as it goes, i was 13 begging pleading hoping to get to 30.

i wanted responsibilities. i wanted to be listened to. i wanted to live on my own and make my decisions for myself. i wanted a closet full of clothes meticulously calculated for an alluring confidence. i wanted to be wherever i wanted, whenever i wanted with whoever i wanted. drinking, smoking and sleeping in until noon felt like the dream routine. and i wanted to do it all with someone who loved me. someone to hold my hand. to kiss me hello and kiss me harder goodbye.

i don’t want any of that shit anymore. fuck it. take it back. i am begging pleading hoping for someone to take me back.

my responsibilities don’t feel like my own. like i’m constantly in debt to others energy. i’m not listened to. from one drunk man to the next, the instability of the shoulders i’ve cried on is embarrassing. i live on my own yes, but the rooms i swore were decorated wholeheartedly inevitably feel cold and empty. and making a fucking decision. i don’t even know what to say on that. where to go? what to do? who to call? when to cry? i don’t want to wear clothes anymore for fear that the pride in front of my mirror will crash and burn once the outside light shines down on my fragile conviction. i don’t want to go anywhere. i don’t know when to leave. and i don’t know who i should surround myself with. drinking, smoking and drugs are fun, temporarily. leaving me feeling exponentially worse than whatever it was i was trying to forget. and waking up late in the day feels like a waste - almost as much as waking up early just to have more time to question my existence. finally, the love from others start to sting with uncertainty.

i want to be 13 again. maybe even younger. i’d prefer a different life than the one i had but i don’t think you can be choosey when it comes to time travel. i want back that sense of naivety of the world that makes anything feel possible. where a photo of a far away city felt like an inspiration rather than a never ending hill to climb. i want to dream again. i beg, i plead, i hope. i need to dream again.

and if it’s not you, then i hope this catches the attention of those who are curious.

my thoughts on porn are complicated - as i’m sure is the case for a lot of people.

i by no means want to put anyone down for what they choose to do with their day. i’ve been in bed for four days straight, opening the blinds just slightly when i catch myself wincing at the light of the tv.

the feelings are complicated. as i mentioned before. because i want so badly to not feel it’s impact on my being. i have minimal contact with the industry - besides early pubescent curiosity, i haven’t found myself feeling a connection to the genre (or any of the genres for that matter).

my main snag is what its developed into. it’s now much more than production companies placing a mattress in an awkwardly lit room. as a business forward thinker i can appreciate the possibilities it now offers to the average joe. but fuck. it has really sunk its teeth into all sorts of places.

social media is a problem within itself. when you add the ease of finding bouncing women with suggestively submissive eye contact, paired with an enticing caption - it can feel impossible to find one’s own sexual confidence.

i don’t think sex (and neighboring activities) is the only thing that affects one’s sexual confidence but as i move into my twenties i begin to see its importance in the weirdest of places.

femininity. how should i feel like the feminine creature i aspire to be when femininity is being so closely associated with validation from the online gaze? and beyond that, i don’t look like them. i can admit that without hesitation but it still leaks into the reflection i see in the mirror. clothes don’t fit me like i'm being shown they should and even a simple selfie feels like it’s missing something.

porn might be a strong word for some of the content i’m referring to but i think it's fair to say it’s slowly leaving its mark outside the usual sites. the algorithm seemingly picking up videos with a suggestive cover photo more frequently than those with a plain latte shot. people are risking what they believe in, or how they hope to be perceived, to cash in on the hype.

again, i mean no disrespect to incumbents of this industry. i mean the barriers to entry are low, there is probably a sense of confidence that comes from making your own money and there could fun stories to tell. i just worry about those that think it’s what they want but are instead being conditioned away from dreams they once had as a little girl.

i’ve heard the argument that it’s a fault of society to let it get to this extreme. and that those that do sit on the other end, credit cards in hand, aren’t the ones to blame. and neither are those who produce. but i worry for our ability to separate this kind of interaction from a transaction.

to think of sex, or anything relating to sex, as transactional is dangerous for both parties. one side can easily give into feelings of lust in a way that requires little to no vulnerability. the other is now searching for approval from strangers. there’s a sense of loss in the humanity in these sexually-driven interactions.

vulnerability is crucial to development. the awkwardness of it all helps us grow. it helps us find ourselves. it helps us find others. and right now, with the current state of pornography and other media that can be considered as such, the balance is off. to be blunt, its putting women (saying this with the understanding that there are all kinds of performers but women are the vast majority) into a position of extreme vulnerability and allowing men (previous point carries over) to bypass this exposure. they might feel shame but when it can easily be kept a secret, it can just as easily be subdued.

we wonder why we don’t get letters in the mail anymore or flowers without it being a special occasion (not that people don’t but it’s definitely rare). i hesitate to make a direct correlation between romance and the growing porn industry but we’ve normalized expectations for something that is so closely related to love and it’s dangerous for our identities. we seem to be losing sight of what we want and expect from others, and how we ourselves behave towards desire.

furthermore, porn was once in magazines you had to hide from your siblings beneath your bed. it is now one incognito tab away, or even a scroll past your girlfriends newest post. it’s not about needing to feel ashamed, it’s about how easy it’s become to replace genuine connection, experience and feelings with a quick fix to avoid all of the above.

as i think about it all, have various difficult conversations, and of course absorb what’s being said about it on the internet, i do think that lust is at the center of it all. porn has been around much longer than i can cite, but i think legit introduction was in the 19th century and ‘legalization’ was in the 70’s-80’s. based on my light skimming of a few sites it seems it was initially normalized as a sort of nonconformist art style. i mean lots of us have sex so why shouldn’t it be talked about? but. but. but. the speed at which its developed and its foundation being very much misogyny filled, it’s hard to feel comfortable with where porn stands now.

to get back to the point - lust is defined as a “very strong sexual desire” or as a verb “to have a very strong sexual desire for someone”. lust is a powerful feeling that can guide ones night, week or life one way or another. not always for the positive. it can be said that it’s responsible for the most beautiful love stories and the most brutal crimes (that’s not to take away responsibility for one’s actions).

in relation to pornography, those who cannot control their lust might lose sight of what’s important to them. human connection substituted for a like on your *creepy* comment or a paycheck from all those that watched your body in its entirety. some might not see this as an issue. and that’s fine. but i’d like to speak for those that do, and say that it’s okay to seek more from those around you. to imagine and realize lust as another factor in your very own, very intimate love story. i mourn for those that have lost what it is that fulfills them and are instead sitting idly by while their own experiences get rewritten by society’s expectations.

side note: the photos that populate when you search lust are wildly accurate to the point i am trying to make. why is that what lust looks like? explore it for yourself, i don’t want to associate myself with those, no offense to the artists that made them.

i think that there can still be a sense of artistry to making sexually explicit content. if it’s for self-expression or a challenge to society, there is still hope for it being a respected medium. i still believe it’s hard for the greater population to face these topics. sex. love. orgasms. connection. whatever. and maybe that’s apart of the problem? there is so much to see but so little conversation going on about it? people are slinking being their screens to enjoy it but draw the line at actually facing what it is they are consuming.

i guess all i hope to do is pose a question. what do you hope to gain from your feelings of being a sexually active human being? if right now your goal is to self-satisfy long enough to get through the day. fuck it, do as you wish. i just hope you are doing so mindfully. giving a second thought to what it is you are seeking and if your current habits speak to it.

to all those that do enjoy this kind of content, is there a line you wouldn’t cross in your watching? does it impact your relationships? are you aware of how it drives your existence outside of your bedroom? do you think i am being too harsh?

and to make it personal, i don’t fuck with feeling less about myself because others have chosen to give into lust. i’m willing to take time to reflect on it (obviously) but maybe it comes down to a difference in opinion in what lust, passion and love is all about. i personally find it much less satisfying to watch a false connection on a screen that implements - subconscious or not - beliefs on how women should be treated. let alone watching a person speak to their vast following and pretending it’s meant just for me. i hope my mom never finds this but i’d like to be fucked because there is mutual feeling, not because the people you’ve finished to however many times before are too unattainable.

who knows maybe if all else fails i’ll be a porn star - or insta-baddie whatever the fuck that means. living in the wealth i’ve dreamed of with a partner that supports my endeavors. feeling beautiful in my to-be-taken-off garb and loving the community of like-minded individuals. at this point i’m not sure which path is less realistic.

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The daydreaming. The love for trees in fall and layered blankets in winter. The winds of spring and big sky of summer. The eyes of someone that holds your gaze. The hands of someone who doesn’t let go. The chairs layering at the table and the books that give you butterflies. The secrets in your diary. The music on the walk home. The rugs in your room. The familiarity of the mirror. The delicate fall into sleep. The steps just where you left them. The proud radiation. The formidable love. The tangible peace.

The reality. The leaves descend and the bed goes cold. The air grows still and yet the clouds cover the sun. The colors of the iris leave. The hold nowhere in sight. The distance grows too far and the pages no longer turn. The confidence that was yours leaving another’s mouth. The growing obsession with quiet. The cold floor on your feet. The unrecognizable reflection. The restless lay awake. The abrupt clarity of dissonance. The disturbed self-realization. The existential regret. And finally, the missing breath out.

Weltschmerz: prevailing melancholy and pessimism.