Just wanna curl up into a little ball and die.
Tried going out to a social thing, happy hour, poly folks. Rearranged my entire week’s schedule, including my therapist appointment. Figured since I’m always complaining about how lonely I am, how much I need sex, need connection, need touch, I should maybe do something to give that a chance to happen.
It was loud. Painfully loud. Overwhelmingly loud. Bass kicking my brains in, gut-punching me loud. I spent 30 minutes or more doing nothing but moving around finding cute girls to try to talk to, striking up conversation, trying, trying, trying, like I always try. Figured maybe here there would be half a chance at getting a positive response instead of “oh, that’s sweet” (and the implied “but I’m straight” with it.)
What a joke. What a fool I am. Several dudes tried to chat me up — the big “I’M GAY!” rainbow pin right above my face doesn’t matter. A couple of the ladies I tried to strike something up with spent time right by me, enthralled by whatever some guy was talking about. Nothing interesting to me.
I had to leave before I just started screaming. It hurts to be simply existing in a space and having concussive sound waves battering my entire body. Even if I didn’t feel invisible and worthless and unwanted it would be too painful.
More than half an hour to wait for the next bus. I’ll go back to the Albatross; at least there I know I can find a corner to sit alone and hurt in solitude since I have to kill a couple more hours before I can get back to my bed and sleep (aka leave consciousness behind, which is all I really want to do.)