To Blame
“The superior man blames himself. The inferior man blames others” — Don Shula
I’m to blame for everything sexually.
I don’t initiate out of fear. I don’t try out of anger.
I think of sex only in my head and fear them coming out.
Getting fucked physically is emotionally hard.
Getting fucked up mentally is physically damaging.
I’m damned goods. I look fine. I look pretty. I look okay.
That mask isn’t real. That mask is just a fake. Yet I put the blame on the mask. I put all my negative things on that mask. Once I get called out, I get confused, defensive, and offended. there are not 2 sides to me, there are many. But we hate ourselves from our past. We connect with the masks to save us. I try my best to stay true but I’m to blame for things I don’t initiate.
For things, I don’t want. For things, I can’t or won’t do. I try to mentally be ready but my body says no. I try to physically be open but my mind scars me. I can’t believe in the outside since words resonate from past memories.
Memories that never leave, memories that hold on to a part of me. That holds on to lost feelings.
Lost feelings that don’t validate what they may become. Who I was isn’t who I am. But who I am might fall into lost, alone, and desperate. Desperate for love, lust, and freedom.
I feel like a bird trapped in a cage of my own despair. I can’t speak to him. I can sing and talk my emotions out but he will only validate me if my wings do the job he’s meant to see. My wings. My body. My emotions.
I’m guilt-tripped into sex as if that’s the only way. As if that is the only way to get him what he desires. Who I was is coming back. The negative emotions.
The feelings of alone. I’m in therapy to cure and forgive. But to never forget. Who I was, was a lost soul. A lost body. A lost love. A lost child. I’ve never imagined loving or being loved by what I am because I’ve never fully opened myself to it.
I’ve never allowed them in but they forced themselves. And now mentally I’m not okay. I’m not really okay. None of us are really okay. But I’m to blame.
I’m to blame for not being sexually open. I’m to blame for not wanting to kiss as much as him. I’m to blame for not trying when the mask has been there through those times. Preventing me from seeing that he’s the one.
He’s the one I wanted for so long. But the mask is scared to lose purpose. The mask is scared. The mask is trying to help but prevent from feeling emotions of love and lust out of fear.
I know you’re going to read this, but try to understand. I’m trying to fight this mask. I am fighting this invisible force that is scared of responsibility and actions.
Please keep writing. Please keep this note.
I am to blame for not breaking free from memories. I am to blame for not showing.
But I have shown you how much I care. I have shown you through gifts, jokes, and laughter. I have shown you who I am by little things.
My beak can speak, sing, talk, and fight. But my cage is getting smaller. My mask is growing thicker around me. I’m scared to show vulnerability.
I’m scared for you to leave me free while you suffer in a corner. My feelings have been pushed aside for 6 months. Those 6 months.
Dark, stormy, and agonizing 6 months. You’re not the only one who suffered. I lost you. In that fog of doubt and despair. The mask grew out of protection and security. And now it wants to keep me. I want to keep it for protection but doubt, anger, and frustration hold it in their power.
Sexual thoughts surround my legs and hips but my brain confuses them with attacks and distress.
I’m to blame for not trying to push memories aside. To be in the moment and forget. But how could one forget? How could I not remember the times of talking, actions, and reactions?
How could I forget the times I was at peace but then lost?
How could I reconcile with the thought of “the past is the past if you let it be”? there’s not “letting it be” there’s no actual reassurance.
There’s not a time without it but it's comforting to know these feelings. I feel validated to know that these were not okay. To feel that these actions were made out of spite and despair creates a human level of understanding. Not emotional.
I am to blame for not holding myself accountable. For “allowing” memories to fill my thoughts with salt and pepper.
