Putting Myself First is Not Selfish

I like to communicate with words. I like to write them down. Things make more sense to me, feel more familiar and personal, and feel more honest and heartfelt, when they are written down. I don't like talking to people; because jokes and sarcasm and quick wits and misunderstood tones get in the way. I like to hide behind my words, and wrap them around myself like a blanket. I love love letters and romantic novels and autobiographies, I like to marvel at how gorgeous and true they can be, even hundreds of years later. I actually prefer breakups over text, because I like to be in my emotions; and to keep them to myself.

I hate when other people see me emotional. I hate when other people see me cry.

Sex has always been something I can throw around, or barter, or sell, or gift. I'm indifferent to it, often bored of it, and obsess about it constantly. I hate when I can't have it, and am often disgusted with myself right after intimacy. I hate how so often intimacy is given to me only in the form of sex, or when they are inextricably tied together.

The best romantic relationships I've ever had were ones where sex was unimportant, or ones in which we never had sex at all.

I like to write about my experiences here because it helps me process, but I've fallen away when it feels like they've been used against me. I wrote about trying monogamy because I felt like a lot of people have been unhappy with the way I've lived my life; being out and non-monogamous and casual. The resentment-filled backlash was not immediate, but it was palpable. How come you could settle down for that guy and not for me? Why did you break up with me and not with him? Perhaps there is more to relationships than just a sense of entitlement. Perhaps the reason we didn't stay together is that you felt I owed you something, or anything at all.

People think of me as rude, and audacious, selfish and impulsive. I tend to think that that just comes with the territory of being a woman who prioritizes my own needs above the needs of others. How dare I take the time to do that. How dare I care more about myself than about romantic or sexual partners. I've lived a short and lonely life thus far as a result, but at least I belong to me.

There's not really a point to this post. Not really a reason I wanted to write it, except just to say that if you're reading this for evidence of how I wronged you, you'll probably find it. And if you're hurting because of me, I'm sorry about that. If you're reading this and you're angry because I broke up with you over written words, you're a hypocrite.