I spent over a thousand bucks...
On Onlyfans.
This weekend.
What the fuck?!
The surprise, of course, is entirely artificial. I'm not surprised in the slightest at my reckless behavior. I am, for all intents and purposes, an addict. It's not like I don't know this either. From the chain smoking, to drinking just to sleep, to the retail therapy: I'm familiar with a number of coping mechanisms employed when I find myself staring down into one of those delightful chasms we all seem to carry within ourselves.
I know mine has been, in large part, burrowed by loneliness. I am utterly, desperately lonely. I should go to therapy for it, and yet I still haven't. Bad experiences, fear, finances, all play their part. I also seem to be thoroughly convinced that the solution lies outside of myself, that there is some manner of filler to be found in substances, in work, in other people, in distant dreams. I assume it's my fragile self-esteem that has me believing that I'm not capable of helping myself, but I sure as shit seem to believe it.
But yeah, over a grand on Onlyfans.
Funny enough, it isn't even sexual, not really. Sure, the site itself is sexual and what I'm paying for would technically be sexual videos, but what I'm really looking for is the companionship. I can pay a pretty woman to talk to me, to pretend I'm all those things I seem to fail to believe I am. It's nice to have someone tell me I'm desirable and that I'm interesting. It's nice to be able to flirt and to be open about my own desires and not have someone act repulsed and to be accepting. More than anything, I think, it's nice to know it's all a lie.
Pathetic I know, but there's something genuinely relieving about knowing, with absolute certainty, that not only am I the problem, but to also know what the problem is. Expected more than money could provide. That's it, that's the problem. And it's great. I can only be mad at myself and there's no uncertainty. I'm not left questioning. My anxiety, try as it might, has nothing to hold on to--at least not regarding this problem.
Outside of this controlled situation, my anxiety goes berserk.
If there is one small advantage or benefit to this, it's that I am reminded of how fun it is writing filthy messages. I still don't really know if I'm good at it (hard to trust the words of people I'm paying) but I do find a lot of joy in it. Some of that joy is obviously the immediate feedback, but some of it really is just the joy of writing something filthy. I keep dancing around the idea, but I really should write and collect a selection of erotica--not just what's in SDNT, but something that is entirely composed of erotic scenerios. We shall see. Another thing added to the plate, but we only live once right? May as well try to wring as much from my brain as I can before it's over.
Dicks for listening!