To be entirely forthright, I don’t know where to begin with these thoughts. This is just a stream of consciousness that I am experiencing at the moment, needed to get it out of my head.
Pain is so enticing, endlessly beguiling, but I fear it. I have been touched in brutal ways, both wanted and unwanted. Recently, however, I have learned just how little I have truly experienced. My curiosity has always proven to be a dangerous thing. The urge to push forward, simply in the quest for my own limitations, has become sentient. But how do I reconcile that my scream could equate someone else’s whimper, when a height of my own pain is someone else’s dull discomfort. I crave with every ounce of my being to be ruined. I be left with bruises and welts and cuts and scars… to wear them with pride. Yet, I still fear receiving them.
I have not felt true pain, not when I wanted to feel it anyway. How do I crave to be bitten, when the only teeth I have felt were those of an enemy? How do I crave to be bruised, when I still remember those foreign fingerprints? How do I crave to be destroyed, when I battled so heavily against the very thought?
This is not the time for me to delve into complicated emotions no one else deserves to unpack. I simply am scared. I am scared of myself, of my own need for more. I see the deep black and blue, the ache in a step, the blood on a tongue… and I wish it for myself. But can I handle the pain? I want to. God, do I want to. But can I?
If not, will I ever? How do I get there? Where do I even begin?
As I sit here, contemplating a million and one thoughts, thinking and dreaming and fantasizing about the most depraved things my mind can think up, I can’t help but worry that I am incapable of making my reality live up. Am I enough? Can I take it? I want to. I need to. God, do I need to.
There is an animal, something primitive, lurking, hungry for perversion buried in me. It’s just out of reach, hidden beneath a chasm of fear and doubt. I can not find a way through, a way across. What do I do? How can I accept that there is a part of me aching to explore, locked away by my own shortcomings? How can I? I can’t. But then what? What can I possibly do with the skin that I am in? Can it learn? Can I?
The more I try to figure it all out, the more questions I discover. I seem to be sorely lacking in answers.