uglyuglyangel-blog

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March 26, 2020

Have done nothing today, except post a confident-looking selfie on Instagram, which I rarely do. But even with over 300 followers, which isn’t much still, barely no one has interacted with me. I realize how lonely I am and that I don’t have very many friends. A lot of my truest friends have gone away and all I have left is a handful who are superficial and one true friend. I spent the whole day feeling bad about myself and staring at my photos, fantasizing about who would come across them. I want to be liked so bad and I don’t know why anymore. I don’t want to be popular or have many people to deal with, I prefer being alone with only a few. Yet social media really fucks with your mind and can make one seek validation in the strangest of ways. Like getting likes on a photo, which is basically meaningless. I need to stop overthinking. It’s so hard though with recent events, I can’t even pretend to be happy with my life, my art can only distract me so much. And I spent all day today not doing it and now it’s 9:40pm and I have just been ruining my eyes and brain and looking at a phone screen while obsessing and sulking. I just feel sad that the friends I did have are leaving me. I’m told they weren’t right for me or that relationships with people fade, but it seems constant for me and the worst way possible. Also losing your best friend of 20 years isn’t something to shrug at.

[uglyuglyangel-blog]

Middle of the Day- March 21, 2020

It’s already 3:50pm and I’m on the toilet, not creating. Being on the toilet is an excuse for me. I am very very depressed. I have given up on my best friend of 20 years now ever since 2 days ago when she severed contact with me. The only person attempting to regain contact is, lo’ and behold, my ex’s sister who sent me a friend request. I know I should not accept it, I know she’s a nosy bitch. But I’m also terribly bored now and any form of attention, good or bad, would be wonderful. My life is stagnant and has been for a year. Or many years. I keep thinking back on how I got here, why I am the way I am. If I’m so miserable, why haven’t I attempted suicide? I always fantasize about it, but I’m a coward and I’m not dumb. I know it is irreversible. I guess I’m also hopeful that things could get better, but so far nothing has come of that hope except brief happiness. The closest I’ve done is self-harm. In childhood I would try to choke myself before bed. In adulthood I would attack myself, scratching and pulling at my skin to remove it, hitting my head against walls, trying to punch myself unconscious. I’ve done it too many times and I embarrass myself thinking about it. I think about my childhood and I can’t remember much except the great anxiety I felt. I know I suffered from mental illness as a child, but I barely remember particular moments. I’ve hid them all away from my own conscious. What I remember is being horribly bullied daily and always having my only friend almost taken from me. I was stuck in my imagination, trying to seem like a harmless, timid and clueless child, but people always found reasons to step on me. I was afraid of authority figures- my babysitter and several teachers would bully me too. I was physically alone, but that’s when my art became my sanctuary and I never was truly alone because of it. I’m grateful for that. When I got to high school, the first few years were hell. I would come home crying and dreading the next day. My anxiety became insurmountable as I would physically shake when I sat in class, tried to take detours to avoid people and prayed people wouldn’t look at me. I wanted to be invisible and I prayed to God I would. I gave myself to Christianity to have something to believe in, so I wouldn’t go insane. The people I hung around put me down all the time, excluded me and peer pressure me. I tried to be without them, but it was hard. I would hide in the library or bathroom at lunch and skip eating. I was also sexually harassed mildly during that time. Fellow classmates would do sexual actions infront of me to provoke me or push boundaries in the middle of class. Someone I called my friend would grope my breasts and request that I kiss her. I’d be guilt tripped by her and everyone else if I didn’t. I had been threatened by random people, I even had someone talk about slicing my head off and murdering me. It was a very horrible time and I wanted to die everyday. Strangely enough, I barely remember exact moments that fucked me up during that time too. I always feel that what I went through wasn’t that bad and people have survived through worse. What is my excuse for feeling this way? The thing is, most of my life has been filled with this sort of constant mistreatment, depression and anxiety. I’ve not known a time without it, even through childhood. Why is that? Why do people take advantage of me and then discard me? Even my extended family has treated me poorly, I was never good enough. My Taita would tell me I was a burden to my parents and even believed I was a “devil child” and I was turning evil. It sounds humorous, but she was serious. I only wanted to be loved by them and they never treated me like I mattered much. If I died, they wouldn’t care, they would only pretend to in order to save face on social media. It sounds dramatic, but I know them. My family is filled with narcissists. Anyways, after fleeting happiness in my new art high school, I went to college. The first semester was normal until my anxiety kicked in. I would start skipping class accidentally due to sleeping through my alarms. Because of this, one professor took notice and singled me out. She would tell me not to bother to come to class and I should have given my spot to someone more deserving. My friendships took a turn and I started losing friends. I wasn’t sure why. I eventually stopped going to class outright and kept myself in my dorm. I never left for days on end and my reality became gray, bland and time was blurred. I was too anxious to be seen in public and the counselor wasn’t working. I would fill my body with microwaveable food or starve myself. I knew I had to drop out and I felt too guilty to tell my parents. My anxiety made me scale my walls in a panic constantly. My aforementioned professor even attempted to have me kicked out of her class, she emailed my program coordinator and CC’d me. Years passed as I continued in this miserable program, being forced to attend by my parents so I could obtain a bachelors degree in art. I felt pressured. I hated it and my mental illness was severe. One year was so bad, I starved myself in my bedroom for two whole days. I thought my friends/ roommates wouldn’t care if I died and I became delusional with anger towards everyone. I became paralyzed, my legs had spasms and I couldn’t walk and I screeched for help while having a panic attack. The state of my room was pure chaos, garbage was all over my floors. I had to be sent to the ER in a wheelchair. The entire time, my ex fiancé was long distance from me. I felt alone. He didn’t react very empathetically and seemed more upset at me. I’ve had one other panic attack while planning out my suicide message to post on Facebook. I couldn’t breathe, I thought I was going to die. Maybe that would have been okay. Overall, I lost so many friends over the years from various living issues and because of myself. I saw everyone as the enemy, I was delusional. And sometimes I fall back into those delusions like now. Because I just lost my best friend of 2 decades and I only feel indifference and anger rather than mourning the relationship. I guess it’s nothing new and she hasn’t been present in my life, ever since I broke up with my ex, which was months ago. She was slowly detaching herself from me and my other best friend and I feel strangely fine. I’m more upset about the men who have come in and out of my life than losing her, is that fucked up?

[uglyuglyangel-blog]

March 21,2020 cont’d

One last thing, I keep having these intense intuitive feelings that the aforementioned man I had casual relations with will come back into my life. I keep reassuring myself that he will text me and want to atleast talk to me. But it’s been 3 weeks since we saw each other and I think that intuition is really just hopefulness and wishful thinking. I want to believe that some aspect of my life will play out like a fairytale where someone will prove me wrong and “save me”, but I know that’s false. I know that he won’t come back. That he has moved on and I continue to obsessively watch him and try to manifest something from it all. Hoping that he thinks about me. The truth is he was a distraction from my ex, not a good one albeit, but my life is immensely boring and stagnant. I only wish someone would want to whisk me away from my depression. But only I can find wholeness and worth from within. I know this, yet I keep wishing that he will come back to me and we can try again. He’s not even that great, Infact he makes me cringe, seems immature, emotionally unavailable and has some questionable moral choices. I know I deserve better, but maybe I don’t.

[uglyuglyangel-blog]

Start - March 21, 2020

I’ve decided to take up writing as a therapeutic coping mechanism for my suppressed emotions, fantasies and thoughts. I can never manage to keep it in a journal, there is more relief that comes with publishing it online. I like the idea of writing to an imaginary audience, it feels less lonely. There’s permanence and meaning in my word. To start, today was another day in isolation, I could barely draw because so much turmoil has bubbled up. My relationships are dropping dead like flies and I feel like a reject. I had a dream, I dreamt a vivid and horrible dream about my ex fiancé. But when I awoke, I felt, for the first time in many a month, remorse for our relationship. I missed him. I was too busy hating him to miss him, but now I am struck with regret and sorrow. The feelings of betrayal and rejection wash over me and turn my stomach. To distract from the hideous memories and feelings of abandonment, I delve into the disgusting depths of the internet. When I was a young teen, I enjoyed underground art, like ero guro. I would seek depraved material to disgust myself with and I got off on it. It was a fantasy I could never relay to others, especially at the age of 15. I would masturbate to the idea of children being overpowered and abused by authority figures, as I could relate, being underage at the time. I fucked myself to necrophilia, rape and abuse. I loved the idea of something weak being controlled. Maybe that’s what instinctively led me to my ex. These fantasies were not continued into my adult years, I gained a substantial and solid moral compass and cannot fathom atleast children or animals being taken advantage of. And now I never masturbate, haven’t for 3 years. I hate pleasuring myself. Maybe it’s because I hate myself. But something today changed and a familiar feeling came back. I read blowfly_girl’s blogs and, instead of being revolted, I was overjoyed and intrigued. I don’t wish to commit what was written in there, but I could relate to it. My imagination is where I get off and I’m fine with being a coward in that sense. The feeling of someone destroying me, killing me even, feels invigorating. Back to my ex fiancé, he was obsessed with me shitting in his mouth. I guess he was worse than me. The most I would allow for was farting, but never scat. I was programmed to not accept such a putrid act and for a good reason. But my fantasies have reversed that thought process and I’m wishing I took more advantage of being with someone so fucked in the head. I keep thinking about possessing him when he looked and was beautiful and dear to me. I wanted to lay my waste in him to prove that he was mine. I wanted him to retch and be sick from it. I wanted him to suffer to be closer to me, to be owned by me. Now he’s fucking other women and I feel betrayed, even though we aren’t together. He took my virginity and much more, now he’s drowning his bodily fluids and desire in another and I despise it. He was ugly when he left me. Not only in person, but in appearance, he became a slug and smelled like cat piss. When I was finished with him, he was no longer the feminine-looking, attractive, slender boy I met. I hate him for it. I cried one of the last time’s we had sex because he repulsed me. His abusive ways and ugly stench, I wish I could spit on him. But apart of me feels hurt. Not just from the emotional and physical abuse, but the betrayal. I wanted him always, he rejected me always. I always placed him as a priority and by the time he left, I was nothing. I became empty, without a personality or purpose. I wasn’t me, I was a malformed monstrosity of depression and confusion. He left me to perish, without a thought of remorse. Then he immediately fucked a whore and told me about it, knowing it would hurt me. Because I wanted him to make love to me and show me kindness, but he never did. He was selfish. And he told me that he couldn’t comfort me because he wasn’t my boyfriend, those words hurt more than most. Because as a person, I suppose I meant very little to him unless I benefitted him in someway. Those words continue to ring in my head. Another man wanders into my life, dates me for a short period and gives up on me after getting sex. I proposed that we continue something casual. 2 months of confusion, irritation, obsession and excitement pass, I try to bond with him throughout it all. We had some amazing moments, but the familiar feeling of being treated like garbage arose. He did not show respect towards me and belittled my person. I know he was afraid to be vulnerable, but it opened old wounds of rejection in me. When it became too much for us to continue, he ended it. And aside from all the other horrid things his mouth uttered, he stated something that I hate most. “I don’t know how to treat you because we’re not dating”. That is what stuck with me because as a human being, I have not been deserving of good treatment unless others are benefited. It’s a theme in my life. Not just with men, but with friends too. I could list off much more, but it’s all the same. I am only respected and loved when I’m convenient and worthy of it. No matter what, those people will always remain in my heart, but I am not even worth a second glance, not a word of affirmation and comfort. I am worthless. That’s why the blowfly_girl story resonates strongly with me. Because I understand the feeling of being utterly worthless and wanting to destroy myself out of pure self-hate. It’s better than when people do it for me.