Snapshots

Interior, bedroom, evening: Des moves all clean clothes from his bed and adds them to the basket of newly cleaned laundry. The stack piles above his belt as he observes the empty liquor bottles he had been sleeping with for the past month. 2 empty quarts of vodka, a half pint and a quart of Lamb’s 151 had been keeping him company this whole time. He was blind to it until putting his clothes somewhat away. He looked around his room and saw badges of honorable deeds, beautiful artwork, and two neglected keyboards covered in receipts and notes to self that would be ignores for months. Bus transfers and rough copies of poems litter the floor. Workbooks, textbooks and journals everywhere, along with empty water bottles for  “covert alcoholic” operations. Dog treats and other drunk purchases line the corners and the areas out of his mother’s immediate view when she opens the door and stands still to tell him good news. Bless her – her patience deserves far more than a pat on the back. He then realizes that the more he cleans, the more reality he’ll need to deal with and potentially feel shit about.

Interior, Alderney Library, day: Des had went to work assuming he may have had appointments while actually being unsure. Turns out there were none, and he fearfully checks his bank account online. There was far less than expected and with the idea of saving in mind, he purchases a pint of vodka knowing that it won’t be too much alcohol for functioning and decides to stick around and write. He finds a book called “The Addiction Solution” by David Kipper, and 1/3 of the way through, leaves the book near his seated area with a note saying: “Out for a smoke break – brb.”

On the break, he meets a man he knows from the local tavern. He gives him a few smokes and has the most pathetic small talk one could fathom. Then he comes back into the library to find that the book was put back. He grabs the book again and finds another place to sit and charge his electronics, but it happens to be at a wide window, showing people waiting for a bus. Without reading labels on cans or bottles, he was able to identify 3  people doing exactly as he was – appearing innocent while drinking in public, with nothing better to do on this Monday but drink in public.

I sympathize, empathize and realize now that I am hardly any different in my actions.

You may feel that this is a pointless post and you’re allowed. Myself on the other hand, happen to be going through yet another transition from being entirely numb to opening up to my surroundings again. It’s easy when it’s got nothing to do with you, but when you throw that laser sharp criticism at yourself, shit happens. This here be the shit. Take a whiff and hope you never end up here.

What is this?

Why this blog? Well, I’ve got too much garbage floating around in my head for one and secondly I find honesty quite refreshing. This is a blog for people who like to read dirty little secrets, who feel like a freaks of nature, or feel a sense of relief from seeing how stupid someone else can be. These are true stories and ramblings of a 20-something who drinks and fucks way too much. These stories are not necessarily in chronological order and I wish to remain, as well as keep other parties mentioned anonymous.

I remember finding a porno mag for the first time. I might have been 4.5 years old and quickly became fascinated with them. My stepfather had quite the collection – he was probably passing them off as outdated stock for his corner store but let’s be real. The pile of mags started moving around the house to avoid me finding them, but I always did. Anytime I had a few mins in the house alone or could get away with it, I was looking for it and not long after, jerking away in a corner. I felt kinda weird about it but that wasn’t enough to stop me. In fact, I had to share what I was “learning”. Unfortunately that meant more demonstrating and actual doing than showing pictures. It started in daycare, showing off our bits to each other and touching them, cuddling pantless under the blankets so our genitals could touch. Then we got caught. So I tried more in a place I couldn’t get caught – in the woods by my grandmother’s house. By age 5 and 6 I was talking my cousins into getting rimmed and sucked. It wasn’t a tough sell. Eventually we were having sex. And no it wasn’t any good and yes I felt shitty about it but couldn’t stop. I would continue to convince peers that it was a fun thing to do up until age 9 or 10. Then my friends didn’t want to experiment anymore. At least not the human ones.

I was obsessed with genitalia, both mine and other’s. I started finding porn on the internet, choosing my words wisely so it looked as though I stumbled upon it. I found bestiality, videos of animal sex, rape scenarios and bdsm. I encouraged dogs to hump me out of pure curiosity and that quickly came to an end. Then eventually I was humping plushies. My first orgasm was me at 10 years old, humping a giant carnival plush toy in my mother’s office. I’ll never forget the surprise and the rush I got from that. That was clearly what I was chasing this whole time, right?

There’s so much more detail to this that I’m avoiding for the sake of intrigue. Like my unexplained obsession with dogs and feeling like I was one once, or how I have a vagina but always saw myself as a male. I will say that I did eventually go to therapy. Lol I’ve had a lot of therapy, and y’know what folks, when I told them my about my guilt surrounding my cousins and other younger people in my past, they had a tendency to avoid the topic all together. That’s right! Shrugged that shit off saying things like “It’s impossible for a 4 year old to penetrate.” Well she was wrong, but OK doc, way to go into denial for me. Would I ever do this again? No. I have no interest in children. I was also a child at the time and at a stage where one year was a wide gap. Because of guilt surrounding this, I became suicidal. I toyed with the idea earlier on when the activities began, but once I hit puberty and started figuring out what I actually like, I felt like a dirty, worthless, piece of shit scumbag who actually deserved to die. That feeling followed me for years to come, but my obsessions just grew and adopted other habits.

Self harm became my new rush. Mostly cutting. This was 8th grade me. I was no longer living with the stepfather but he made visits often and was molesting me by that time. I kinda didn’t fully realize what he was doing for a while, but I knew something felt wrong. That’s when the therapy began, I came out as bisexual, and the touching became more frequent. I was constantly looking for escape and began finding it through autoerotic asphyxiation. Doing it at home, at school and then finally, that year I had my first stiff drink of Bombay Sapphire gin when I was home alone and eventually passed out. This was so much easier than cutting, and socially acceptable…. sort of. So I’d have a drink, choke myself and jerk off with a knife teasing my skin or a lemon wedge in my mouth. I gotta say it felt like progress.