Kintsugi
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I’ve been stuck on this f*cking mountain for a full month. I left for one day to crush an interview and drink my body weight in assorted liquor I wasn’t paying for. I did good, though. Only had drinks bought by girls. Looked alive. Didn’t leave my or their drinks alone.
So I’ve been joking that I’m actually safer like this, because I’m stuck where I can’t reach for my death. I thought.
Turns out when given no other avenues of self-harm, I like to talk to rapists. Diagnosed psychopaths preferred.
And they all started telling me the same thing. And I don’t know what to do with it.
They don’t sense the victim in me. They sense a kindred spirit. A predator. They don’t like me because I’m a victim. They like me because they see themselves in me.
But I’m not like them. I am a victim. And I feel it.
One of them reminds me so much of one of my old stalkers I almost call him Rory. My relationship with Rory ended when he wanted to tie me to a chair and skin me alive. The last time he called me, he had gotten a gun and a car and was looking for me. He was probably back in prison when I was still looking over my shoulder. I was fifteen. He was the only actual sociopath I ever got involved with to my knowledge.
This guy is far better company than Rory. And he soothes that need to hurt myself. He’s addictive.
I don’t know what the f*ck is wrong with me.
So I’ve been joking that I’m actually safer like this, because I’m stuck where I can’t reach for my death. I thought.
Turns out when given no other avenues of self-harm, I like to talk to rapists. Diagnosed psychopaths preferred.
And they all started telling me the same thing. And I don’t know what to do with it.
They don’t sense the victim in me. They sense a kindred spirit. A predator. They don’t like me because I’m a victim. They like me because they see themselves in me.
But I’m not like them. I am a victim. And I feel it.
One of them reminds me so much of one of my old stalkers I almost call him Rory. My relationship with Rory ended when he wanted to tie me to a chair and skin me alive. The last time he called me, he had gotten a gun and a car and was looking for me. He was probably back in prison when I was still looking over my shoulder. I was fifteen. He was the only actual sociopath I ever got involved with to my knowledge.
This guy is far better company than Rory. And he soothes that need to hurt myself. He’s addictive.
I don’t know what the f*ck is wrong with me.