English, Filsafat, Racauan

Fuckperson

You looked at yourself and you’re thinking how ugly you are and how lonely you are and how no one wants to be with you.

And you start to check people on your phone book or checking their social media accounts to see how their lives are better than yours. You don’t want to use dating apps because the last two persons you meet there are too goddamn condescending or simply broken. While browsing in instagram you see your ex crush–not even your ex, and you remember that this person fucked everyone but you and you started to gain all your courage to ask this fuckperson to fuck you just because you’re so lonely and ugly and you think a fuck will help you up, and you don’t care if you got rejected and you won’t be their friends any more because you feel alone anyway, better take your chances.

Life was unexpected because the fuckperson wanted to fuck you maybe because they’re as ugly as you are now, but no way you’re getting pretty. And in no time you were naked in a hotel room with this fuckperson and heck that body still hot as hell and that face is so yummy but you just can’t get arouse you don’t know why maybe you just need a cuddle, or you just need love and now it’s just too much.

A fuck would be enough but how come you want more than a fuck from a fuckperson, you should’ve called the love person… O yeah…

They are non existent.

At least not for you.

Now the fuckperson left you alone in the hotel, and you’re there staring at the ceiling thinking how the hell can you be happy without anybody. Once a shrink told you that you should love yourself first before you love others but what to love from this wrecked body? This ugly face? This low self esteem? You remember working out and dieting out like hell and still the weight just goes up and up. And you went to a gastronomy doctor, paid almost half your salary just to eat crappy healthy food and work out and your mood got really bad because you’re hungry. You got stomachache then you just fuck it up by eating too many ramens.

So there you are staring at the ceiling thinking how the hell did you not fuck the fuckperson? And then you went to the bathroom just to puke because you feel sick of yourself. Then you looked at the mirror and realize why you did not fuck the very attractive fuck person.

It’s because for the last ten years or so, you’ve been fucking yourself so hard. It’s like you got married to yourself and you are sick of being with you because you got nowhere, it’s boring, and the love is gone and consumed like some sour ice cream fell to the asphalt and melt like your face right now. You remember being pretty, you remember your lovers and all the bitches and the bastards who fucked you hard, and you fight harder, but now there’s only fear and you flight. When did you lost it? When did you lost the love for yourself? Was it during the time you fucked yourself so hard with work and broken hearts and junk food? When was it the last time you embrace whatever left in you?

This food is poison.

Aw, shut up, self, you said. Life is no longer interesting, you think you know it all, you’ve got your dreams and lost it and reality sucks. Now you got no dreams left because you’re just too old for those shits. You want to be loved by yourself and by others, but do you really need it? Love?

You get back to bed naked and cold, you took the duvet to cover your body, take a deep breath five times just like a therapy used to teach you. And in your mind you are in a vast radiant sky, with stars and milky Way. And your fat ugly ass just floating there, like a very disgusting rotten corpse. And it’s okay because in the empty space, no stars will judge you and aliens are uglier than thou. If they’re pretty then they’re no longer aliens because it’s familiar. You’re thinking that aliens might’ve been a specks of sperm or something. So small and lived in space because oxygen kill them. Aliens are not necessary humanlike with limbs and hands and feet. They could be like a space stone that are alive inside.

And they’re absolutely better than you because they are alive and you are dying inside.

There’s so many ways to get self loathing and self blaming. Sometimes you were thinking of dying but you just too lazy and scared to commit suicide. It’s just too many effort.

You can’t even cut a dead chicken head, how come you cut your vein? You don’t like herbal drink, so you’ll just puke the poison. You were thinking to hang yourself but you’re just too fucking heavy, anywhere you tie the rope it’s gonna fall before you lose your breath. You were thinking of carbon monoxide poisoning, but you hate walking in the street and inhaling pollution. So what makes you think putting a tube from the car exhaust to your lungs will work ?

Sleeping pills are fucking expensive and you just quit medication because you prefer to spend your money to fuck strangers in a cheap hotels than buying meds for whatever diagnose your doctor prescribed you. Depression, anxiety, bipolar, borderline all those new stuff that your parents never heard of but you know they got it because your family is a dysfunctional one.

Might as well kill yourself with them.

***

You don’t remember what time you slept. Might as well be a few hours after sunrise because your window was shut and you don’ see any light from outside. But hell, the phone rang and the lazy receptionist asked whether you will checked out today or not. You said yes. So you wake up, its already 11am, and you took a bath (again, just out of automation), and got dressed then you order a cab to go home.

Its raining outside, and the feelings subside. In the cab, you had a bad feeling; the usual bad feeling that at home your spouse, children and parent are waiting for you ungratefully. You are stuck with them, and there are no lonelier place on earth, than to share a home with all the wrong people. You wished you could stay alone in that hotel room forever, looking at the ceiling counting make believe stars in a make believe universe. With a make believe loveperson in a make believe safe space. You wish.

Photo by Ave Calvar Martinez on Pexels.com

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