love-once-lived-here

[love-once-lived-here]

many of my sexual fantasies and kinks boil down to ‘someone being really attracted to me and me not having to ask for affection, just be given it.” which could mean nothing.

[love-once-lived-here]

I used to believe the world was a good place. I used to. But everything I've been through in life makes it harder and harder to believe anymore.

This world has not been good to me. It has not been a good place for me. Instead, it has been a stressful place, a painful place, a lonely place. It diligently sucked the life, hope, joy, and trust out of me until there was nothing left.

A large part of me wants to fight. To act. To harness all the pain life has given to me and use it as a driving force to change things for the better. A part of me wonders if this is my calling, my destiny. If I believed each life had a purpose written by a divine hand, then maybe this is what I was born to do. At least then, all of my suffering will feel like it wasn't in vain? Like it was worth something?

But at the same time, I have so little hope in the world around me. And I'm so very tired. I'm so tired and just want to go home. But in all my years, it's a place I've never been able to find...

[love-once-lived-here]

After one's eyes have been opened, they'll soon realize this world was not built to be survived with open eyes.

[love-once-lived-here]

[love-once-lived-here]

— natalie wee, never been kissed (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[love-once-lived-here]

To rightwing men, we are private property.

To leftwing men, we are public property.

In either case, we are not considered humans: we are things.

–Andrea Dworkin.

[love-once-lived-here]

Depression is commonplace among women because women are often angry at the conditions of their lives, at what they must do because they are women, at the way they are treated because they are women; and depression truly is anger turned inward.

Right Wing Women, Andrea Dworkin

[love-once-lived-here]

Some people say that pornography is only fantasy. What part of it is fantasy? Women are beaten and raped and forced and whipped and held captive. The violence depicted is true. The acts of violence depicted in pornography are real acts committed against real women and real female children. The fantasy is that women want to be abused.

Letters From a War Zone, Andrea Dworkin

[love-once-lived-here]

I cannot stress enough that women can't save men from themselves. Women can't be there in the boys' locker rooms, they can't shield them from other drunk men at football matches. Women can't control the media their coworkers consume, they can't stop their brothers from watching violent pornography. It's not even a matter of saving or prioritising ourselves over men, though we are well within our rights to do so. We physically can't be there. I solemnly swear that every man I come across, I aim to make them just uncomfortable enough so as to offer them a small way out of their terrible view of the world. I just can't pull them out.

[love-once-lived-here]

from “You Can’t Fuck The Sadness Away” by Vanishing Points, Substack

[love-once-lived-here]

Pornography exists because men despise women, and men despise women in part because pornography exists.

Letters From a War Zone, Andrea Dworkin

[love-once-lived-here]

Love and pain are so very different

But this, they have in common:

They're both all-consuming.

And both are eating me alive simultaneously.

Everything just... hurts.

I love you so much, but I'm in so much pain.

If you hurt me so deeply, how could you love me?

If you love me, how could you hurt me so deeply?

[love-once-lived-here]

the dichotomy of girlhood

[love-once-lived-here]

It's crazy to think that just three years ago, I was that bright-eyed, head over heels, "do anything just to see him smile" kind of girl.

I was endlessly motivated to fill his days with as much love as I could fit, plus more:

Cooking and cleaning, even after a full day of work at my job.

Making his work lunchboxes with cute little notes hidden inside.

Making an effort to enjoy his passions (or, at the very least, be positive/supportive about them).

Going the extra mile to learn about his personality, his past, what makes him tick.

Noticing those fleeting desires he mentions only once or twice in a year, remembering them as potential future gifts.

I'd no joke start every day thinking to myself:

How can I be a better girlfriend/fiancé/wife to him today?

How can I love him better today?

How can I show I'm as madly in love with him now as I was at the start?

If he asked me for a favor or our wants misaligned?

I'd typically forgo my wants in favor of his

I'd typically pause my rest or lazy moment to meet his request

I'd think to myself: "What's a temporary discomfort/inconvenience when it brings him comfort, happiness, or just a genuine smile?

I didn't do any of those things because I felt required to. I didn't do them because I felt afraid to do otherwise. I did them because I fully trusted/believed that, if the roles were reversed, he would always try to do the same for me. I did them because I believed we both aimed to give as well as receive.

Those parts of me didn't gradually die from me falling out of love with him. Those parts of me began to die as I slowly realized that life was a dream when he asked and I gave. But that things quickly soured if I asked him to give...

[love-once-lived-here]

I want you to think with me.

To dive with me into the mysteries on the universe. Commune with it. Let it flood our senses, mess up our hair, and seep through our clothes.

To take in the full chaos of humanity that is humanity, both the good and the bad. To learn from it. To be moved by it.

To analyze the intricate stitches of why's that seam the panels of what we think. What we do. What we feel. What we are.

To scoure the shelves of our respective libraries to better know ourselves. To test our perspectives. To challenge our beliefs. To expand our knowledge.

To cross the room and gather just as many books from their shelves for pure leisure reading. Because we simply never tire of learning more about each other. Of being fascinated by each other.

But then I remember.

That you do not like to think. That you actively strive not to. That it ruins the mood. That it isn't fun. That it's too serious. That it's something you'd much rather do later.

And later is a time that never seems to come.

[love-once-lived-here]

Sometimes, I look back on my life with so much regret. I was all in. I thought I was doing the right thing. But none of it turned out to be worth the cost.

I sacrificed my singleness, my independence for love. I was doing so well on my own. I had the job, the studio apartment, a nice car,... All on my own paycheck. I was comfortably paying all of my bills, I was in good shape and good health. And I was happy!

When love came my way, I scrutinized the hell out of it and thought it had safely passed all tests. I thought it would add joy to my life, not detract from it...

I still have the job, I still have the car. But after trading the apartment for a house, I now have a mortgage that's more expensive. I now have additional bills to pay for us both that I can no longer cover on my income alone.

I traded my peace for this because it looked like peace. But now, I'm living with an ever-present stress.

I traded my healing for this because it looked like a safe place to heal even more. But now, I'm left with even more trauma to heal.

I traded being in good shape for this because meeting his needs achieving his chubby chaser beauty standard sounded like the right thing to do. But now, I'm left with the same sexually incompatible marriage just with extra body weight I never truly wanted.

[love-once-lived-here]

The incongruence of being married and constantly sexually frustrated is one hell of a life to live. I have all of this sexual energy, but nowhere to express it. Instead, I'm sitting here fantasizing about the type of husband I often hear about:

The type men are your best friend as well as your lover.

The men who kiss your forehead, smooth your hair, randomly hug you from behind.

The men who never stop saying you're sexy no matter how many years pass.

The men who still get flustered seeing you naked.

The men who still get handsy when you're all dolled up for them.

I love the "best friends" part. I really really do. But I had no way of knowing that was all I'd be left with...