collegiate diversion

It’s so much like being horribly disfigured. I don’t want people to look at me when I am like this, and if there was a way to get back to the way everything was before, I would. SO look how pitifully I am holding on, dragging it all around. Not him, but just, that opportunity that maybe he could admit he didn’t use me, I wasn’t this shameful piece that was thrown away. I am so ashamed by everything he did to me, sodomizing my soul and breaking my back in ways I didn’t know a human life form could break, well, anyone.

And I have to think why, why did I let him do this to me? I want to be new again. “I want to be a little baby.” I want to be everything!

And I am entirely stubborn for letting him get the best of me, for all these years, I know that now. And I still can’t let him go. It’s not really Him though, like he is some higher power, some religion I am not worthy of. It’s something I use to think, horribly.

I see my mistakes now. I can’t just let him wreck everything, and I can’t just keep seeking what I want from him. The damage is done, and he refuses to undo any of it. So what does this mean? Plastic surgery, entire rethinkage in the recovery ward of romance and pure existence. Maybe? It could work. It’s in my being to be healed. I can be whichever figure I like, but surely no one can judge me for looking like this, and trying to find the perfect mirror that could mirror back that perfect image back at me.

That is love isn’t it? The mirror that shows you who you are? The act of reflection? I cannot love, at least not for now. I do not want to see the image I have become.

It all makes sense in this way, monster. I cannot blame my creator for being the Frankesteinish beast. I suppose I can just move along henceforth and be known as the kind giant, the gentle giant, the one that everyone thinks he is.

It doesn’t matter what anyone sees when they look in the mirror for me. In him, I only see the worst in myself, and his self. We said that so often, and laughed at the enigmatic energy of our youthful love and lust: “we bring out the worst in each other for sure.”

There must be a more KIND mirror that will tell me something about being the fairest, or anything, above them all.

But in disfigurement, I am exuberantly lost. And I lust over that which has been lost. I will make her face whole again. If I can.

I can only try.

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