Being The Shameless Slut

"Nature's Melody," Hessam Abrishami
“Nature’s Melody,” Hessam Abrishami

I can’t help that I am what I am. I have daddy issues. I have abandonment issues. I am FUCKED up from years of medications, an absent father, an alcoholic mother, a drug-addicted/suicidal brother, and a self-loathing that even I can’t believe. I’ve had eating disorders, emotional disorders, and mental disorders. I used to cut. I used to put anything in my mouth that would take my mind off of how completely miserable I was with everything in my world. But I came to love it, or at least appreciate it. This hole within which I existed. I usually like to pretend that I’m not really crazy; but I know that I’m a goner, I have been all my life. I have vivid memories of being five years old on the playground, either excelling socially in a game of Pogs or whatever, or standing alone somewhere in the midst of it all crying and feeling as though everything were utterly ridiculous. At five I felt that we were wasting our time. Life has never made sense to me. I don’t feel as though I know more than anyone. I feel as though I know less, like I’m missing something so OBVIOUS. So I’ve spent my time oscillating between watching them — sometimes with jealousy, sometimes with pity, sometimes with disdain — live their lives as we’ve been told to do — and joining their party. I can forget for chunks of time, or I can ignore it enough to enjoy myself. I think I like the attention. I like feeling like I’m giving them something resembling happiness. If you have to be lonely, you may as well make them laugh. I’ve become a pleaser, because I don’t know what else I could be. I’m a pleaser because if I ever want anyone to love me with all of the baggage that I come with — I better be entertaining or helpful to make up for it.

I believe this is what makes me good in bed. I have this very deep desire to connect. I have this mouth that consumes everything (except gluten, or dairy, or carbs if I’m good). I’m pretty much sober now — I’ll have a drink now and then, but nothing like the binges before. I don’t take drugs anymore. I don’t smoke cigarettes. All I have left is the dick. A dick in my mouth is how I forget about sadness. A dick in my mouth makes sense to me. I know what to do with it. I know how to handle it. Moreover, the praise I get for putting the dick in my mouth is this great form of gratitude that I can wave off. With one wipe of my mouth and toss of my hair I can say “Thank you, you’re welcome, you mean nothing to me, never forget me, but don’t try to love me, have you seen my sweater?” For whatever reason, it is my independence. I have a great amount of respect for myself now, but whenever I feel myself slipping back into that awful corner of my head I just pop a cock and remember that everything’s going to be okay. TC mark

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