bleak and pretty

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feels like i can sleep forever. that's what i did last weekend — dozed off until my head hurt. i was in this lucid state where we built a house in one dream, and in another where i received oral from a certain woman. of course i didn't tell him about my second dream.

i didn't come out as bisexual. he thought homosexuality was a disease. but whenever i talked about women, it would become obvious to him that i wasn't straight. and then he would tease me for being a “tomboy”.

this accusation i dodge, because i don't identify as a lesbian. i am bisexual. i lust after men and women. and i must admit, i find feminine bodies more attractive. my appreciation for hunky men developed only recently. but pretty much all my life, i get off by looking at women.

and that's why i chose a skinny guy whose legs were thinner than mine. and whose locks fell past his shoulders. a unicorn of a man with broad chest and a slim waist.

which reminds me, he's been staying in my apartment for a month and a half now. i very much love his presence, an antidote to my loneliness, but we've planned a trip where i'll drop him back to his hometown next month.

then i'll have plenty of time to figure out how to live without solo travels and surfing, because he prohibits me from travelling alone. too many temptations are out there, he says. maybe i'll just sleep forever in those empty weekends.

i think it would be nice to get my sexual history down on record, so here it is. let's pretend i had too much alcohol to drink.

warning: this is a long read.

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the first time somebody attempted to take my virginity, i sobbed. i didn't expect it. we didn't talk about it. i was fifteen and he was sixteen. this happened about nine years ago, during my first semester of college. we were at my best friend's boarding house. i thought we were only going to “sleep” together, but one thing led to another.

nope, we didn't accomplish full penetration. we were both virgins and it hurt too much. we would try again about two months later.

at the end of my six-month “relationship” with him, i lost my virginity to awful sex. his penis wasn't fully erect and we got only two inches deep.

next -

fast forward to two years later. i “finally” lost my virginity. i came over to a guy's house, pulled my pants down, bent over a bunk bed, and allowed my date to take me from behind. he finished after ten seconds. i didn't hurt, i didn't bleed. he had a small penis.

it was a shame that i continued to date this guy for about three more (fucking) years. teenager me thought that we were going to tie the knot and do that marriage-and-kids thing, but i flipped during my last year of college. it felt like i had more (dicks) to experience in life.

a month into singlehood, i met a guy on tinder. from him, i learned to smoke marijuana and, oh boy, he was such a wonderful lover. i never thought that sex could be so nice, that a guy could be so sweet. he was this perfect boy-next-door thing with a pipe and a penny skateboard. yes, we fell in love. we did a lot of stoned sex. good times. it was a smokey paradise. but we couldn't just be together. he had a wife. he married his first love.

we broke up after the summer. and to prove to myself that i was fine and over him, i hooked up with another guy. a mutual friend gave my number to him. we met for sex. he was an unremarkable college boy with mommy issues. he had a hard time finishing. we were supposed to be fwb's but i decided that i wanted to come back to my pothead ex. so i ended it and blocked him on my phone and social media.

i never reconciled with my ex.

another couple of months.

i had this cute co-worker who would later on become my roommate. invited him over for pizza, movie, and marijuana. we ended up having sex and deciding to have a relationship, which would span two years. he was a man-child with an addiction to video games. he didn't really help me around the house. i got a taste of what it was like to play the role of a wife and a mother. it was not so fun. i never considered him my husband. i kicked him out of the apartment eventually.

two weeks later.

i met up with the boy i fell in love with when i was sixteen. for the first time, we had sex. it was quick. can't believe i waited seven years for a quickie. he didn't have a huge dick.

two weeks later.

met up with a guy on okcupid. now let me pause for a moment to say that he was the hottest guy i ever had sex with. yup. he was just hot. i never thought i could actually have sex with hot guys, too. he was a surfer. i developed feelings for him. he didn't reciprocate.

so about two or three weeks later, i got another guy. he was very nice and neat. an artist. he had smooth skin and a clean, baby face. he lived in a condo unit and had a cat. very suave. he had a comfy bed. it was very nice. the only thing with him was that he was emotionally scarred. guy had intimacy issues. he also had gonorrhea.

i swear i fell for him, but looking back, it was stupid.

i hooked up with another surfer. he was supposed to be my surfing teacher. it was kinda hot, having sex with your mentor. he was much older than me too. he had a wife and kids. he was too clingy and i wasn't just interested in married guys anymore.

i looked for a different surfing mentor. i ended up having sex with him again. it was a mess. he had a girthy cock. he was tall, athletic, overall sad-looking kind of handsome. i thought we were in love. i was in poor mental health at the time and probably gave him some hell. i was jealous of his ex. before i knew it, he was dating someone else.

i took about a three month break.

i decided to surf a different beach and guess what? i fucked one of the locals again. i even ended up introducing him to my mom – shame and regret right there. he wasn't beautiful. he had a poor attitude and coerced me to have sex with him one too many times. i dumped him at the end of the surfing season.

sigh. how many have been there?

while it was off-season, i decided to have a tattoo. and yes you guessed that right — i hooked up with my tattoo artist. i thought i was in love with him too! he was really funny, he was a small guy (i was taller) and he had this unspeakable charm about him. we kind of went along together well. he said i was on his mind, too. he was really good at his art. sadly, he wasn't up for anything, and we didn't meet again after that one session.

he was my favorite dick.

i believe it was about a week later, i hooked up with someone (again, ugh) and he was supposed to be nice on paper. drives a car, 6'0 tall, 7 inches long, has manners, has a drive for adventure. but then, he also had a baby face, poor posture, and a bad breath. he was clingy too. he wanted a relationship, i was good with a one night thing.

a week later, i meet the guy that i've been dating for about five months now. here is the story. i thought he was a happy-go-lucky surfer with pretty hair and a nice body. turns out he had run away from his kids from two different women. i want to make him my baby daddy. we're currently trying for a baby.

i'm probably being a stupid shit, and you can judge me by this essay.

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i miss being a teenager. the pure emotions, the feelings, the intensity and zest for life that become blunted in your twenties. when all that mattered were the contents of your heart.

losing your virginity. experiencing your first kiss. going on your first date. confessing your love to someone. writing love letters. crying over a boy. swearing you'll never fall in love again and then doing the exact same thing twenty more times later. moving out of your parents' house. smoking your first cigarette. losing your friends. realizing you can't really trust people. being more alone than ever. sleeping over at a boyfriend's house. disappointing your parents. taking your first pregnancy test. the depression. the euphoria. the wild ride.

life didn't really become more stable in my early 20's. if any, it was just more of a mess. plus, i had money to do “adult” things. i cohabited, smoked more cigarettes, hooked up, got myself on birth control, smoked more stuff, and hooked up some more.

along the way, you lose your heart. you just never feel the same again. nothing beats the first time. and as you unravel all your first time's, pretty much nothing becomes left.

you can visit the same place where you fell in love at sixteen, but it's never the same. the eyes of adulthood see things differently compared to teen-hood.

and i kind of just want to go back. i want to see the world the way i did when i was seventeen. raw, pure of faith, forever unsure and yet determined. i want to stop being a grown up. i want to navigate through life the way i did when i was so much younger and inexperienced.

i want this to be all about me and what i feel.

moving forward isn't easy. his past has become my present. in idle moments i see his little girl and the smirk of his ex. i wish i didn't know anything, if only it were possible to live in complete isolation, in a fantasy world, in deafening silence. i would rather be in a cold, dark universe with only him and me, ocean waves, and perhaps the fruits of our love.

but that isn't possible. what has been done in the past continues to live in the present. it claws at me and threatens tomorrow's sanity.

i remember the wife of an ex. i never thought of meeting her, but i did, four years ago. she had a pretty face. she was a doll that came to life, an animated cut-out from a piece of cardboard. i used to only see her in pictures. (is there a word to describe the feeling of finally seeing a person in real life, when you only used to see them in photographs?)

anyway, i did meet her, at a music festival. funny how you could memorize someone's face before actually meeting them. funny how the jealousy that used to be imaginary had now become valid. funny how i liked her a lot to the point that i developed some affection for her.

“who knows, they might be sweet to you when you finally meet them,” he suggested.

“i doubt it,” i replied.

some days later, with tears in my eyes i cried to him, “i don't want anything to do with your children.”

there goes the hidden fact. there goes the insecurity finally manifested in words with sloppy crying. i was insecure of two pre-pubescent children and their mother. they hate me probably just as much as i abhor the fact that they even existed. i wanted his love to be all mine. i was scared that somehow, they would take him away from me. that it in the future, i would find myself caught in a tug of war. like i once was, when i was a paramour who fed on bits and crumbs of attention. i don't ever want that to happen again.

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the more i think about his past, the more it becomes real. the more i realize that they live well into the present. a doomsday for me will certainly come. a time to meet the people that i couldn't avoid. when that happens, i must be guarded. i must have a clear mind and know what's mine. where i stand. what i'm supposed to care about. the limits of my involvement.

i must turn away and not look back. i must focus on myself. there are plenty of things to do right now rather than worry about the screams of delightful children. i must leave that to him. if they make their presence known to me again, i must not tremble. i must take a deep breath and act cool, like i did during the first few times i talked to my ex's wife.

who knows, they might be sweet to me, too.

Send criticism, words of advice, general stuff, and pictures of your cat to:

writer@happyhippythoughts.xyz

such a pretty, wild thing: salty locks, a warrior's face, and a tiny waist. i first saw you on a sunny day. white sand and crystal blue waters. in some unknown island i flew to visit, to surf.

i was mesmerized by the shape of your cheekbones before i heard the sound of your name. i thought you were perfect. you stood tall and beautiful, nonchalantly seductive, wielding the perfect adonis belt.

we found each other in the same company that night. the air was cool and salty, the vibes just chill, the place merrily quiet. i looked at you with big, expressive eyes that spoke a thousand words while i just watched you talk.

surfer things: the waves, the weather, the stoke. nature and stuff. i loved your accent. you had gentle, smiley eyes, and i shamelessly feasted on the image of your face.

life gifted me that day. i was ready for scraps of attention and stolen glances, but i was given more. i had your attention. i had your time. i had all that was perfect, and more.

we said goodnight, and i slept with a smile on my face. the sound of your name in my lips. i was hooked. i'd been caught like a wave, ridden by this pretty, wild thing of a man.

sea dreams.

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#bipolardiaries

Looming depression is not just in the mind. You feel it. It comes with a heavy chest, poor posture (weak muscles), slow hands, and blunt concentration. It's hard to smile.

You find no joy in life. Everything, even getting up from bed, feels like a chore. But you try nevertheless. Try not to let others see through the ordeal. You try to act normal and hide it. Life suddenly feels scripted.

The thoughts that come with it are just half of the torture. Think about every single beautiful thing you've planned. Now imagine all of these falling apart. You're suddenly in the worst case scenario – except it's all in your head, but it just feels so real.

Then you start seeing awful things in people, probably push them away, too. Suddenly you don't even care about talking. You just kind of want to block everything. Your irritability peaks. All jokes are suddenly offensive. Everyone is saying the wrong things.

He hates this city. He doesn't really want to stay with me. I'll never have a family of my own, or I'll get pregnant and then he'll leave me alone. He won't marry me when I ask him. It will all be a ruined fairy tale. There isn't going to be a happy ending.

My greatest fear is that all the plans I've set on full gear won't happen at all, and that I'll be back to square one. I feel scared.

But I'm not panicking because I've started over many, many times before. I've been alone, cold, and empty many times before. I've bled. I've been in pain. And each time that happens, the bleakness passes, and brighter days come.

There's always a happy day lying ahead, though it might not be in the same place and same way, and it might be with different people.

Insecurities that don't just fade away

I feel so anxious about my relationship. I don't feel the security of a healthy partnership, and somehow, the looming depression makes it worse.

It feels like he can always leave me. On the other hand, if I attempt to do everything to make him stay, it would mean trading my personal freedom. He's controlling.

I'm trying to feel where the boundaries lie. How much I can tolerate. How much would seem acceptable for me.

Days under sunshine and beneath crashing waves seem so far away.

He's lucky because he can do whatever he wants.

Hiatus

I'm planning to live in a cocoon for a couple months or so. I'm planning to strip everything away from my life except for my job and daily survival. I will take a closer look at my relationship with myself.

It feels like my baby is never gonna happen.