“I want you to notice when I’m not around…” ~Radiohead a-la Postmodern Jukebox

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself?”

Not today, is my usual response but the last two days, I considered it an option. Not the best option but as an analyst, of course, I consider ALL options and Full Stop was one of them.

Was it because the man I love remarked flippantly that he “didn’t feel like making the drive” to visit next weekend? Or that he was considering playing in my backyard in the mountains without inclination to include me? I had been pulling punches since our fallout two weeks ago because he took what I told him in confidence and not only held it against me (“Your insecurity makes you unattractive”) but also threw it back in my face. He JUDGED me. He made me feel so ashamed. So I don’t tell him what I’m feeling now. He doesn’t want to hear it and I don’t want to give him ammo to use against me later. Some friendship, huh?

But the last two days were so dark. A friend text this morning to say “Smile! I love you” and I snickered at his uncanny timing because I was doing the opposite. He joked, “I felt a disturbance in the Force.”

But that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? My friend “L” is staying with me for a few months following a bad breakup. He seemed okay until two nights ago when he found out his ex was seeing someone else. He told me this today. Told me he hasn’t slept in two nights and he is deeply depressed. Bingo.

Empathy strikes again. I share his pain like it’s my own.

The Universe, I’m told, is full of vibrations, frequencies, which I don’t understand but I know this: These vibrations are like metaphysical dog whistles: What one person may not “hear” at all may cause others pain. Saying I suffer from being an empath sounds hokey, like someone suffering from the supposed ghost pain of fibromyalgia. These ailments cannot be scientifically “proven” so they must be psychosomatic, right?

I read Psychic Shielding for Dummies last year and admittedly the techniques haven’t worked for me. Or maybe it’s a Catch 22? Maybe I have to be in a better place physically and spiritually in order to manifest a shield but I NEED a shield because I am physically and spiritually vulnerable!

Not vulnerable. Sapped.

I fondled the bag of rocks and “wish” I had been toting round my neck for two weeks. In a fit of frustration, I tore it off and threw it across the room. Feeling sacrilegious, I apologized and put it back on. Then I lit a sage bundle, set it near a lit candle and walked outside to nurse a whisky while the space fumigated. Walked back in 10min later to see the bundle on fire. Well, that should do it.

I am the worst “witch” ever.

But there is a small comfort in knowing where these feelings are coming from and knowing that the root of the problem is external. Why am I bleeding?? Oh I see. I’ve been shot. A psychic bullet sponge.

If the pain is not entirely mine, it doesn’t hurt less. I exhale every drop of air in my lungs and pause, willing my heart to stop. Just. STOP…

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“Reading through your messages, my favorite way to die” Kristine Flaherty aka “K. Flay”

He offered me a piece and I took it just like I said I would. How’d that go? Not quite as hoped.

Tell ya about it later.
Maybe.
In the meantime, enjoy my new theme song. It runs the risk of sounding a little bit like “My Sharona” in places but other than that, it rocks my face. Get it, girl…

“Blood in the Cut”

The boy I love’s got another girl
He might be fucking her right now
I don’t have an apartment
Thought if I was smart I’d make it far
But I’m still at the start

Guess I’m contagious it’d be safest if you ran
Fuck, that’s what they all just end up doing in the end
Take my car and paint it black
Take my arm, break it in half
Say something, do it soon
It’s too quiet in this room

I need noise
I need the buzz of a sub
Need the crack of a whip
Need some blood in the cut

Met back up with the boy I love
Cried on the streets of San Francisco
I don’t have an agenda
All I do is pretend to be ok so my friends
Can’t see my heart in the blender
Lately, I’ve been killing all my time
Reading through your messages, my favorite way to die
Take my head and kick it in
Break some bread for all my sins
Say a word, do it soon
It’s too quiet in this room

I need noise
I need the buzz of a sub
Need the crack of a whip
Need some blood in the cut
I need noise
I need the buzz of a sub
Need the crack of a whip
Need some blood in the cut
I need blood in the cut
I need blood in the cut

“Give me 2 weeks, you won’t recognize her” – FKA Twigs

Like premeditated murder, the internal debate has intensified over the last couple of weeks. I’ve come to realize there is no hope of him coming home. If he ever has moments of regret about leaving, he gives no indication of it. So if warm water and palm trees year-round can’t tempt him any longer, maybe a taste of my kink can.
Although that hasn’t quite worked out for me in the past. Men who, to this day, reminisce that no one else in their lives has ever been better to them in bed or out of it, and yet still it wasn’t enough to make them stay, or keep them faithful, or to “Pick” me forever. Somehow “told you so” or “their loss” fails to achieve any sense of gratification when one suffers from loneliness.

And yet, I left an impression with them, didn’t I?

And that’s what I want to do to him. With me, he will experience something rare: uninhibited, sincerely enthusiastic intimacy.  Even if it doesn’t reel him in closer to me then at least I’ve doomed every woman he encounters from then on to comparison with me. If I let him go for a ride in the spaceship, he will never forget it and no one else will ever live up to it.

I’m also doing it because I want to. There will be consequences either way. Because I DO want him and it’s been two years since anyone put their hands on me. So there’s the consequence that I’ll regret not scratching that itch while the opportunity is there. The consequence of sex without the comfort of commitment is that physical intimacy will likely further cement the deep feelings I have for him already, and I’ll have to go through the motions of withdrawal and perceived rejection; the end of a relationship that never existed except in my head.

So I’m going to treat it like the Last Supper. If he offers me a piece, I’m going to take it and devour him like it’s the last meal I’ll ever have. I will wear him out like a puppy, suck him dry and then fill him back up with me.