Aaaand.. scene!
That’s how I feel as I smile at her face and send her on her way. Like I just finished playing the lead role in a three-act play titled “Come Over, I’m Bored and Horny”
First I act like I’m genuinely happy to see her, then I act like I’m interested in the minutiae of her day, then I act like the sight of her body turns me on, and that I’m not just suffering from a chemically induced drunk and high boner, then I act like her kisses aren’t giving me acne, then I act like the music isn’t distracting, then I act like it’s not getting hot in here, then I act like this isn’t loud enough to hear from outside and through the walls, then I act like this isn’t definitely bad for me and will not develop into any kind of meaningful or healthy relationship, then I act like I’m not about to cum.
And then I’m no longer acting. I stand and give her a bow, because I’m funny and self aware. I retreat to the shower. Alone with my thoughts. No longer sweating. She is on her phone, texting someone. Probably notifying them that she’s not dead — she just got some “really good dick.”
I turn to the mirror and examine myself. I look sexy. But I know that nothing has objectively changed since the last time I did this, it’s just the circumstances tricking my brain into perceiving myself as attractive, thanks to recent female validation. Emotion is a lens I cannot remove.
There must be more to life, I think, than having new sex. There must be another reason people claw their way to wealth, maintain themselves, strive towards greatness. Something other than this.
I know this is cliche, but I feel like I am acting, on stage, all the time. The best times are the ones in which I act the least, where I slip into that "flow state," the elusive nirvana of being joyfully, mindlessly engaged in something real.
I have to dig so deep to get to the truth. There are so many walls, layers, and other metaphorical means of protection between me and anything real, it takes hours of excavation to simply express one true thought.
And even then, I don’t share it with anyone, because then someone might actually read it, know me. And that’s terrifying.
You can know somebody too well. You think therapists ever want to be “friends” with their patients? After hearing all that whining, self-indulgent bullshit? You wanna go grab a drink after this and do the same thing, but in public? No thank you. That’s why I don’t share this with people I know. Because nobody wants to hang with their patient.