I can't remember the last time that I had a crush on someone. It's such a beautiful feeling, to be in awe of somebody, be completely besotted.
Falling in love is a different ballgame altogether.

I wish I could be 11 again and crush on someone, Nick Carter perhaps.

My last crush was Zooey Deschanel. So here is a picture, in memory of her:

 (pic from http://www.wallpaperextreme.com/Celebrities/Zooey-Deschanel/Zooey-Deschanel-21.JPG)

Here He Comes!

He kept his woman close to his heart, a dagger on his bedside table.
To be safe.
He needed to be safe.

The whole universe was conspiring against him, or so he thought..

B(lo)ody

I pity those who constantly crib about their body-too fat, too thin etc.

I was very jittery about mine too. After the rape, I spent a good deal of time cutting it, burning it and loathing it. I couldn't stand my body. It felt as though it was scarred beyond repair. There were invisible, irreparable wounds all over it. I felt so ugly. My self confidence was at an all time low. I remember how the kids in my class would go out to play lock and key during the lunch break in school and I would always sit back in the classroom. I'd cook up excuses every time they asked me to join them. They stopped asking after a point of time. I hated my body even more then.I felt angry-why was my body so weak, why was my body not able to fight back?

I hated the male body even more. The only thing that they were good for was causing pain.
It hurt. It hurt like hell.
Like somebody was tearing my body apart.

I used to spend hours in front of the mirror. Staring at my body. Seeing carefully the changes that is was undergoing. When I was 13, I was pretty sure that my body wasn't the same as before. Thus I needed to move on. I needed to stop hating and blaming my body for what had happened to me.

Somehow, it had become super sensitive, extra alert. Any casual touch would set off the alarm. I don't remember when and how that toned down. I guess it was a slow, gradual process. Besides, once the intoxicants started started entering my body, I was no longer so paranoid. I was starting to calm down.

(But that however DOES NOT MEAN THAT I RECOMMEND GETTING HIGH TO SEEK SOLACE. It does not work that way, at all. It had severe consequences in my life)

The decision to start letting other people touch me, kiss me, hug me and make love to me was taken one random afternoon when I came back home from school. It was almost impulsive. I cut off my hair, cut it very short to sort of celebrate and start again from scratch. It was very therapeutic.

I decided to open myself up once again. I was back in sync with my body. Standing naked in front of the mirror was no longer painful.

It's never been since.
There's not a single day that has passed since, when I have not felt beautiful-both inside and out.

Cheap Thoughts, Only A Buck.

I'm phasing out more often than normal these days. I feel perpetually tired. It's like my body and my brain are two separate identities-functioning independently, almost as though they're fighting to prove their superiority over one another.

It's quite the riot.

But all is not dark and gloomy. Isolation is the key to emancipation. You phase out into your personal space-which cannot be invaded by anyone else. The relationship with yourself is the most sacred, all others are shallow and superficial. They are a trap. They curb your freedom. The chain you down.
They make you dependent on an external factor rather than yourself.

What I feel for the monster is a strange mixture of love and hate. While I love how it has changed me as a person-made me braver than the usual, more aware of myself. I hate how I have to try so hard to lead a supposed normal life-something which comes so naturally to most.

Having said that, I am not the only one with a sob story. Everybody has one. It's how well you hide it that matters.