I read a lot. I don't just mean books, but online stuff as well. Articles, research journals, the wiki, blogs...I like to see others point of view. Sometimes I read or watch things that are inherently depressing. My ex says this is due to a kind of masochistic urge...that if I make myself sad or upset than its safer than allowing others to. This might be true. He isn't the best authority on making me feel better being that he's the type to never say he's sorry even if he did something wrong. I digress.
I find myself relating to characters who are in pain. My therapist recommended I write my life story out as a sort of book, and as I've been working on that, I find it repeated over and over again. I don't like being miserable or feeling lonely. I don't like curling up into a ball and just wishing someone would hold me or tell me im attractive. So I put myself out there, occasionally post pics of myself or fish for compliments or attention from others...and yet I feel worse...because I have to do those things. I have to go fishing. I look around and see folks who don't have to. Who always have others chasing them...people whom sex is something they don't have to mentally think twice about. They don't have to see how their skin is doing, or put up with the pain/itching/visual disfigurations...they can just hook up, have a great time and go. Even with people I care about who I know look past those things and love me for me...I still feel that self-consciousness. Maybe because it's what I'm used to. Maybe because I know it will never go away, that my condition is incurable and I've exhausted available drug treatments. I don't know.
I envy those who can have sex and not have to worry about their skin or if things will work due to their physical issues. I envy them.
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