Sunday, November 28, 2004

A Note To a Friend Bloody hell. I'm lonely. It's so fucking difficult sometimes. This yearning for connection. Christ, how to put it into words? I want someone to fucking touch me. Just touch me. And not be repulsed or tentative or provisional. Just fucking touch me. You know? I think that isolation, that cold remove, hurts more than any regret that I have. My whole life is lived on eggshells, M___. Every fucking day, I wonder if that day is going to be the day that someone decides that I'm untouchable. That I'm the abomination their priest told them about, or I'm their worst nightmare. Shit, I've retreated into a shell of hermitage, obesity and slovenliness; a self-imposed exile in the middle of the country, out of fear that someone will find me attractive and that I'll get my hopes up, only to see them walk away once they know who I really am. I swear, if I didn't have my cats to stick my nose into now and again, I'd be dead from the chill that comes from standing alone in the cold for so long. But even then, their affection, or their gestures that pass for affection aren't really enough to fill this cold, empty space in my belly. I look down on my naked trunk and I see a lattice of scars and stretch marks and just below my sternum, marked by a scarlet line of scar and scab, there's a depression, a hollow, a dip where what I am falls into itself and even though I know it's just the spot where my gallbladder used to be, it feels like it's my heart that's missing. 1:40:42 AM     leave/read comments []