Old letter to myself

6 09 2017

I always do this and end up feeling incredibly shitty on so many different levels. It’s as if I come out of a trance and I think, God, who was that? What did I just do? Why did I do that? And I keep telling myself it won’t happen again, that I’ll be smarter and wiser and so much better and maybe it’ll last for a while. But then I always end up slipping up and feeling like I betrayed myself.

I think part of it is the horrible guilt after, but more recently, it’s been about STIs. I usually have no idea if they’re clean or not, and I almost always forget to ask before it happens. It doesn’t even cross my mind. It’s frightening.

How do I allow others to take advantage of me so easily? I’m getting better at it, but honestly, I think I need to be empowered to tell someone no and to walk away after. But it’s never easy as that, is it? It’s not enough to be aware of it. I have to do it. Or learn to. So I don’t end up feeling so miserable and sad and like I’d just been sexually assaulted, which, in some ways, I suppose I was. Like when the guy started riding me without a condom and didn’t say anything. And I didn’t say anything until a couple minutes in. And yeah, at least I did it and stopped him, but I expect better from myself. don’t others as well? I don’t want to be easy; I don’t want to just sleep with whomever puts their hands on me.

I’m getting better. I know that. And if I were more objective, I’d tell myself I was proud of myself for accomplishing that at the very least. But I really don’t want to feel this shitty and just so goddamn used like this. It should needs to stop. Ugh.


Fucked-up Aaron

Poetry published!

19 10 2013

Got an acceptance for a poem I submitted (that I wrote last semester for my poetry class, nonetheless) to a literary magazine today. I believe that’s four acceptance emails/letters in a row now.

What. The. Frig.

Dream 14

18 08 2011

Since I didn’t watch a film last night, here’s a dream I had a few nights ago.

Dream 14

It was at night, and I was stepping out of the shower in a house that wasn’t quite like mine but it was somehow our home.  On my phone, I saw that my Australian penpal had sent me a text saying, “World War III has begun.”  I was alarmed, to say the least, and when I looked outside the window, I saw rockets in the air, falling down toward the city.  So naturally, I was really freaked out and scared, and I went and found my mommy sitting on the couch, staring out at the window.  I crawled next to her and told her I was scared, and she told me it was going to be okay and that we were going to pack our bags and move to somewhere safer.

I asked about Florence, my older sister, and as we walked over to her room, she said she was coming with us.  When I looked into the room, it was quite dark.  I tried to turn the lights on but the switch didn’t seem to work.  I saw my sister’s shape in bed, sleeping, and somehow I knew she wasn’t coming with us because she was just too lazy to get out of bed.  Suddenly, from out of a closet next to the bed (which isn’t the way the room is laid out in real life), my other twin sister, jumped out and said she was coming with us and immediately began throwing clothes from the closet onto the bed and on the floor.  That woke my sleeping sister, who told us to keep it down.

My mother and I then got into the car but I didn’t know where we were driving to.  When we pulled up to Superstore, a rocket landed very close to us, and my mom, who was holding on to me as she was driving (I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt) swerved the car to avoid the rocket as it exploded on the ground.

Inside Superstore, there were lots of people, though not as many as I thought there’d be.  Everyone was buying food and supplies, but I saw that they were blocking off certain parts of the store for some reason, like clothing.  Lots of bakery items were being sold.  My mom bought some roses and paper for a letter, and after she bought it, she told me to write a goodbye letter to Florence.  She had written a bit on the top of the letter herself, but her writing was really childish and hard to read.

10 Defining Moments of My Life (so far) — #9: F*** you, dad

12 05 2010

9.  After receiving an e-mail from my dad mentioning how he thought I had too much free time in my life, which lead to daydreaming and ultimately fantasizing about sex (among other things), I sent him back a long, angry and honest e-mail, basically telling him things I couldn’t muster the strength to tell him.  I told him about how I’ve never once said anything bad to him; how he didn’t have the right to judge who I was when he had never been there in my life; how if all I was to him was someone to pass on the family name (and because I’m gay, I can’t) then I was glad that I wouldn’t be passing on a name representing bigotry, hypocrisy, and ignorance.  I wrote a lot of things in that e-mail, and I don’t regret any sentence, word or letter.  I responded in a rage, my fingers furiously hacking at the keys like there was no tomorrow.  My mom told me the next day that my dad, already slightly ill, was even sicker because of me, because of that e-mail, and she told me to apologize to him.  She told me, her 18 year old son, that I shouldn’t be swearing, even though I only swore 3 times in that e-mail and it wasn’t insultingly (ie. Fuck you!) but adjectively (ie. I won’t be a fucking doormat!).  I just felt glad to not be harbouring my thoughts any longer.