I realized I was in love about a week ago.
It was with a friend. Who’s brother I dated, after I fucked him. Then when his brother and I broke up, we started talking again. Yeah, fucked up, I know. I’m a fucked up person, you should know this by now.
Anyways long story short, after about a month of talking, he confessed that he liked me, and I told him I felt the same. Well then about a month after that..we had sex. I realized I loved him, and I told him. A week later he’s acting like I never existed in his world.
So that’s how it went. I actually opened up myself to someone in a year, and that’s what happened. And I felt pathetic. I’m 17. Shouldn’t I be over the whole, “Oh I like you too, and you’re special and let’s have sex” thing? Especially when he left. I mean, that’s not new.
So why did I feel so used?
I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I never meant a thing to him.
All I can think about is how his hands were all over me. How his lips were on my body and our sweat mixed, and our moans were combined in the air. And that he was supposed to be the one, and he was supposed to be mine, and that he would love me scars and all.
But it didn’t turn out that way.
And every time I flash back to us having sex, I feel like throwing up. Like this deep sadness, and anger, and I’m so disgusted with myself for falling for something like that…for someone being able to be so cruel and still live with himself.
I want to throw up. I want to claw my skin off, and get rid of every touch, every kiss anyone has ever planted on me. I want to cut myself where no one will ever think I’m attractive again. No one will ever want to be with me so I will never be used again. Then I would never feel the need to throw up every time I think about all the hands that have been all over my body.
I’ve been fighting with myself to not drag my blade from my wrist to my forearm. To bleed out every drop of my disgusting soul, and desires, and me. Because I’m not worthy of anything.
Not even love.