Confessions of the Blackwidow

Today, I’m going to try something different because my therapist (the other half of my brain) said so. I have to confess that I have problems with maintaining interest in people. I never had issues with dating. In fact, I have problems keeping the numbers low. It’s not bragging really. In a crowded full of room, my personality beams like Annie exploring the sun, flowers and the grass and then suddenly snaps. I just start hating the tremors of their sound waves, their desperate faces for connection and their attempts to suffocate my precious space. That saying “No man is an island” doesn’t apply to my begotten illness.

One man said, “..maybe it’s just insecurity.” I had to think for a moment if it was. Uhm,.. sadly I’m completely aware of power puff pussy. I don’t think that people completely understand my myths of dissociation until they get it. I was fair, as far as I’m concerned. Across some dangling virtual door, those who have knocked were forewarned of my tendencies. I even supported claims with innumerable unknown victimized names. Their heads would be nodding, mumbling  uh-huh, uh-huh and then dismiss it. Few weeks after, they’d wake up each morning cursing “where the fuck are you bitch?!”

I’m not going to pretend this is normal, and that maybe, in some dimension my psychopathic logic is acceptably reasonable. If you’re aware of physiological antennae’s on insects—the way ants know it’s going to rain, or the deer feels the ground vibrating from an impending predator. Mine is screwed up. It has grown strong that it had become paranoia. I feed and savage on intentions. Act on it to persecute its implications. Do you feel me? I guess not. Sometimes though, I am bothered if intentions could be changed by a powerful human driven factor called love. Are intentions like DNA prints? Can it be potentially altered? Maybe. I’ve never seen it happen yet. Intentions are like habits. It is a form of addiction creeping like maggots on a tiny bitsy dead part of human soul. That in particular smells distinctly to me.

I have not written the continuation part of the story for over 2 weeks. It had stopped at when Mikolai was strangling away from this man she’s bound to fall in love with. I’m beginning to think that a part of her character mirrors mine..

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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