Second Post

So it's been a while since I started this blog now, there hasn't really been much of a reaction but then I guess that's the power of the internet. Well, I say there hasn't been much of reaction, I mean I haven't really heard from anyone who's read this on the net. But for me, that post made me feel a lot better about myself. I mean it's like I told the world, and it looked, and it didn't really care. 

So I guess that begs the question: Why haven't I done another post? Well, dear reader, my invisible therapist, I've been busy... Honestly that the only answer I can give. Maintaining a blog, is apparently, a lot of work. I guess I’m meant to tell you about whats been going on in my life, or am I meant to tell you about what went on years ago. Well maybe thats for me to decide. 

I think thats the impulsion coming through again. I’ve tried to start this post four times today, but I didn’t feel ready three times, so I changed where I was writing. I left my first house, which I won’t give a specific area for but its in the suburbs of London. There I have a dog, a fiancé who I’ll never marry, I may be starting to love the dog more. So I went from there to my flat, which is a posher area of town. There lives my boyfriend. Who I’ve been seeing for about a year now and we’ve just moved in together. So we’re still at that happy, we’ve just moved in, lets have a lot of sex, stage. So from there I went to a coffee shop. But that was round the corner from my girlfriends place so I moved on due to paranoia. Finally I came here, which is the only place which is just mine. My next stop would have probably been hyde park, or somewhere similar to that. Or I might have even just got on a plane abroad. I have some long distance relationships going so I could have gone to foreign city, and spent some time there. 

But this place is my own, I’ve never brought another human here before, well I don’t think I have anywhere. It’s the place where I can really see my life. It’s a tiny little flat, where the bedroom, kitchen, and living room are all merged. Then there’s just a tiny bathroom and some amazing view of London. And it’s all me. There are hundreds of photos across the walls and on every surface of everyone I’ve ever loved. One night stands included, selfies are easy to get when you’re drunk. I have pictures of my family, but I like to keep them separate, for obvious reasons. Besides I don't really talk to my family that much anymore. But I digress.
I guess this should have really been my first port of call when I was having trouble writing this, because this is the place that’s really me, and that’s what I’m actually trying to do here isn't it? It really makes me see how bad and brilliant my life is by looking at this room. I mean I feel guilt when I see all those happy faces looking at me, and then realising that I’ve hurt most of them in, at worst life altering ways. But then I feel elation in just looking at old faces. I look at the picture I have of the first girl I ever fucked and I feel longing to look her up and fall head over heels in love with her again. Then beg her to run away with me, probably making her leave a husband or long term partner, maybe even kids. And if this happened, I would probably end up hocking up with someone from the city we’ve run away to. Say it’s Paris I could end up finding an ex, or just end up going home with someone I don’t know. 

Okay that may have just been me talking myself out of calling up the first girl I ever slept with. It wouldn’t be the first time. Now the first guy I ever slept with, thats a different story, I’ve fallen for that temptation over and over again since I was sixteen. I don’t have a lot of control over my impulses, thats a given, but some people just know how to push these things, in ways I can’t even control. Ethan, was the first guy I ever slept with. Well I don’t like the term slept with. He was the first guy I ever fucked and got fucked by. Anyway, he can literally call me, at any point, and make me want to fuck him. Now if most people do this, then I can reject them pretty easily, sometimes they get lucky and I do want to do what they’re asking of me. But most of the time I don’t let myself get controlled, but this man, who is gorgeous in so many ways, can just do whatever he likes with me at any point. I love him, but I hate him for what he can do to me. 

Now I really want to call him. This is what I mean by manipulation, I haven’t even seen or spoken to him and he’s still making me feel like this.