a masochists memoir

in 2018, I wrote from my then 5 year old's point of view of my death. I still think of this writing often, only because the thoughts of suicide still seem to linger. i have never been able to picture myself as an older person, time is ticking and my heart is still shattered.

I was five when my mom decided to end her life.

It crushed me. I loved her more than anything, I followed her from room to room, I begged to sleep with her every night. I stole her lap, snuggled under the heated blanket. I raced my brother and sister to the door when she got home from work, always winning. I’d run so fast and leap into her arms that she said if I were any bigger, I’d knock her over.

And then one day, she was gone.

My life was never the same again. My dad moved in next to my mom’s parents and my grandmother tried. She tried so hard but she never did quite like kids like my mom did. She had always told my mom that too, that she was always jealous of the times she’d walk in and the house would be a disaster and there was my mom on the floor with one of us, reading books or building blocks. Mom could let the floors get dirty, the dust get thick, and leave the clothes wrinkly. Grandma was a different story and we had a list of chores that included dusting and putting our clothes away. She taught us the proper way to fold shirts and pants, smoothing them out so that they didn’t look like they came from the corner of the floor.

I decided to sleep in my own bed after she left me here without her. I kept her pillow under my head and breathed her smell in every single night. I played her voice over and over through my head, trying not to forget what she sounded like.

I wish she could have loved herself as much as I loved her.

if I decide to go home tonight, I hope you find this so you know how much I loved you and how I felt safe with you. I've never had that before and I am so grateful to have experienced it, even the littlest bit that I have. thank you, forever, from the bottom of my heart.

I tell myself that I could never be good enough for you. because if I thought for a moment that I could, I would never be able to live with the heartache of not having you with me.

it didn't start out in my bed. I left it propped up in the corner of my room, along with the tennis racket and the piece of wood trim 😅
and then one night, in my tears and loneliness, I got up and grabbed it.
i didn't feel so alone anymore. I slid it under my pillow, where my hands usually lay when I get all snuggled in. I could feel you radiate from it and at the risk of feeling silly, I reached over and wrapped my little fingers around it.
I felt safe, like nothing could ever get me or hurt me - the same way I feel when I'm with you.
it's been under my pillow every night since, with both hands wrapped around it, clinging to that feeling every night when I drift off.

sometimes when there is someone willing to hold me, I just want him.
the safest place I know is in his heart.
my lighthouse, my anchor and my voice of reason.

you told me you like my blowjobs and that you're proud of me all in one day?!
stop it, lol
you make me forget my old life. my old life of being told that I'm dumb and can't do anything right.
my heart is being pieced back together. slowly but surely (you're so patient) it won't look the same as before but it will be more confident because of the gift of your friendship and for that I am forever grateful 🥲

chilly Sunday afternoons are meant for crockpots, baking, movies and snuggles on the couch.
fall evenings are meant for making dinner, running kids and chasing stars.
bedtime is for spooning and scooping with one hand on my hip. my legs wrapped around yours and our breathing in sync.
it seems selfish to say that i'm alone - i don't have many friends, the ones i have show up at the important times.
but when it comes to chilly Sunday afternoons, these dark fall evenings and bedtime, I am very, very alone.
the silence is deafening, the chill gives me goosebumps and I am so, so cold. I wake up reaching for someone that isn't there and my empty arms fill up with tears instead.

I know I need it again
when the crying and the racing thoughts won't stop.
when I have too much going on and no time for myself to slow down.
when I can't focus and can't sleep.

i've been tracing the keys trying to decipher what i really meant when i said i was nervous. i've probably thought about that blubbering moment more than you have at this point and honestly, I just need the words to go somewhere because where they're at, they can't stay.

i am not nervous to cum with you. although, i do find being watched masturbating a bit nerve wracking. (i'm the girl that covers her face when she cums, even while alone.) its almost as if the release is shameful or embarrassing. anyway, that's not really where i wanted to go with this - i'm getting distracted.

while my heart is intrigued, my brain is standing guard. my brain, my heart and my pussy all say very, very conflicting things. intimacy is utterly terrifying. the walls are tall because they have to be.

you're my best friend and i absolutely cannot lose you. you're my protector, my rock, my voice of reason. i adore and admire you. I trust you to guide me in the right direction every single time and you always do it.

btw, I still need my oil changed. 

I wish I could choose my childrens memories
to ensure they remember the best </3