You don’t care and I think that’s the thing that might hurt the most.

You don’t care that I miss you.

You don’t care to come back.

You don’t care if I wait for you.

You don’t care about me.

You don’t care how I’m doing.

You don’t care how I feel.

You don’t care that you hurt me.

You took what you wanted and left, and I’m not significant anymore.

And that’s it, I guess.

I’ve been hoping you’d come back.

Last time you were gone for three months. This time you’ve been gone for seven months.

I doubt you’ll say anything. I doubt you’ll date me. I doubt you’d ever treat me the way I dream about being treated.

Maybe it just hurts so much because I liked you for so long and I thought you could like me too, or that you did and were trying to be with me. I thought I would have my first boyfriend. I thought, for once in my life, I could eventually feel loved. And, for once in my life, I felt happy and truly excited.

As bad as this might sound, and as bad as it actually is, the way you treated me and our situation was the best treatment I’ve ever received from a man and the best situation I’ve ever had with a man; the closest I’ve ever been to a relationship.

I thought we’d be a good match. I thought I found something worth fighting for.

The idea of "love" has always been sort of like a dog treat on a rope making a dog chase after it, even if it won't be able to get it. It felt good knowing that I could feel safe and at ease now that I was going to have an actual and healthy and happy relationship, which wasn't the case.

I really wanted you to be the end of it all.

And now maybe you're making your final distancing gesture to show me you’re gone and that you don’t care. And the ache I feel is eating into my sides and my heart.

I think about the way you kissed me and it felt so passionate, and the way you held me and made me feel so happy and calm, and the things you said to me and the way you made promises (which I now know were false) about the time we'd spend together and how that made me feel so hopeful. And now I have to look back on it knowing you didn't even mean any of that shit. You knew I liked you. You knew I felt something kissing you and laying with you. You knew what you were doing. You knew I'd perceive it romantically and you knew I wanted to be with you.

How could you do this to me?

I would never even think about hurting you. I would have never walked away from you. I actually cared about you. I would’ve given you everything.

I can’t ever walk away from a person. I can’t ever walk away from memories and emotions. Sometimes I wish I could or I wish I wasn’t so goT damn sensitive and I didn’t feel so much.

Sometimes I wish I could do what you can do.

But I can’t.

I wouldn’t have walked away from you when I thought things were going to go good and I can’t let go of you now, because I still care about you. Even though you’re a fucking asshole.

And you probably know I’d let you back in again. I’ve already given you two separate chances.

I want to wake up and have everything be different.

I want to hear from you.

I want you to swallow your pride and to not let that ego of yours bite you in the ass and have you miss out on having a woman there that actually gives a fuck about you.

I want you to say you’ll change and that you want to be with me.

And what’s the use of that want, really?

It feels over and like it shouldn’t be; it just started, anyways.

The last hope I had was that you’d say something to me and come back. And now I don’t think I have that chance or that hope anymore. And that hurts me so much.

Hope is what I live on. I live in a world where I’m alone all day and I dream of escaping my reality or perhaps my life and that hope of a change, of someone being there, of a different and free life, of happiness; that hope keeps me alive and moving.

That’s why I hold on to hope, or people, so much. I have nothing if I don’t have hope.

And there’s nothing I really want.

I just want to feel loved and I want to escape and I want to make my art and be happy.

I really doubt I can do those things. All the hopes I had have burned out.

I feel like there’s nothing pushing me anymore.

I feel horrible.

And this isn’t just about you; don’t think you have that much power over my heart.

I don’t care if you don’t read this. I’d prefer you not to.

But I also don’t care if you do read this.

I don’t care, because why should I care if you don’t care? I at least deserve to feel and express what I’m feeling.

It doesn’t even matter anyway.

-Cassandra Alexa

I have a wild imagination, I guess. Because I have these wild fantasies in my head.

Maybe to other people, they aren't such rare fantasies or maybe they wouldn't even think of them so much to even call them fantasies; maybe they're not enough to need to fantasize about.

I fantasize about having my own place to live. Whether that be my own apartment, preferably (and financially unrealistically) somewhere in the city, as I adore the city life and the city itself; whether this place is Sundance Square, New York, San Francisco, or Chicago, any of those would be perfect. Or perhaps I have my own house. A nice house. A house in a rich neighborhood so I can say "Fuck you, I made it." to everyone who never expected me to be able to leave the hood (or to be living in their neighborhood). I want a beautiful house, with space, in a nice area. I want a safe car.

If I actually did get famous for my art, or at least very successful, I would have a mansion here and other smaller places where I need to be working, or in the cities I love.

Honestly, my fantasy begins to sound unrealistic by just thinking "I want a place to live on my own and I want a car I can drive."

I want someone to like me romantically. I want someone to ask me out on a date. I want someone to ask me to be their girlfriend. I want someone to have a relationship with me. I want them to give me a serious relationship. I want them to propose to me. I want them to marry me. I want to have kids with them. I want to be able to balance my work, my love life, and motherhood. I want stability. I want, for the first time in my life, to feel loved.

This is one of the most unrealistic things on my list.

I've never even had someone like me, let alone ask me on a date or ask me to be their girlfriend.

I can't even date even if I want to though. I can't.

In my situation, I can't get out; there's no way to.

And that absolutely crushes me.

There's nothing I want more in life than love.

And I will never have it.

It's just something I dream about because I know that's the only time I can try to create the feeling for myself.

But after all the dreaming, I have that sinking, empty, hurtful feeling, knowing that no one has and probably won't ever like me like that and that they haven't ever and probably won't ever want to be in a relationship with me and that, at the end of the day, it's not about what I want, because I can't escape the situation I find myself in. I can't. So that means I can't ever be in a relationship.

And that means I can't ever be a mother either.

Some part of me has always wanted to be a mother.

But I can't even take care of myself; how am I supposed to be okay enough to take care of them? And I'm afraid I'll mess up and ruin their lives. I'm also afraid I won't have time for them or my spouse with my career. I don't want that for them. But I wouldn't know how to manage everything.

I want to be successful in my art. I want to be employed and be able to make a living off of my art and get a meaningful amount of recognition and appreciation for my art. I want to do everything I want to do careerwise. I want to change the world and the world of art with my films and my music and acting and different forms of writing and any other career paths I chose to dive into, whether it be other film positions or something having to do with makeup and fashion (perhaps my own brand). I want to be able to live my life in the clothes I want and the makeup I want and to always have opportunities to costume design. I want to be able to paint and write for fun. I want to participate in all my arts for fun for the rest of my life. I want to spend the majority of my life just making art, as it's the only thing that's ever capable of truly and stably keeping me happy.

But what are the odds I can make a living off of my art? What are the odds I'll always be able to afford my fashion and makeup and art supplies? I feel sometimes that I'm not even talented in my arts. I also don't think I could handle life as a celebrity and the toxicity all around.

I want to have true and many friends. I want to be close to my family. I want to be close to my parents and have a good relationship with them.

I want to be close to God. I want to be a good person.

-Cassandra Alexa

I remember baby-me standing in the kitchen, bawling my eyes out because you had said mean things to me and yelled at me and were giving me the silent treatment/ ignoring me, and I just knew you were mad and that was my punishment and I begged for forgiveness because I didn't want to have you mad at me.

That's how it's always been.

I live my life in constant extensive fear that you will be mad at me. Every decision I make, every waking moment of my life.

I think about when I couldn’t get out of bed and you called me a pig and when I needed help and felt sick, so you called me a slut. And now I know that I can’t get help. I can only be perfect.

As much as I hate them, sometimes I just wish I felt comforted and loved.

Everything is about them. Everything.

Every decision I make, they’re right there at the top of my head.

I have no life of my own.

My life is a series of anxieties.

I cannot imagine escaping them. I cannot imagine a life where I’m happy and I have things that make me happy.

There’s no concrete escape plan.

It drives me so crazy I want to die.

I just need help and I can't talk to you.

I try to tune you out and be silent, but at the end of the day, I think about everything and I shrivel into pieces with the knowledge that you're mad at me for one reason or another.

I can't do anything right.

I can't do anything at all.

And now, because of you, and because of a man I once had a situation with, I'm extremely afraid of anyone who gets mad at me.

I've shut down and let my life slip away. I can't do school or work. I can't cook something. I can't clean up my room or bathroom. I can't drive. I can't get out of bed. I can't sleep. I can't stay awake. I can't send an email. I can't make a phone call. I can't talk. I sit in the dark and I can't move. I can't think. It's just a boring nothingness. My hopes and dreams are slipping through my fingers. There's too much to do alone and not enough time. And everyone else can do what I can't. Everyone else is not me. I'm not talented. I probably won't get employed or be able to get a place to live. I'm stupid. I can't have anyone there. I can't work out. I eat and eat and eat and eat and I can't stop myself because I feel so bad. I can't look at myself in the mirror, because I don't feel beautiful. And I just accept and know that, even if it makes me sad. I can't finish my art. I can't make conversation with people I have to meet. The cuts on my fingers and on the back of my hands are growing more and more and eating my hands away, and blood and cracking skin follow them and the sting pains me all day. I can't do anything. Am I losing my mind? They think I'm crazy or weird or I don't know how to interact with people or I get obsessed with certain topics. Obviously, everyone thinks something is wrong with me.

Maybe there is. Maybe that's why no one talks to me. But I don't know what I did wrong to anyone.

I need help either way.

-Cassandra Alexa

I can’t handle school. I’m not smart enough. I can’t function. It stresses me out. I can’t see myself handling work or my career in general.

Everything builds up and destroys me. I can’t do anything. I’m just stuck there. And I hear papers screaming at me. And I feel everything falling apart. And I feel I’m to blame.

And I know they’ll be waiting. And I can’t run away.

-Cassandra Alexa

I destroy everything I touch.

Why do I even have wants? Why want something when I can’t ever have it? Why can’t I just have something to myself that makes me happy and that stays? Why can’t I feel loved? Why can’t I feel happy? Why can’t I be free?

Why get a fish when it will just die? Why tend to a flower when it will just die? Why make a friend when they’ll just die? Why care about someone when they’ll just die? Why have a baby when they’ll just die?

What is anything really worth?

I’m always trying to find happiness and love and a reason to live, and there’s nothing.

I can’t deal with it.

I’m too scared to die. I don’t want to be dead.

But I think about jumping in front of the train as it comes.

I think about opening my window and letting myself drop fourteen stories.

I think about cutting myself. I got a couple good scratches, but they faded away.

I think about taking a bunch of pills. No one would know until they find me. I can only take a few.

I think about jumping in front of cars.

I think about overdosing.

I don’t have anyone here with me, anyone I feel genuinely close to. No one has ever loved me in a romantic way. I won’t even talk about family. And I cry out to God, for what?

If you can’t escape, why stay?

I can’t get myself out of bed. I can’t make myself talk. I can’t do my homework. I can’t go to class. I can’t go to the grocery store. I can’t eat.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I’m just waiting for the other fish to die.

And it did.

One right after the other. One day after another.

Why is that always my misfortune?

I feel scared to see dead things.

I feel scared I won’t get help fast enough.

I feel nothing.

Why choose to live if I’m just going to die?

Why read this if I’m just going to die?

Why read this if you don’t actually give a fuck anyway?

What’s the point of what you’re doing today?

-Cassandra Alexa

No one sees all the things I’m thinking about when I lock myself in my room for months and I won’t speak and I just cry and gasp for breath and I think about very dark things; they don’t know all the experience that cuts into my skin.

I’m searching for something deadly. Something close to dying, but not quite death. Snowflakes, magic mushrooms, tea, and pills, anything to make me feel alive and happy, but to also make it seem like I wasn’t trying to take my own life if something goes wrong.

I want to feel the moment I’m living in; I want to leave it behind too.

I’m just out of options. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who to tell. I just can’t take it.

-Cassandra Alexa

I think about old friends a lot.

Some of them did me wrong. Some of them were just misunderstandings. Some of them just fell off. Some of them I’m not sure what happened. Some of them were my fault.

As I said earlier, I have trouble letting go of people, memories, and emotions.

I think I live in a fictional past state.

But these relationships were real ones. These connections to others.

I think about the ones that used to be my best friends and of those:

I think about talking to or sort of apologizing/ talking things through with some, but we’re very different people now and we know nothing about each other now and everything else burned out, but I love them dearly still; I wish nothing but the best for them and I cherish all our memories and as much as I miss them, I miss a past that doesn’t exist anymore; I don’t want to rehash old arguments or to have the same issues persisting, but I do miss them a lot and something feels very empty without them, especially with them always having been such a huge and constant part of my life.

For another best friend, I haven’t spoken to her in years, and I guess it was one of those cases where you just fall off, but she was my childhood best friend. I also spent a majority of my childhood with her. I sometimes think it would be nice to rekindle our friendship, but I know she’s not interested in that. I still have all our memories and I wish I had a time like that in the present.

Another best friend I lost to drama between other friends and to her not treating me right and other things like that. I did have some amazing memories with her and I wish sometimes I could talk to her, but I know that wouldn’t be a wise decision and I know I miss something I can’t really create again and that we’re different people.

I think about friends from earlier in high school and some of them I wish I was close to and others not necessarily, but either way I wish I could change myself then and I wish I could have fixed everything for everyone.

I think about friends that don’t really talk to me now but still claim to be my friend and I wonder if I did something wrong, or if I know how to socialize properly, or if they just don’t like me, or if I’m too boring, or what the issue is. I wish I felt close to them.

I think about all the friends that did me wrong and I wish it hadn’t happened like that.

I think about newer friends I have now and how I feel excluded or not empathized with, and how they know nothing about me and they're not close to me and they leave me behind.

And at this time in my life, I feel no genuine connection and closeness to anyone. And I look for a past or a future that doesn’t exist. And I worry about them destroying me and the path I'm going on and the things I love.

-Cassandra Alexa

These ignorant ass rich White kids at my school make me so fucking mad. When we talk about race or about Mexican people specifically, the things they say and do make me embody a screeching teapot. Every day butterflies angrily chop at the insides of my stomach and I feel an anxiety and a sadness and an anger so powerful that it disturbs my whole world. It’s the ignorance of their words. It’s the lack of care and appreciation for my people. It’s the entitlement of the White man. It’s the erasure and exclusion of me and my people. It’s a screaming to be recognized and heard and empathized with. It’s the money or the mark of hood that divides me out of a room or out of a screening. It’s the desire to leave and be one with my people and my neighborhood. It’s arguments. It's subtle racism making People of Color The Boy Who Cried Wolf here. It’s not being counted. It’s stereotypes. It’s a lack of representation. It’s a lack of acknowledgment of our history and what makes us who we are in our blood and the suffering we face. It’s being their token. It’s being the odd one out. It’s feeling too stupid and too hood and too poor and too ethnic to feel like I belong here as a scholar or as a filmmaker. I feel so belittled sometimes. I feel so angry.

And I know it’s not my fault and that I should believe I deserve to be here and I deserve to be here just as much as the next kid and all this, but I don’t truly feel that sometimes.

I come back to my apartment and I just cry or I can’t figure out how to get my anger out.

-Cassandra Alexa

I’ve never had money. And now I feel extra responsible and I know I shouldn’t feel like that, but expenses create an ever-growing anxiety that makes me fear them more and more with every item I need. And I need these things and I don’t want to be a burden. So I have nothing.

-Cassandra Alexa

I really want to get this video done. I really want to get this album done. I really want to make a film that's good enough to get that internship.

"Can I really do it?"

A question that haunts me and stops me dead in my tracks.

-Cassandra Alexa

I hope there's an alternate universe where you love me and where you're the one. A place where I'm happy and I don't have to worry and where everything falls into place.

A place where I'm your wife. And I exist away from people who trap me.

I escape to that place sometimes.

I'll be so fucking high, on whatever it is I choose to do, that time as we know it stops or changes. I can walk in the same place for hours, days, years. I never move. This big land area, yet nothing gets bigger or smaller as you get closer or farther away. And nothing gets closer. You haven't even taken a step. Minutes and hours jump every time you turn your head to the clock, yet you sit down to wait for a train and it feels like eternity.

In those times, I feel happiest.

In those times, it's the only time I ever feel happy. The only time I can breathe.

I choose to break myself away from this structured idea of time and reality we live in. I choose to live in The Alternate.

I feel rushes of happy memories that become my present.

If I'm high enough, I can be with you, and I can feel you, and I can feel loved.

If I'm high enough, I can be free.

If I'm high enough, I can see a whole other world.

If I'm high enough, I can be happy.

I hope I create a fork in the road, one where I'm alive and where you come back and be with me, one where I can escape.

I wish I lived in my alternate world. And I wish you were with me there.

-Cassandra Alexa

I felt the floors were unstable and tilted in the opposite direction I stepped, like a see-saw. It was moving within itself like I could feel the plate tectonics. I floated around in the stars as an angel sang to me. I was the princess of that universe. I danced all my moves out of my system, with pure energy, effort, and joy. I felt so beautiful as I walked the runway with my music engulfing me in the party of a fashion show. My hangers moved as if someone had hit them. My chair and table grabbed me, trying to keep me in my room. I opened my door and the floor was moving. The walls of my apartment and everything inside them were shifting around like a rubrics cube. I began to see layers upon layers of worlds, multiverses, and alternate realities of my world for the rest of the night. I could see myself like I was starring in a movie about my life. I saw myself in the other worlds. I did different things there. Things happened differently in different worlds and the same in others. I walked the hallways for eternity and never moved. I was standing in the same spot. Everything was the same. I kept crashing into the walls as they turned. If I touched the wall, my hand would sink into it. I would sink inside the wall and my legs started to melt, then all at once, my whole body melted into the ground. Someone peaked around the corners and doors and walked around. I saw clear lines forming figures sticking out all over the walls; some were lower, some were higher, some were closer, some were far apart. I couldn't tell what some were. I saw a plaid skirt. I saw a mannequin. I saw a woman's naked body. All in one. I saw diamond bead curtains hanging all over the hallway. I was in a store. I was walking through an aisle of a smoke shop or a local grocery store. I could fly. I flew everywhere. I was floating. I felt wind. I heard boats. Every picture looks blurry or rippling in a kaleidoscope way. Every light looked brighter and had colors streaming off of it. I could reach inside the stove. I could reach inside the wall. I saw swirling colors in the patterns. Time existed in the past, present, and future, all at once. Yet, time didn't exist at all. It just was and is. I saw so many galaxies, planets, and stars, and many that were exploding. They floated at the ceiling and they were in front of me too. They were also in the palm of my hands. My palms swirled and my hand moved in waves and twisted and got smaller and longer. My hand looks like a flesh kaleidoscope. There were patterns in my hand and on the floor and in the walls and in the ceiling that all moved like a kaleidoscope and waved. Some of them were in bright colors. I saw colorful dots floating around. I saw two of the same roommate. One of her was on the computer and the other one was doing the dishes. I couldn't feel myself eating or drinking. It started off as genuine happiness and excitement then quickly became terrifying. Sound was distorted. Everything sounded like a chopped and screwed voice or a robot or an alien or something deteriorating, or sounded electronic or high or low or fast or slow, or was in tounges or not making sense or was very loud or quiet or silent or in a crazy or evil voice. Sometimes things were added or subtracted or changed from what people were saying. Everything I heard or said echoed and echoed and echoed and overlapped all the other things echoing. It's my birthday, isn't it? Someone was knocking on the door. There was no one there. Again and again and again. I heard doors opening and shutting all night. I heard people calling my name and calling me to them or to go to wherever they were or to open the door for them. I heard sirens, a tornado warning, police, firetrucks, fire alarms, smoke detectors, horns, bells. There was an emergency going on and I was in trouble and everyone was coming to get me to get out of here. And the sound never stopped. It was extremely loud. It wouldn't stop. Everything was overlapped. The things I saw wouldn't stop either. I saw rats running across the floor. There were people watching me in the bathroom. My eyes were in pain, I could feel and see the dilation was huge. I had no control over my mind or actions and I felt afraid. There was a weird nasty taste on my tongue. I saw sparkles. I saw snowflakes and a winter wonderland. I gradually started seeing more and more people. They were everywhere. They were walking around. They were grabbing me and pulling me (off my bed too) and calling me and screaming at me and clawing at me and touching me inappropriately. I felt sad and I felt water on my face, so I thought I was crying, even if I wasn't. I cried these diamonds that were liquid globs. I had water all over my body and clothes. I looked in the mirror. I was pregnant with the Antichrist; it was kicking and moving around. I looked pretty sometimes and other times I didn't. I saw deeper worlds in screens inside of mirrors and mirrors inside of screens running for eternity. I heard scary whispers in the hallway. I could hear every sound that exists and doesn't exist in every multiverse all at once. I heard the amazon, and the city, and animals, and voices, and thuds and bells and bangs and yells and explosions and doors and footsteps and everything. I saw a rainbow that swirled from time to time. I saw skeleton paper snowflakes kaleidoscoping in the ceiling. Everything was dripping in colorful goo and water. I saw my childhood and I saw myself in the present and I saw myself as an old lady. I saw bugs crawling on my bed and on my window. Maggots and worms. I could hear things and see things and people inside of people's rooms who were on the other end of the phone. I was having false memories and truths. My pillow has a heartbeat. I heard people saying mean things to me. All of my rapists and harassers came into the room and raped me. I writhed around, gasping for air and pushing something off of me and trying to pull my legs away from them and my back away from my bed, yelling for help. My bed and sheets and wall were eating me. There was someone in my covers and outside of my covers pulling my legs and clawing into me. My body turned around and I had several distorted demonic hands and feet with claws that I dug into myself with. There was blood on my wrists and cuts on my legs too. I yelled for help for hours and no one heard me. Is someone here to help me? I saw A$AP Rocky! I was so excited! I'm so in love with him and here he is! What's that noise? Bing! Bing! Bing! Bing! Chandler Bing! Chandler Bing walked into my room. Then Joey, then Phoebe, then Rachel, then Monica, then Ross. Why is the cast of Friends in my room? I saw a teddy bear that kept changing. I was in Santa's Workshop. I saw elves. I closed my eyes and I was in a video game. I was in a racing game in the dark and there were lines and lights and candy falling. I heard lasers shooting in the video game. I was in Looney Land. I was at Six Flags. I saw plants and trees and flowers in my room. I saw the same man outside walking up and down each street at the same time all night. Water was filling up my room. People stood over me while I slept and watched me and called me. I saw several of my roommates and several other people and they were trying to get me. I was hot. I saw him. I laid on his chest while he held me again and he kissed me. But he wasn't answering me when I talked to him. I was scared. I was terrified. Is he okay? Is he safe? What's wrong with him? Why isn't he answering? Someone told me that wasn't the real him and I couldn't believe it. Because I remember feeling the same things with him in real life. I thought everyone was hurt and being watched. Everyone, even in the other buildings, was staring at me and looking at me. I saw I was in the hospital again. I saw death. I saw Saw in my lights. I saw pretty colors stretch off of my lights. I saw pixie dust. I had wings and a mermaid tail. I saw the ring girl. I saw horror movie characters. I saw a blue smoke everywhere and I smelled smoke. I felt like I was suffocating and my heart hurt and was racing. I cried. I was panicked about being in trouble. People were mad at me and yelling at me. People screamed in horror. I could hear the cries from hell. Someone needed help. It's a trap; don't trust them. I felt nauseous. I felt so sad and alone. I was overwhelmed. I felt ashamed. I was terrified to be alone. I couldn't tell what was real. There were patterns on my window and walls. There was a spider on my wall. There were holes in the wall. I thought it would never end. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't and who I should believe. I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn't know how to get out. I looked in one direction and saw somewhere else. I could hear someone coming. I saw that I threw up everywhere and I gasped and yelled for help. I didn't actually throw up I guess. My music sounded crazy. The beats were going crazy. "House of Balloons/ Glass Table Girls" kept playing over and over and over. My door and everything in my apartment was bent. I heard the wind chimes that used to be on my grandpa's porch. He knows I haven't been praying for his soul lately. He's coming to get me. I'm underneath the computer table from my childhood. Everything was so loud. What if I accidentally take all my Tylenol pills? My mouth and lips felt dry. I saw myself without clothes even though my clothes were on. I could reach inside my chest into my body. I could see the bones and meat in my hand. My veins were moving and big chunks of something, maybe rocks, were stuck in them and were also moving through my veins. Someone laughed evilly in a chopped and screwed voice. My feet were burning. I was having an anxiety attack. I thought I was going to be insane or die. I was afraid because I didn't know what was real and if it was going to end and if I was in trouble. I was alone and they were trying to get me. My shirt is filling up with air. I felt my body was much fuller and it felt good. I hear glasses breaking. I heard electronic sounds. My head stays in place while my body is twisting around like crazy and moving and breaking and changing. Sometimes my head would spin too. I hear fire trucks and police cars; they're here to arrest me. I hear ambulances.

The next day I was very paranoid. I still heard and saw some things. I was very anxious. I feel hungry, but I can't eat. My head hurts today. My eyes hurt. I hardly slept.

Yesterday my senses were able to do things I shouldn't be able to do. I believe now that it is a portal I opened.

-Cassandra Alexa

I feel like my sexuality has never belonged to me my whole life. I'm not fully open with anyone about all my experiences with abuse. Some closer friends know much more, but at the end of the day, I still haven't been able to let someone know about every single thing.

Most people wouldn't know. It's not something I'm necessarily trying to hide.

I feel like people wouldn't want to hear about it.

I always struggle with my depression and anxiety disorders and with suicidal thoughts or attempts or with trauma from many different things in my life and that depression is constant. I get to very low points.

I can't help everything that's happened in my life. I can't help feeling the way I do. But I always feel like I can't keep anyone around because no one wants to be around someone who's been through and still goes through so much and who feels like that constantly or is openly talking about that feeling or their experiences. I always feel like I have to make a choice between bullshitting being happy to keep people around or being honest and feeling what I feel and hoping I still have a friend in people when I do.

The truth is that I have been through a lot and it's not my fault, but I still have to pay the price with people around me leaving.

I feel like I've been through too much. And, just the other day, I reflected on my life and I discovered that my life had been stolen from me.

Even as a child, my sexuality didn't belong to me. It belonged to men who took my childhood along with my entire life with them. And, still to this day, it's the same case. I've just been through so much and I faced so much the one time I did try to get help, that now I feel like it's not even worth it to tell anyone and no one believes me and I don't want to be victim-blamed. I know I shouldn't care what people think, but I can't help but think if a man I liked knew about everything, he wouldn't like me or he would think I'm a slut or dirty or too used in some way or he would put blame on me or he wouldn't understand or he would think it's unattractive that I've been through so many things. And I live in fear of that every single day.

I once met another survivor of abuse who told me when I meet the right person, if I ever married someone, that I'll be in a place one day where I can be completely open about it and I can be comforted and I can be loved just the same. And I think about that and I don't know if I could have that. I can't imagine that.

For the longest, I didn't want to let myself even accept these truths. About anything in my life. I've been through many forms of abuse and many other things in my life and I never let myself even think about dealing with them until I was 18.

And no one would know it, but I cry every night to God and ask him why he let these people hurt me like that. I wonder why it happened to me. I wonder why my life has to be so bad. I wonder when I can ever escape this abuse. And I ask God why he's let everything destroy me and my life, why he let me get to a place where I feel like there's no return. I ask why I'm such a mess and why I can't pull myself together. I ask "What next?" because I feel done.

I don't want anyone to ever touch me again. I don't want anyone to ever see me naked again.

I have just been through so much abuse that I can't handle it anymore. I have nightmares and other scary experiences with these memories. I can still feel them on my skin. I still think about things. I still panic if a man hugs me or touches me in any way. Even male voices make me uncomfortable. I have unwanted thoughts all the time and it makes me feel afraid even though I know I'm safe. I feel like I've got accustomed to abuse. I feel destroyed by it. I just can't handle another person touching me.

I've only had two consensual, good, safe partners. The only partners I consider, as everything else is not experience I wished to have.

The first person was very emotionally, mentally, and verbally abusive to me. And it took me a long time to get myself out of that place and to let him go. But I have completely let him go and that's one thing I'm proud of.

The other one was my latest partner. He's not in my life anymore I guess. And I feel really hurt because I liked him and I thought he liked me. And even though in the end he broke my heart, I still remain grateful to him. Because he gave me something I never had before. That night, when he was holding me on his chest, I felt safe and happy, and I had never felt that way before from a sexual situation, from a "romantic" situation, or from a man in general. That was the way I've always wanted to feel. That was what should've always been my experience. And I'm glad he gave me that experience and I know he probably has no idea how much that meant to me, but it meant the world to me to be able to experience that.

I really wanted things to work out with him.

Every night, in general, I would pray to God about my experience with romance, which isn't much at all considering I've never had an actual boyfriend, but I'd still pray and ask that I could have "the one" and that would be my only and last experience with men. Because I can't take it anymore.

So, I thought to myself, if it works out with him and he for some reason ended up being that one, then perfect, and if not, then I can't continue on with pursuing romance because romance includes sexuality and I cannot mentally or physically handle another person touching me. I can't.

And it didn't work out with him, I guess. I mean if he wanted to talk to me, he could, and I'm sure he knows I'd let him back in, and he already knows I liked him. If he wanted to talk to or be with me, he would. So, I guess this means he's not coming back. And he's the only one I would want to be with.

Besides him, I'm just done with all of this.

Emotionally, I can't handle letting another person get close to me. I've tried before (most notably with these two men I was just talking about) and for what? To just get hurt?

I don't believe love exists. Because to be in love you need two people to feel the same way about each other and to treat each other good. And I've never seen that. I care about people. I think I am capable of loving another person and treating them good and keeping my promises and my love and good treatment and faithfulness forever, but I don't think they could also love me and treat me right and be faithful to me, especially not for the rest of their lives.

I don't trust anyone anymore and I don't believe I can find love in anyone new.

And I don't want to either. I am done emotionally as well.

After all the sexual abuse and heartbreaks (and emotional abuse from the first man) and other, extremely significant abuse that I can't talk about right now, I just give up on romance and sexuality. I don't want anyone to get close to me. I don't want anyone to touch me.

Even the thought of someone new or unwanted touching me makes me panic.

So, what now?

I guess I can't be a mother.

I think it would be difficult and I would be afraid to be a mother, but some part of me has always wanted to have a baby one day. I could adopt, but I know it's a very difficult and expensive process.

I don't know what I'll do.

I've always wanted to experience love and I guess I just wasn't designed to ever have it. It sucks because I feel like that's all I've ever wanted. Whether it comes to family or friends or someone romantic. I just wanted someone to love me.

But love is unattainable for me, I guess. And I can't rely on him coming back and I don't see myself ever becoming comfortable with anyone else touching me or getting close to me. Everyone tells me how I'm fine and how there's other fish in the sea and how I just have to go out and find someone new. But they don't understand how fucking impossible that is for me. They haven't been through the extremities of my abuse and life situations. They don't understand how weak and beaten up and terrified and sickened I feel. They don't understand that this last man was my final shot. That was it.

I cannot handle anything else. I don't see this changing any time soon.

My sexuality has never belonged to me. I wear the outfits I want and do my makeup how I want it honestly just because that's how I enjoy dressing and doing my makeup, and for literally no other fucking reason. I don't dress up for men. I don't dress up for an individual. I don't do it because I want attention. And most importantly, unlike what people love to say about me, I don't dress the way I do because I'm a "slut".

And it fucking pisses me off that all I want to do, all I want to fucking do, is just wear some fucking clothes and some fucking makeup I enjoy. That's it. And I can't even have that because people think they know my intentions with my clothes, they think they know best and they think they know I'm a whore. And they're fucking ignorant because they have no idea what the fuck I've been though. My clothes and my makeup are the last things in my entire life about my body or sexuality or image that belongs to me, that I can express. And even that, people try to take it and twist it. Fuck you.

How the fuck can you call me a "slut" because I want to wear this outfit when I literally plan on never sleeping with anyone again, when I've literally only had two consensual partners. You have no fucking idea the shit I've gone through, and I put on these clothes just for you to call me a fucking slut. After all the bullying about my image and body, and I finally get to a point where I want to dress how I want to dress just so you can tell me I'm a slut or that my body makes my outfits look slutty.

Fuck you.

Fuck all of the men that hurt me sexually. Fuck all the people that bullied me about my body and image. Fuck the emotional abuse I went through, fuck the shit I have to go through to this day that I can't talk about, fuck all that.

I've never belonged to myself.

I want to wear the outfits I want to wear. I want to wear the makeup I want. I want to make the film and music and writings I want. I want to paint. I want to expand my film and music taste and organize my collections of music and film. I want to find new directors, screenwriters, actors, musicians, artists, fashion designers, makeup artists, everything. I want to make a film. I want to push myself through getting my album out. I want to do designing with my art, fashion, makeup, future home, and many other aspects of my life. I want to get myself back into therapy. I want to heal. I want to be happy. I want to love myself and take care of myself. I want to expand my mind and experiences. I want to be at peace. I want to dive into philosophy. I want to explore comedy. I want to build my social life. I want to work on building the relationships I have with current friends and making new ones and building relationships with family members. I want to build my social skills up. I want to grow my relationship with God. I want to develop myself and become the best version of myself. I want to prepare myself for the future I want. I want to get my own place and car. I want to decorate everything I have and myself and my environment or home or belongings with the aesthetics I desire for my life. I want to expand my recipe book. I want to expand all my interests and abilities and collections in all the art forms I love. I want to listen to books and make collections of stories. I want to have games or video games or physical activities I can do. I want to conquer my academics. I want to thrive in my career. I want to learn languages. I want to learn new life skills. I want to polish my responsibilities. I want to work on my beauty plan and become the most physically beautiful version of myself. I want to expand my hobbies and activities. I want to give myself opportunities to be more festive or enjoy more events. I want to grow my flowers and other plants. I want all my interests to expand and to be the most full, tasteful person I can be and have that organized throughout my life. I want to be the person I've always wanted to be and the person they wish they could have or be.

I want to become so full of my person that I feel like I am myself, that I feel like I belong to myself.

That's the only thing I think there is to do.

-Cassandra Alexa