so many levels of fucked up

You know what? I've been hearing that "the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem" bullshit for years. And you know what? Fine. I have a problem.

And you know what's actually getting me to admit to that problem?

I'm jealous of this:


(The characters, not the actors, obviously. I'm totally convinced that he's gay and she's sleeping with Ashley Tisdale.)

Because, seriously. These two ridiculous characters, in a fucking Disney movie, are capable of a more mature and loving relationship than I am. They made it through a cliquey school, a scheming princess diva, and college decisions, and they still ended up together. And yeah, it's Disney, so of course there was a happy ending. But still.

And I never had to try and brave any of that shit. I didn't have to deal with cliques or schemers or college distance. All I had to deal with in order to make a successful relationship was my own subconscious.

But you know what? I can't. I can't come to grips with the fact that I'm totally, completely messed up.

So instead, I project the opposite image. I cuddle and drape myself all over people and talk about how comfortable I with sex and sexuality, when in reality every touch makes me cringe, every lewd joke makes me remember all the times when sex was dirty and painful and awful. I pretend everything's okay when all I want to do is curl up and cry.

When I write stories, be it fanfiction or original, my readers always comment on the angst and hurt and abuse I put my characters through. They tell me "I felt so awful for so-and-so. I'm glad so-and-so was there for him/her!" And the characters are getting all the empathy I didn't. Because people care about the characters. There's an attachment there. People would rather read about their favorite characters being abused than hear their friends' stories. And that sucks.

But it's an outlet. I write about the characters and their reactions and yeah, they're much more realistic and painful than that grammatically retarded shit on fanfiction.net. It's dark and it's gritty and it's real, because life sucks like that.

I know, in the back of my mind, that I wouldn't be the writer I am today without the shit that happened to me. I wouldn't be able to channel my emotions into my writing. I wouldn't be able to make my characters real and believable and human.

Don't get me wrong. My writing saved my life. Without my ability to channel my pain into poetry and prose, I probably wouldn't be here today. And without what happened, I don't think I'd be a bad writer, but I'd certainly be a different one.

And do you want to know a secret?

I'd trade all the writing ability in the world for the ability to be normal again. To go on a date without looking around for every possible exit, every person in the surrounding area I can scream for. To be alone with someone of the opposite sex without being scared. To hug someone without wanting to cry. To be sexual without feeling like I have to.

In the end, I just want to live in a Disney world where everyone gets to have a happy ending.