Penises make me uncomfortable because they have only been used against me. Uncomfortable is not a strong enough word to explain the disgust that rises up my throat, the sickening feeling that tears at my stomach and lungs, the feeling of having to retract all of my limbs into my body, or at least as close as physically possible.

I can not stand the thought of having *** with a male, but does that make me a lesbian? Or does that just mean I am terrified of the possiblity of experiencing PTSD? If I think these flashbacks are bad enough, I don't want to experience anything more.

I only date guys that resembles the man that hurt me first.

When I am in a perfect relationship, I ruin it on purpose because I am scared of commitment.

I crave the things that hurt me, like razor blades, and chemicals that fill my lungs and poison my liver. Like a firm hand, a hot flame, a brick wall; I even crave the sounds of warning that my body gives when it is slowly dieing. The white lights, ears ringing, the light headed feeling when I stand up. I crave the black circles under my eyes, the transparency of my skin, the feeling of bones. I crave the blood pumping through my veins going 70 on a road with my eyes closed. I crave self destruction.