a fluorescent lit room, a man lifts a sheet and a corpse lays rigid and flayed.
The man lifts the arm aggressively and we gasp.
I sit and draw the back of the thigh and marvel at the tendons stringed behind the knee.
In another room, the man opens another bag and a pile of organs and flesh are brought to sight.
He shows us the tongue, not inside a mouth but out in the air.
While he's shifting the surrounding body to show us the mouth, I notice his thumb pressing into an eye.
Another body he shows us is filleted symmetrically at the chest. He pulls out a detached heart and sticks his finger in the hole. He shows us a gallbladder. He closes the muscles and then the skin of the chest before we move on.
It was in his imprudent handling of the bodies that I came to realize again that I shouldn't worry so much about what people think of me. If I put my life on the scale of all history, for all intents and purposes, I'll be dead soon.
I'm starting to feel like I might not be a sex addict.
It might just be much worse.
Another weekend full of bad decisions. Nothing new.
Except when I came home this time, I felt very honestly
that I could be
seriously mentally ill.
The idea of crying came to mind but I needed to go out and try to live my life.
I went to a cadaver lab today in drawing class.
Standing in a room surrounded by shelves of lifeless bodies, I was frozen.
On a table in a fluorescent lit room, a man lifts a sheet and a corpse lays rigid and flayed.
The man lifts the arm aggressively and we gasp.
I sit and draw the back of the thigh and marvel at the tendons stringed behind the knee.
In another room, the man opens another bag and a pile of organs and flesh are brought to sight.
He shows us the tongue, not inside a mouth but out in the air.
While he's shifting the surrounding body to show us the mouth, I notice his thumb pressing into an eye.
Another body he shows us is filleted symmetrically at the chest. He pulls out a detached heart and sticks his finger in the hole. He shows us a gallbladder. He closes the muscles and then the skin of the chest before we move on.
It was in his imprudent handling of the bodies that I came to realize again that I shouldn't worry so much about what people think of me. If I put my life on the scale of all history, for all intents and purposes, I'll be dead soon.
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