I’m garbage

I love sex. 

Because I love when someone worships my body. I love feeling sexy and pretty. I love attention. 

My parents fucked me up by keeping me away from people. 

I learned skills somewhere along the way from books and movies and tv. I learned psychology. It didn’t help me - it made me manipulative. I learned what makes people tick. I learned how to figure it out if their tick isn’t immediately obvious. There have been so very few mysterious puzzles over the years. So many easy ones to solve. This is not even a chicken or egg scenario - the ability was there first. The education and experience only honed a dangerous ability. 

I like a challenge, because I love wining. 

And I’m able to learn from every loss, so I become more dangerous. I’m competitive with myself. I want to be right. I want to be better than everyone else. I frequently somehow accomplish this… I don’t speak unless I know what I’m talking about. I don’t stop until I’m at the top. I don’t do things I’m not good at for very long. 

I cheat life. 

In like every way. My job fucking cheeeeats life. My family situation. My romances. I don’t play by any fucking rules. I do whatever I want to make myself feel good and don’t care about anything except that. 

I just want to feel good all the time. 

I’m not here to do things the “right” way in life. I don’t care if it’s healthy. I don’t care what the masses would say. I don’t care what anyone else would really think. I like to feel alive. 

Maybe because I feel so fucking dead inside so much. Forever it’s been there. This is how I fight it. 

I use people and drugs and food and anything I can get my hands on to feed that “feel good” monster inside.

I cram anything I can find into that gaping hole knowing it’ll never fill it up. But I’ve stopped dumping certain things in a while ago. I don’t dump in the boys anymore. It’s been years since I had any boy fun. I don’t dump in traveling and going out since Covid and baby. I don’t throw in near the amount of drugs I used to. I don’t throw in alcohol. 

I’m left with attention from my husband and baby and ocasional friend, weed, moving my body, being good at my job sometimes, food. 

Only food doesn’t actually make me feel good. Weed does the most. And losing weight.

I need to figure out this cycle. 

I need to figure out how to feel good with the resources I have at my disposal. Because I’m not a person who’s cool with mediocrity, so this cannot become that. 

Even if it already is that, I’ll just keep cheating every system to make sure I keep that exhilarating feeling of being alive. 

Not hurting anyone else, right?