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I’m feeling so much anxiety. Everything’s been simultaneously better and worse since I started feeling and wanting affection. The highs are high, but short lived and ultimately meaningless. It doesn’t actually amount to anything to the other party. I don’t amount to anything to the other party. And yet I keep trying to trick myself into thinking that I do. The softness, the opening weakness in me is craving it, calling for it. So much so that it’s willing to delude itself and me to get that feeling, even for a few brief moments.
Attachment leads to nothing but heartbreak. I’m putting myself into a dangerous situation. I’m unstable. I’m not ready for this, I’m not made for this. People like me are meant to be alone. They’re not meant to be loved. They get burned by it. Attracted like a moth to a flame. Burning upon impact, but still dumb enough to come back for more once the pain wears off enough to breathe.
No one will ever love me, and that’s okay. It’s not my path. I can accept that. My past, my scars, make me ugly and unlovable. Some may be able to tolerate me enough to use me. Using me is good. It gives me a few moments of happiness, of feeling wanted and adored. As long as I keep it in the back of my mind that it isn’t real. I’m just a means to an end, and that’s alright. I’m meant to take the scraps of affection that people need to get out somehow, and I take it happily. Eating the scraps from the floor like it's the best thing I’ve ever had. Like it’s top quality. Because it is to me. All I’ve ever known is emptiness, so those few nibbles are intoxicating. What’s incredible to me is degrading to others. Because they’re used to love. They’re used to unending meals and affection. So seeing me content with my leftovers disgusts them. They don’t understand, just like I don’t understand them. We come from two completely different understandings and lives. It’s just not in my path to enjoy what it means to be loved. I'm meant to eat up what's left.
Sure, I can enjoy loving others. Nothing is stopping me from that but myself. But I have to accept that it’s one way, and will always stay that way. They’ll think it’s cute, having an ugly mutt pine after them. They may even give me a treat or pet my head, but that’s all. They don’t actually like me back. That would be repulsive. Unimaginable. Disgraceful. As long as I’m willing to beg for attention and pretend that the slivers are true love, I’ll be happy. But if I push, as I often do- If I get too comfortable sitting in their lap and getting pet, I’m bound to get hurt. Shoved onto the floor, to my proper place when I overstay my welcome. I was just there to warm them up, and now their needs are met. I’m snapped at and yelled at for being playful and teasing. For having the audacity to think that you would need or want me in any capacity at all. I always act so shocked about it, being put back into my place. But it really should come as no surprise.
I’m ugly, I’m scarred, I’m damaged and broken. No one wants that. The empty holes that riddle my body serve as a reserve for extra scraps. When they can find no one else, they dump the excess into the bottomless pit. They give me just enough to stick around, to feel hopeful. But they’ll never actually try to fill me back up, to make me whole. I’m not worth that, and why would they anyway? They can’t have their stupid toy thinking its worth something, now can they. They need me to stay broken so I can keep being used. I need them to give me anything, anything at all to feel even a tiny bit more full inside. Stuff me up with it all. Cuddles, kisses, teasing, cum, empty compliments I know aren’t true. I’ll take it all like the greedy mutt I am. And I’ll thank you for it.
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