I Want To Be Young And Carefree

You know what’s interesting? My family’s out of town this weekend and the house is virtually my own, so obviously having no other obligations I expected the weekend to be a veritable marathon of porn-watching and jerking off and such.

And don’t get me wrong, it has been.

But a curious thing happened really, after the initial load-letting, as it were. Every time I try to watch porn, every time I find a picture or a video of a really hot guy or a really hot sex scene, I’m overcome with a tingling, shivering sadness. A kind of smack in the face that very plainly says, “You are lonely. You have failed. You have not achieved anything you want to.”

It’s one little piece of it, the sex. It’s one of the things I’m missing from my life. Not sex in and of itself, but a chance to have sex with and be near to someone that I’m in love with. I first fell in love when I was fifteen, with a boy who never returned my feelings romantically, and then had a few brief forays into it over the next couple of years with relationships that all ended badly, and then my two-year relationship was a mess, a big bundle of supressed emotions and lies.

I’ve gone cynical at twenty-one. I haven’t stopped believing that there are a million people out there with whom I could be compatible, but I have stopped really counting on it happening. At least anytime soon.

I want to be in school. Not really because of the learning, though that’s part of it. I want to be in a group of people. I want to have young people like me, laughing and having fun around me. I want people to laugh at things I say and I want to play music and sing for them and have people think that I’m talented and enjoy me. I want a boy, to enjoy me. To really enjoy me.

I am an extremely sexual creature. I’m growing up, I’m just out of my teens, and my teenage sex drive, while not necessarily waning, is not in full-throttle every moment. I feel like I’ve wasted the chance to roll around in bed with someone every muscle and cell in my body longs for, for days at a time. That urge to hold hands because if I don’t do it I feel lik my heart will break without his touch.

I’ve never had that. I’ve had little glimpses into it. But never really been happy. I’ve never been a satisfying relationship. Not even a relationship that began truly satisfying and then turned bad.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever actually been happy.

I have a lot of happiness in me. There’s a lot just waiting to come out. I’m a spritely little thing. But I can’t be myself here, around my family, around my mother. I can’t be here. I have to get away, but there’s nowhere to go. No Jimmy to take me to South Carolina, no Kim and Eilene to offer me a place to stay, no Nathan to run to for the weekend, no slew of pointless hopes from the internet taking me to their houses, fucking me and then both of us losing interest.

I’m alone.

I want to play the piano and sing to an empty, dark auditorium. I want to get drunk and fall onto a couch filled with people and make out with a hot guy and laugh my ass off and have the world spin around me and throw up in the backyard and pass out and wake up the next morning and go out to get breakfast with my friends who are hungover as well.

I can’t take living here in this place, with these people, anymore. I HAVE to leave. I don’t have anyone to help me anymore, I don’t have any friends here, I don’t even know where to go to school. I’m terrible at looking for things that I don’t know about.

I feel so helpless. Like a child. Unable to do anything for myself. I feel humiliated.


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