Make me useful and give me purpose so that I can hide behind my function
Employ me and put me under your command to distract from my confusion
Let me serve you so that I may substitute the pounding ache with this newfound occupation
Allow me to trade off the numbness for admiration
Admiration of you, for you, and from you
Hello…
The other day in one of my classes we talked about the saying “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.”( This reminded me of a few things I’d written before and I guess I’m gonna try and combine them and add on to it here and there? Anyway… back to the story at hand)
In reality… that’s not true at all. Sure the phrase was meant to be a stand against childish bullying but words are the pathway to everything. Written or spoken. Signed or braille. Words change lives. Words end lives. Words give meaning to life. Words build connections. Words break them too. Words build empires and let people document how they fall.
I don’t know what words to say to you… I’m happy. But I find I cannot be happy without still being so sad. I want to tell you everything but I don’t think it really matters anyway. I’ve always wanted what I cannot have. I want something you cannot give me. I want to be happy without crying… just once. To smile and not have to remember how things will end… how they always end…
I’m dramatic… I know that… I wonder if you hate that… I don’t know how to ask if you do. I want to be perfect… I’m not… I’m sure you don’t expect me to be but I want to be perfect enough for you to stay. I don’t want to be alone but I cannot keep you. I think so far ahead that I can’t even enjoy where we are now. I just feel sad…
I’m afraid of being happy I think… it’s still surprising when people are nice to me… when people actually look at me. When people talk to me… I’m afraid to just end up exactly where I started in the end. Afraid to care too much when I know I always do. Afraid to say too much. Afraid your words are empty. Afraid to enjoy the fleeting moments. Afraid you’ll never come back.
It must be so nice not to think the way I do. Not to be so attached to the idea of connection. To have other things to worry about other than how much you want to matter to someone. To not look weeks… months… years into the future and find all the reasons everything you want didn’t work out. To not be naive and optimistic despite all the pessimistic predictions.
I wonder what it’d be like not to be so scared all the time. I wonder what you want… I wish it didn’t scare me so much to ask. Somehow not knowing is better than the option that’s it’s just nothing at all.
Hello…
I haven’t written anything in a little while, but I’ve been wanting to type something up for a while. As always, I’m just gonna start writing and see where things go.
Sex is so strange to me sometimes. It’s funny that I could want to do something so much and yet find it so.. Terrifying. I guess it’s more so the fear of trusting someone enough to let them that close to me. I’ve not had much experience with men, but the experiences I have had thus far haven’t been the most desirable. I was bullied when I was younger and had a hard time believing anyone was actually interested in me, friendship or otherwise. I met a guy who was so shy and kind to me that something in me believed him when he said he liked me. We dated for about 6 months before he broke up with me. During our relationship, sex was brought up a couple of times. I guess my insecurity kept me from just saying yes to him. I’d shut him down, and he’d just say “Ok”... at least at first. Eventually, he got more and more persistent, and I guess I began to worry that he’d decide I was boring him… I had been involved with men way too old for me way too soon… He was the first guy my age who took an interest in me… I didn’t want to lose him… so I slept with him.
Months later, I noticed just how distant he’d always been. I found myself begging for his affection. I found myself resenting him yet desiring him all the same. When he left for the summer, we’d talk all the time… until we didn’t. He broke up with me, and while I don’t remember everything he said, I remember him saying this: “I never loved you. I just felt bad for you.” What a cruel thing to say to a girl who wanted nothing more than to love… and be loved by you. I don’t know why I’ve been so unlucky with the guys I’ve met. At some point, I guess I just gave up on believing them. I find it funny how easily people can lie to your face just because they feel like it.
I wish I could separate my emotions from sex. Maybe I’d be less miserable that way. A lot of people say college is supposed to be about self-discovery. I wish I could go to a party without being the “weird fat girl” in the corner. I wish people didn’t find it so funny to dare their friends to hit on me as a joke. I don’t care much about what people say anymore… I just wish they’d stop excluding me from everything. It’d be easier not to care if I had people that actually cared to hang out with me… invite me to places… let me invite them somewhere without making excuses as to why they can’t come while posting online about how they went out here or there. I wonder sometimes what’s so odd about me that so many people seem so uninterested in being my friend. I wish someone other than my parents would call me pretty… would call me period. I wish I had someone who understood me. I wish I weren’t so invisible to everyone, and yet I wish I didn’t stand out so much. I wish I weren’t treated like an outsider by the people interested in the same interests as me. I wish my conversations lasted more than 5 minutes. I wish I didn’t care about people who don’t care about me.
As I said before, I’m going to add some of my old poetry below:
(TW)
I tell myself it's getting better
For once I think it actually is
I don't want to die anymore
Still sometimes I don't want to live
You call me selfish so I stay
Today is better than the day before
I didn't wake up and cry
I went to sleep crying though
I don't even know why
You call me ungrateful so I stay
The headaches aren't that bad anymore
I'm nauseous when I eat
I'm dizzy when I stand
I'm nauseous sitting in my seat
You say you're tired so I stay
I know it's not my fault now
You say I'm to blame
To him you say I'm innocent
Somehow that means the same
You say you love me so I stay
If I ever end up with a man like you
Insult me
If I ever become a woman like you
Shoot me
You both say, “I love you” so it all stays
Hello again…
Once more, I am at a loss for how I should start this. I guess I want to talk about how I found myself on this site in the first place.
Well, I haven’t always been the biggest fan of movies. Not that I didn’t like them per se, I just often didn’t feel the need to make a conscious effort and put one on, let alone muster up the patience to watch it. However, I’ve noticed I have a bit of an unfortunate habit. I often find myself paying special attention to specific actors. Now, of course, there is your standard set of “handsome” actors like Brad Pitt… Henry Cavill… Michael B Jordan… and way too many more. But none of them have ever caught my interest… You know who did, though? James “Fucking” Spader. (Why is he so freaked out in every role 😭) And you know what made it worse? It was in the series “The Blacklist”... if you know anything about that show, you’d know it’s not necessarily old, meaning this attraction towards him wasn’t even while he was in his “prime”. James was 53 at the start of filming. While a majority of girls my age probably would’ve had no interest in him… I just couldn’t get over his mannerisms… his cadence (that god damn voice ugh!!! fgjbjgsafb).
…Anyway… I say all this to say… I thought he was really fucking hot for being older than my dad… which is worse somehow when put into perspective that my dad isn’t like 46 or something and is instead 64 while James is 65 (currently). I have an insatiable thirst for older men, it seems… I mean, my favorite actor is still Mads Mikkelsen ( god… I could literally talk about that sexy Danish man for the rest of my life…). Long story short, my newfound love for James Spader led me to the movie “Secretary”. A classic at this point while still feeling so… niche. I love that movie. It was my introduction to what BDSM could really look like. It solidified something in me that said, “Yes. This is what I want.” Anyway that’s kinda how I found myself here. Looking for… something…
I’d never thought about the amount of control you could truly give someone… I never thought about what the day-to-day could look like with that kind of dynamic. Above all that… I never thought I’d find “My Mr. E. Edward Grey.” I hope that I do someday. I hope that someone someday somehow comes to understand me the way he understood Lee… I hope I get to understand someone the way Lee understood him. I hope he loves me… the way he loved her. I hope I love him… I hope he lets me love him...
I hope to do so much for him… I hope to humiliate myself for him… to praise myself for him… to cook for him… to beg for him… to adore him… to desire him… and for him to adore and desire me all the same.
Sidenote:
I’m considering adding some of my older poetry to the end of these, meaning they’ll probably be poems completely unrelated to the post, but I still want to include them. I'm no master poet, so sorry if some of them suck lmao. Let’s start with this one:
(This is about manipulation, abuse, and a repetitive cycle, so if that is an uncomfortable topic for you, please consider this TW.)
I fell in love with the devil
He told me what he was to my face
If I'm not a fool, what am I?
I refuse to escape
I crave his burning touch… even now
His wings stretch out to wrap around me,
To keep me safe from when the winds whirl
His glowing eyes still haunt me,
And trap me in my own world
I crave his insatiable lust… even now
I cry, but I stay
I stay so I cry
They all look at me differently,
And he still calls me “mine”
I crave his false trust… even now
I find comfort in the fires of hell
At least the burn stays the same
They all look at me differently,
And I need to call his name
I crave his violent disgust… even now
He hates me
He loves me
He needs me
He'll never let me down
And I worship him… even now
So… I’m not exactly sure how to start this, so I’m just gonna keep writing until a topic emerges from my thoughts. I guess I’m here to talk about me… my life- my experiences so far. And apparently, I’m going to be doing it all with terrible grammar, punctuation, and spelling. If it looks even halfway decent, be sure to thank Grammarly for it because I assure you… It’s working overtime to correct my thoughtless mistakes.
I guess I oughta’ start with an introduction.
Hi,
I’m Nevaeh. I’m 19 and a freshman in college. I’m a Psychology BS Major who is pursuing Neuroscience. Specifically, Behavioral Neurology. Because of this, a lot of people will assume I’m “smart.” Hell… they might even say it to my face… I don’t think I am, though. I think I’m smart enough, sure… but I don’t find myself aligning with some sort of ideal of “higher intellectuality.” I am simple. More often than not, un-extraordinary. Unremarkable. I don’t say this to be demeaning. I believe I am very capable. I believe that in time, I may be deserving of the title of brilliant. I believe that one day my work may be considered “Groundbreaking,” but for now, I leave those extreme titles to those who have put in the work. I am very young compared to a lot of people here, and I acknowledge that. I guess that’s a part of my story… what I struggle with.
I believe that I’ve always felt like something was wrong with me. Even without the external berating of my Christian mother and her hypocritical rhetoric. I cannot blame her for everything... Nor can I truly blame my father. I made my fair share of incredibly ridiculous and ill-advised decisions within my own realm of responsibility. I cannot always place the blame on others. I guess I liked to believe that I knew what I wanted. And while that may be true… when it comes to balancing those things with the reality of being a child, I must admit I failed. I suppose it’s only natural to want to be mature… to want to be respected… to make your own choices. But I guess I only acknowledged the negatives far too late. It’s like I chased my own trauma in a way. Two steps ahead, before anyone could even think to pull me back in. Though I was aware… so was he… and sure…. He’s more at fault than I am… but still… at fault we both are.
Maybe that’s the reason I still carry so much guilt. Perhaps I still fear being too naive. To impressionable. To willing. But for me… that’s the whole point of what I want. I want to trust someone. I don’t want to think so much… I want to be eager and ready and waiting and pleading… I want to be loved just as much as I want to be violated. I want to worship and be worshipped. I want to have control without being in control.
I know what I want… but when will I get it?