Self-Inflicted Nosebleed
So this past weekend, I had a date with a married girl.
W. T. F.
Yep, some people have asked the wholly reasonable question, “JiB… You freak… You’ve been effed up by dozens of women during your life, sustained lasting injuries from near-all the ones you were in love with, have started writing thought-out and massively introspective copy on being cunted over in relationships, and wrote the FAQ on a website which is dedicated to being an online repository of cautionary tales and shit-flinging bile regarding all things LIAC. What the fuck are you doing going out with someone that’s married?”.
Believe me, I asked myself the same question many times as well. What’s the answer?
The answer is tragically disturbing.
I am addicted to love. I am addicted to emotions. I am addicted to any girl that walks into my life and I click with. And I clicked with her, hard.
I am hopeless in these situations. I can draw myself detailed diagrams involving souls and god which explain succinctly why I should not be touching this relationship with a hundred-foot pole, but I will ignore them because my soul says otherwise and my soul is a liar.
I don’t even love her yet. That’s the most disturbing part. That I’m not going to stop myself, even though I know how this will end to the point where I can post about it. I must be a masochist. So why do I feel like a hedonist?
I want the joy and the misery. I miss it. I want the whole spectrum again. Love like a god, hate like a devil.
And somewhere, even deeper in me, I have the conviction that I can handle this.
Oh, how delicious it will be when I realise how wrong I am.
W. T. F.
Yep, some people have asked the wholly reasonable question, “JiB… You freak… You’ve been effed up by dozens of women during your life, sustained lasting injuries from near-all the ones you were in love with, have started writing thought-out and massively introspective copy on being cunted over in relationships, and wrote the FAQ on a website which is dedicated to being an online repository of cautionary tales and shit-flinging bile regarding all things LIAC. What the fuck are you doing going out with someone that’s married?”.
Believe me, I asked myself the same question many times as well. What’s the answer?
The answer is tragically disturbing.
I am addicted to love. I am addicted to emotions. I am addicted to any girl that walks into my life and I click with. And I clicked with her, hard.
I am hopeless in these situations. I can draw myself detailed diagrams involving souls and god which explain succinctly why I should not be touching this relationship with a hundred-foot pole, but I will ignore them because my soul says otherwise and my soul is a liar.
I don’t even love her yet. That’s the most disturbing part. That I’m not going to stop myself, even though I know how this will end to the point where I can post about it. I must be a masochist. So why do I feel like a hedonist?
I want the joy and the misery. I miss it. I want the whole spectrum again. Love like a god, hate like a devil.
And somewhere, even deeper in me, I have the conviction that I can handle this.
Oh, how delicious it will be when I realise how wrong I am.
posted by Juliet is Bleeding... | 6:30 pm
Erm, just so you know how it will end, I refer you to each and every one of my M posts.
Yes, I did notice those. As well as several other vast arrays of black & white information that states one should not get involved with a married woman. Unfortunately, though, I'm a stupid idiot.
**Ruining the sanctity of marriage: Priceless.**