Fishbowl of Formaldehyde

This is my friend's fish, Jimmy. One time I babysat him for a week and accidentally broke his bowl while washing it. He is okay.

Sometimes I wish I could pause my brain. It's Monday night and I am wearing children's ballet flats, my new pajama pants, and an old tank top that is safety-pinned up the left side because I never quite got around to fixing it. My laundry is in the dryer, so I am sitting on the floor because I have a weird thing about beds with no sheets on them.

Here is a poem that I wrote recently:

My legs are made of molecules

My brain is made of memories

My nails are made of keratin

And my heart is made of glass.

My legs are made of molecules.

I count when I walk,

1,2,1,2,1,2

My legs are made of molecules.

My legs are made of molecules

when I do something right.

And my legs are made of molecules

when trying to rationalize mistakes.

I remind myself that I am small.

I remind myself that you are small too.

How could we all be so different,

Yet so much the same?

Perhaps, at the atomic level

We all come from the same lego kit.

-

This poem is for my poetry class that I haven't been going to. I feel like throwing up. I wasn't hungry but I ate cottage cheese as a snack anyway because I haven't eaten more than a banana today and now I feel bad. I wish I could put my brain in a fishbowl of formaldehyde for 24 hours. It needs a time-out. My brain is working overtime and my body is exhausted.

My heart hurts tonight. It hurts a lot recently. I don't know what I am doing. Why am I in school? Why do I bother going to work? Will I ever have someone that loves all of me? I don't know what's next.

I deleted my dating apps tonight. All three of them. And then I blocked a couple of the people that I don't like to talk to on snapchat because they make me hate myself in some way for talking to them still. They give me attention as long as I keep sending nudes periodically. Love my fans. And then I went through my text messages and realized how many people I have left on read. Because I am already onto the next thing. Why would I go back to something older than today if I have thirty new messages on Tinder?

I like matching with the faceless profiles best because they are so desperate for connection. It feels like looking in the mirror. I know them. Even if our reasons are different for feeling the way we do. Some of them don't want their co-workers to bully them, some are married, some are kinky, some are ugly, a couple of them check multiple boxes. And here I am, the same as them. We are made of molecules. Me and the 33 year old cheater telling me all the ways he wants to fuck me for the thrill of it. We are the same. We are just lonely. And that breaks my heart.

How did humanity get lonely enough to go online and talk to each other behind little boxes so they might get to fuck each other in the dark under a make-believe hope that maybe it will be more than a one-night stand sometime.

One of the boys that I used to talk to dmed me recently. He said that he wanted to try things again and I trusted him because he said (I pulled the receipts for this) "I like the thought of being the one with you I guess, being the one to keep you company. I don’t mean just “for the night” because that's shallow. I don't want to just sleep one night with you and then we don't speak again." But guess who slept with me one night and then said they didn't want to date me? Michael.

He also asked why I like "randoms" so much. The people I hookup with. The ones that I would never go on a real date with. (Again, I pulled receipts). This is what I told him:

"They don't know me, so they can't hurt me. They only have nice things to say because they want me to sleep with them. Some sort of validation maybe? That so many people want me even if they don't want all of me. I keep thinking that one of them will eventually want to date me and see me completely and love me or something and that kind of started to happen once but then he wasn't all the way divorced and it got messy and I was disappointed again."

-

I am too bitter to be blogging tonight. The world is falling apart and I am sitting on my floor, fed, warm, and writing a blog about my emotions instead of doing my homework. I'll probably miss therapy again tomorrow. And classes. At my core, I am a failure of a human being.

I am a bitch. I love playing the game. I love letting people down. I am too good at it.

But also I am deeply broken and my heart aches all the time. Ultimately, I want nothing more than to be deeply loved.

The song "We'll Never Have Sex" by Leith Ross makes me cry every single time I hear it. The idea of someone kissing me just to kiss me? With no expectations for my clothes coming off or climbing inside my broken body to find momentary release? Unreal.

Until next time.

Yours Truly,

Macy