DURING RESERVIST.
I walked into the grimy shower cubicles, clad in admin pants and with a towel slung over my shoulder.
“Hey Shao,” Wei Siong called from the next cubicle, through the cacophony of water smashing on skin and the floor.
“Eh, how you know it’s me?”
“I heard your footsteps. Walao, I know when it’s you sia.”
“Wah. Fuck. Really?”
I stomped on the slick shower tiles a few times with my slippers.
“Like this?”
“Ya. Still you.”
“Haha, I really sound so obvious ah?”
“Ya.”
We played Fakin’ It today, and one of the questions was “raise your hand if you have had been in a long distance relationship”.
The point of Fakin’ It was that one of you was the Faker, who has to fit in with the non Fakers and the Faker doesn’t know the question. You see what’s coming next?
I was the Faker and I raised my hand, and everyone immediately called me out.
Get it?
The punchline was that I’m single. Famously, single.
Look, I know I’m incredibly incelly here.
I’m still having feelings for Her and it is an incredible amount of shame and heart sinking I’m feeling.
I still can’t bear to see her with someone else, whether I know them or not.
The other worst thing is knowing that this has happened before, with multiple girls, and the only way to really know if I’m capable of stopping the cycle is to start falling for someone else and to see if I get possessive again.
There’s so much toxic fucking shame. In this equation. Shame that I’m possessive. Shame that I have to think about being possessive. Shame that the yearning is a one way street. Shame that I spend so much time waiting for her to text me back. So much of the time in between spent in a daze and glances at the LED of my phone, hoping that it glows blue. Shame of my own shame, which manifests in the curdling word, “pathetic”.
Even if she liked me back, IF, I’d still be unhappy because even if she so much as looked at a MtF trans person (this did happen) I would be so incredibly fucking insecure about it.
And the third worst thing is that I know somehow one day this will all be small shit that I’ll laugh off, but God fucking damnit.
I’m tired of feeling like shit, petty fucking shit. I wanna get better, like, now. I have a new therapist and I’ll see her on Thursday. I’ll ask her about anxious attachment. Fuck, man.
Imagine that a wild God created us to serve as vessels for data, in the great big Game of Life (proof: each gram of DNA can hold up to 455 billion GB of data) and the experiment fucking failed because his computers went sentient and either killed each other, committed suicide or destroyed their planet figuring out how to generate power to watch more porn with.
There are people out there who kill themselves for less and the only thing I am rationalise myself out of is ending it all, just because everything is cool and I just want to experience the world, love, pussy, fulfillment and my legacy.
What to do? Lan lan lor. Live on lor.
Shag, sia, shag, sia.
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