Stressed, Depressed, and Horny as Fuck

[CN: discussing of depression and abuse. Homophobic slurs.]

I barely get out of bed during the week right now.

Each day I wake up, feed the pets, then collapse back into bed and sleep until it’s mid-afternoon.

I usually think about going to grab a coffee, or going for a walk, or having a bath, or even just standing up for more than two minutes. But it’s too much right now. So I don’t.

Instead I lay there thinking about how tight money is. Thinking about how close we’ve come to not affording our food, our rent, our medication for the past few months. Thinking about how I’ve now officially been unemployed for 473 days.

Four-hundred… and seventy-three fucking days….

And then the gates are open. More shitty thoughts pour out.

Thoughts about it now being two years since hearing from my shitty father, who emotionally and financially controlled and abused my mom and I… yet I still somehow feel the effects of that weighing on me.

Thoughts about my family insulting, mocking, and scandalizing me after I came out. They’re so far away now, yet the sting of their words still creeps back.

Thoughts about my sister stopping talking to me, not inviting me to her wedding because I made her uncomfortable as a queer, and believing me to be both an embarrassment and creep; which I shouldn’t let upset me still… yet it does.

They all said they’d love me no matter what. They all said “family first”! No matter how bad things got, I always had a home and a family for me to come back to. But it was all bullshit. It was all conditional.

My dad promised. He fucking promised. Right to my fucking face. My fucking lonely, confused, scared teenage face, just peering out into the bigger world and realizing that I liked boys too. That I was that fag at school kids talked about. I was that homo. But no matter what anyone else said, my dad promised he’d never hurt me like they did. He’d always love and support me. No matter what.

Fucking liar.

And it’s only Monday.

So, I turn up the TV. I hop on Twitter. My feed is filled with hot queer porn clips, half-naked cuties, exciting erotica, and so much adorable lewdness that my anger becomes arousal. My hand slips down my pants. My girl cock grows hard so fucking quickly. I get lost in fantasies of my partners, my friends, and complete strangers. It’s nice in there. I get off over and over again. Hours pass. But now I’m sore. I feel content. My lusts fulfilled.

Falon comes home. We cuddle, we kiss, we talk, sometimes we fuck. Sometimes we go over to Kate’s for group snuggles and/or chill threesomes. It’s just what I need.

But it’s fleeting.

Because then it’s Tuesday and it’s the same as Monday.

It was like this last week too. When I’m alone, I’m sad. When I’m sad, I get horny. And when I’m horny, I’m not so sad anymore! But after the orgasm, after I’ve wiped down my girl cock and cleaned the wet from my chest, it all comes back to me feeling alone again. Alone, sad, and horny.

I know it won’t be like that forever, but it is right now and it fucking sucks. At least I’ve actually written something again. I’m not really proud of it, but it’s my truth today and I appreciate you reading.