{ the sweetest bee makes the thickest honey. }

You don't want to fool around, or have sex, or do anything sexual at all?
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How to Survive Unbearable Heart Rates - #337 Facing Reality
by Sebastian Ischer

You: I don't want to kiss you.
Me: Why not?
You: Because I don't want to and it's my choice.
Me: You don't want to fool around, or have sex, or do anything sexual at all?
You: No, I don't. I don't think we should interact like that. I want us to be friends. I feel a lot of affection for you but I don't want to kiss you because the way you act about sex is creepy and I want us just to be friends.
Me: What's the point? Friendship is for assholes. I want to make love to you. I want to kiss your vagina.
You: You're gross. See, that's why I don't want to mess around with you. You're too pushy. You always have expectations.
Me: How about a handjob? I promise it won't take long.

We're straining to be free of our desires. And the way we free ourselves is by rubbing them out.

Given that there's an attractive person who's attracted to you, who wouldn't?

You: I feel abandoned. I don't think you have my best interests in mind. In fact, I feel taken advantage of. You're trying to control me with your weakness. It's classic passive aggressiveness. The more I hurt you, the more you love me, and the more guilty I'm supposed to feel. But you're just making it easier for me to abuse you. Because I really don't care. I know what you're trying to do.
Me: Wait. Why are you calling me passive aggressive, if I'm the one who's always supposed to take care of you, and take you back after you fuck up and bear your moods and your unhappiness and suffer for your anger.
You: There. You want to suffer for me because you think I'll love you for it. And then I'll pay you back in love and sex.
Me: You owe me. You should love me.
You: Well I don't anymore.
Me: You only love yourself.
You: You don't even love yourself.
Me: I love you.
You: You asshole. Even as you're saying that, you're imperceptibly being an asshole. You think you're so smart. You grade-A motherfucker. You honors student. You're smart, but I fuck. I get off.
Me: You're a cunt. But I love you. I think you're beautiful. Let me have sex with you.
You: Ugh. I'd rather fuck myself with a screwdriver.
Me: Okay, you're being mean. That's petty.
You: I did love you.
Me: No you didn't. Not enough to keep from fucking other people.
You: It was a mistake, I shouldn't have, I ruined it. But you weren't perfect. Being around you is difficult. You're always struggling for moral or intellectual superiority. You figure everything out. That's why I don't want to have sex with you - to resist your intellectual domination.
Me: Your interpretation of me is stupid.
You: I'm not interpreting. That's just the way things are. Not everything has hidden meaning.
Me: It does when you lie and hide things and conspire.
You: There is no conspiracy. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt your feelings. But it had nothing to do with you - it was just what I wanted to do.
Me: Exactly. You don't care about other people's feelings. Or maybe it's not that you don't care about other people's feelings, but that you're not aware of them.
You: You don't care about my feelings. You're just trying to get what you want, as much as I am.
Me: Okay, that's true. What I really resent is the way you keep me around, that you seem to want me some of the time, and pretend that you care about me, when you obviously don't.
You: Now you're contradicting yourself. You just said I was impervious to the way other people feel, and now you're expecting me to think about your feelings. I keep you around because I want to see you sometimes. I'm not responsible for anything else. You could decide that you don't want to see me, if you really didn't like the way I treat you.
Me: You're right again. That's a good point. But that makes it even worse.
This is a big disappointment. I guess, without admitting it to myself most of the time, I think I'm special in some way. I have special feelings and ideas. And everything means a lot for me - it's not all good, most of it is very bad, terrible even, but I feel these things, and it's hard to talk about them without sounding incredibly pretentious or crazy. I think most people don't have these feelings, or they control them somehow. But I know you do, and I thought we had some sort of connection, which I've never had before, with anyone, but now that's all worthless, and you don't give a shit about me. And I guess it means I'm not special, even though I want to think that I am.
Me: This is the big problem - I'm just like everybody else - I want the same things everybody else wants: to be happy and loved and to fuck you - but the point of being in love with someone is that the person is supposed to be different from everybody else, which is why you would pick them over all the other people you could be in love with.
Me: It's very sad. It feels like there's no hope - all these nice feelings, being in love, and feeling that somebody likes you and cares about you even though they know who you really are - but it's all fake, we'll just throw it away, like the trash. I'm being erased, ejected from your life, can't touch you anymore, can't be naked and sleep in the same bed, and push my erection against your ass when you're sleeping. I feel worse about this than anything else. All the other things that are giving me bad feelings, the fact that I'm ugly and can't produce anything of value, and I can't pronounce certain words right, and no attractive women want to sleep with me, and I'm incapable of talking to people, and I think I'm going to die, worse than that is that I lost you, but that it doesn't matter, because you don't care.
You: There you go again, trying to put words in my mouth. I already said I cared.
Me: No, even worse is that I know why. I'm not a very exciting person, and I'm often frightened and insecure - I'm not very good at making people feel good. Plus I think too much about myself, and I'm selfish - I pressured you to have sex with me when you said you didn't want to, and I made deals where you had to give me handjobs so I would hang out with you. All that is really bad, and I can't do anything but think how bad it was, and that I took advantage of you by doing these things. It's bad - the worst thing I've ever done to anyone, especially to someone who said they loved me.
Me: We were very cruel to each other. You would never let me forget that you thought I was ugly and that you weren't attracted to me. And I could never forgive you and always reminded you what a bad person you are. But really the relationship was just wrong - you're too attractive for me and so I loved you too much and that's where everything went wrong. You needed someone to be cool and strong and act like your dad, and I couldn't do it. The only thing I'm good for is to be killed, as target practice for fanatics.
Me: I feel like I'm living inside someone that's supposed to be me. And I deserve to be a happy, attractive person, but instead I'm stuck in someone else.
I guess it's okay. All we need to do is endure, and soon we're old, and then death comes without encouragement, and your sense of worthlessness has faded to a level where you don't think about it at all. Where you don't feel that it's unnatural to feel bad about yourself.
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