Pieces of Peace: My Anxiety is not Romantic

 

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My anxiety is not romantic. My anxiety is not a fetish you can bring into the bedroom.  Someone told you that someone with anxiety is a great lover.  You believe because of my constant need of validation that everything will be okay; I will pour my energy into our relationship.  You are sadly mistaken because I have no energy left to give.

It is not cute when I wake up in the morning. My alarm goes off and I hit snooze. What I do is this; I lay there on the bed feeling this heavy weight on my body.  I try to find the reason why until I’ve come up with a dozen conclusions on why I should get up. But instead, I lay there for an extra ten minutes because I am exhausted.

There are days I jolt up and my heart is racing. I have been thinking about the same problem from the night before and I hate myself that I haven’t found a solution. And even if I did, I probably woke up thinking my solution would just add to the problem. There are days I wake up crying because I have no idea what to do.

There are days I’d wake up three in the morning thinking about the context of a day old conversation.  Or worry about how I may not have enough money in my account until my head conjures up worse case scenarios. Until I’d start to sweat, my stomach churning, and my heart trying to beat out of my chest. There are nights I feel like the Tell Tale Heart because I hear a heartbeat in the room deafening me.

Though I should’ve just went back to sleep rather than keep myself up all night.  If I try to fall asleep all I do is fidget, toss, and turn. I’d think about every problem in my life, from point A to point Z. Only to find it coming back to me.  If it wasn’t for me I wouldn’t have anxiety. Yes, I know it does not make any sense.

Will you still find my anxiety cute when I get an anxiety attack? It feels like I’m choking on air, my heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and everything is hazy. Would you still find it cute when I walk through a crowd trying to steady my breathing? Or would you feel like you are saving me? It would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on. Someone to talk to about my frequent bursts of irrationality rather than hide it and pretend I am okay.

Darling, I need a friend, not a knight or a soldier. Better yet tell me that I should seek help. I do not want you to say that you want to fix me because I am not broken. I am sick, not a jigsaw puzzle.

So please, my anxiety is not a character trait. It is an illness. I need a doctor, not a lover. I am not broken.

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ironic inspiration

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Thank you for the love
Unconditional
I am blessed
But you have damned my poetry
With every touch
I hear angels
With every written line
The devil would detest
Hell bent on ruins
Of my pathetic verses
Interrupting my flow
It’s love, for all they know
Passion and angst
Replaced with a metaphor
Stripping my enthusiasm
In between the sheets
My voice lost in a room
Papers scattered on the floor
You turned my writing
Into a garden
My words as seeds
My lyrics do not nurture
But with you
Here’s a flower

Paradox of a woman

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It is sad that it is universally acknowledged
That my whole being is set to be scrutinized
That woman equals sexualize

Society’s idea woman is a paradox
We are supposed to be clean and pure
By daintily making our hair fall over our breasts

Alluring but sweet and innocent
As we satisfy a man in bed
We might as well not exist

My body is not a man’s possession
I am not a prize to be won
To be displayed around your arm

I refuse to see it as gospel
That I am nothing but a man’s slut

Your knees get weak when I sigh
Your body squirms with every moan
It is exactly what you were begging for

When I am nothing but skin for pleasure
Nothing but your need of aesthetic
My purpose is no longer in the kitchen

My post is under your sheets
Between my legs is the validation for your manhood
Your breath reeks of desperation

Pinning your insecurity onto me
Calling me a whore, slander I say
Shouldering your defence with society’s opinions

To you I am only a fetish
A one night stand, someone’s wife
Dependent on owning a man’s last name

Dependent on being controlled
Because I was taught, woman equals a man
Not man and woman are equal

I am a woman and I deserve better
Than a man who only wants to fuck me
And I owe you nothing

I am human, flesh, bones and soul
My eyes, hands and legs are not an invitation
To your cavern of unjustified condemnation

I am a woman and you see me as nothing
Nothing but sweat and a mouth
To swallow your mistakes and narcissism

Your ideal woman is a paradox
You want her to exist
As we slowly fade into nothingness

God Forbid, I am Bi

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She laughed, it wasn’t sweet
Nor was she being funny
her next words stung
“You’re only confused”
“You’re a lesbian, trust me”
She said I should trust her instinct
But who is she
To define my sexuality?
God forbid I like
Both men and women
I cannot choose which I prefer
And no, there’s no schedule
No interchanging dates
pertaining to which gender I’d love
During a certain day, week or month
God forbid I can love both
Some people ask me just choose
They say my sexuality is confusing
Am I straight or am I gay?
Apparently, I can only choose one way
Even those who fought for love
disregard my sexuality
God forbid the love I’ve chosen
Why are they so perplexed
by my sexuality?
It’s not that hard to comprehend
It’s plain simple
I am speaking English
But still they can’t wrap
the idea around their heads
That I like both men and women
Instead of letting me be
they pin their confusion onto me
God forbid I like a man
they accuse me of walking back into the closet
God forbid I like a woman
then they say I am only experimenting
treating my sexuality as a guinea pig
Whom I love is an entry
for the science fair
Whom I love is to be dissected
My sexuality is a hypothesis
God forbid love wins
Because they ask me to compare
They ask me which I prefer
But in fact all they are asking
Whose skills in bed are better
As if I keep a scoresheet
Listing the names of every man
and woman I have ever been with
God forbid I am not straight
God forbid I am neither gay
Trying so hard to convince
Or push me out of a metaphorical closet
Telling me to come out
My sexuality is not an announcement
I do not need to explain my attraction
Because God forbid I like both right?

Loveless Definition

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You told me she loved you
You reassured me that she loved you
But I can see the bruises on your skin
And don’t you dare say you like it rough
There’s a difference between love and violence
I know that you were screaming the night before
Then by morning all you give is silence
Darling that is not love
Love is a painful metaphor not to be taken literally

Love isn’t words that crack your spine
Love isn’t black and blue
Love wouldn’t twist your shoulder
Love wouldn’t threaten you with a knife
At three in the morning
Love will never create bullshit excuses
To justify the marks they left on your arms
Love will never give you unfair consequences
Love will never hurt you the way she does

You’re confusing an embrace with her grip
She’s choking you and I don’t want to lose you
I don’t want the air to suddenly fade
from your lungs, and your last breath is her name
please find the strength to walk away
sneak out in the middle of the night
be anywhere else as long as it is not by her side

leave before you can’t even stand
leave before she chains you through twisted words
her eyes lackluster as she apologizes
her promises were meant to be broken
she said she’d love you until days end
but does it have to be yours?

An Idiot’s Commentary

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The idea of democracy
is dead
welcome to the age of idiocracy
our minds being penetrated
by ignorance
written by self-appointed
pretentious social media experts
typing statuses
that leave minds crippling
tweets saying rape isn’t heinous
isn’t considered a crime
how a woman should be thankful
that a man would fuck them
we are no longer in progress
we are walking backward
arguing ethics that are crystal clear
how are we still reading bullshit?
how are we still tolerating trolls
who live in the comments section
waiting for the next sentence
attacking the next user with a point
how can we
read such crap on our walls
vandalizing our scrolling
by then we’d have zero following
if we unfriended every stupid asshole
who says rape is sex
rape is not sex, sex is consent
no one should think rape is fine
rape is a crime
if only ignorance and stupidity is a crime
then we can put every troll in court
throw them behind bars
make this world a better place
rather than click “block”
so your timeline won’t be tarnished with their face

Self-Induced Bliss and Obsolete Men

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Sex sells and Chuck Palahniuk’s world in “Beautiful You” you can sell it inside a pink bag and men would soon be obsolete.The novel even opens with the lines “A billion husbands are about to be replaced.” Which would make you wonder why and how would a billion men be replaced?

Our protagonist 25-year-old Penny Harrigan wants to live with some sort of purpose in life than being a law firm’s coffee and chair girl. She didn’t want to be third-wave or post anything like the feminists before her. All she wanted was a choice beyond domestic life and a corporate or medical big shot. It wasn’t until a chance encounter with mega-billionaire and international playboy C. Linus Maxwell helped her discover what she wanted in life. Power and satisfaction.

Though fair warning, you will not find an erotic love story. If you want a sexy romance novel then don’t pick up this book. Because you will find yourself reading a satire of modern culture and feminism. It’s a story where Cinderella meets a sadistic Prince Charming who has plans for world domination.

After Maxwell invites Penny to dinner, he soon takes her to Paris however it wasn’t for a lovely and luxurious vacation. This is where the plot gets interesting and runs away from a 50 Shades of Grey cliche. Penny was actually chosen by Maxwell to be a test subject for his line of female sex toys. Yes you’ve read that right, Maxwell was creating a line of sex toys that would bring billions of woman to undreamed-of heights of sexual gratification for days end. Despite the good intentions of his products, Penny soon realized that her world would no longer be the same. She finds out that chaos can come out of being blissfully satisfied.

Maxwell’s series of sex products designed for women are so effective that one satisfied character exclaims, “Men are obsolete!…Anything a man can do to me, I can do better!” Women soon disappear from the public sphere to pleasure themselves in private, leaving a world of furious, obsolete penises.

Palahnuik paints a picture of man’s obsession with anything that gives pleasure for a few seconds and take advantage of it until we are sick of it. His point is that we are all slaves to modern culture and the pursuit of happiness that any commercial tells us we could buy. In a way our desires can wreck our lives if there’s nothing else that can satisfy us. Like an alcoholic or a drug addict, there are other vices out there that can pull us away from our sanity for the sake of pleasure. In a way Maxwell’s plan of world domination through self-induced bliss isn’t as ridiculous as it is eye opening.

Palahniuk’s Beautiful You will give you a glimpse of what an erotically enabled world would look like. He will take you to a wild, angry and jaw dropping imagination your head cannot fathom on its own.