Clearly we are talking about myself. That’s all I ever talk about on my blog. Me, myself, and I. As far as I know, I’ve always been this way. I’ve always demanded attention and I got it. I still do. As a little kid I was always talking, always wanting to be center stage. The incomparable Britney Spears sings “All eyes on me, in the center of the ring, just like a circus…”, “All of the boys, and all of the girls are begging to if you seek Amy (F U C K ME), and of course my favorite song from her crazy days, “and the crowd is screaming gimmie gimmie more…”. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I have a lot in common with Britney Spears.
I know what it feels like for everyone to want to know me. To be popular. I know what its like to not feel that way too. I changed my image. I created the person I am today by taking bits and pieces of the people I wanted to be. If people hate me, they are probably jealous. Any press is good press. I’m an ego maniac. It comes at a price. My amount of close friends is limited. I’m afraid to let people in and know the “real me”. I don’t think I fully trust anyone, because I know there are people that love to watch me fall. I’m pure entertainment in all forms of the word. It fuels me. It keeps me alive. The older I get I watch the ways I seek out attention change. My career path. Being an educator, a whole new outlet for people to look up to me. This time its a positive change.
When I had no self esteem something grabbed my attention and changed me. It sounds sick, gross, immoral, and wrong. Everything I wanted at the time. I became an escort. Never number one, but always number 2 as far as requests. People wanted me. It was refreshing. I got off on the fact that these men wanted me so bad. It turned me on to be wanted for the show. Doing porn came natural. It was a job. I was entertaining. My body became a commodity. Something for sale. Sex meant nothing other then money. Lots of it. I pretended to be something different to each client. The stories I came up with on my way to a call glorified the situation. I loved playing a character and being someone that I wasn’t. I guess I didn’t love the real me, but I’d never trade that time of my life for anything. No regrets.
I’m desired. I’ve never felt love. No one has loved me. They have desired me. Lust, not love. I don’t think I’ll ever know what it feels like to be loved. Its my fault, I don’t do anything to be loved. I push everyone way. It’s what I do. It’s my “thing”.
I get what I want so its not all so bad. I get the job, I get the boy almost EVERY time. My Tinder is blowing up and my stalkers are at an all time high. I can’t be in a relationship because I don’t want to loose my fans. I’m a mess!! Sometimes I hate myself and that’s crazy because a lot of people would want to be me, look like me. Beauty comes at a price. The problem with me is that I always want something more. More from myself, more from a relationship, more from life. I’ll never be content, however I’m not sure that I’ll even want to be complacent in where I am and what I am doing. It’s me, a free spirit.
I get scared of what is in store for me when my looks fade. I’m all ready getting fat and developing old age spots on my face from too much tanning. Will my personality be enough? Will I be able to inspire people with my knowledge of life? Will I die alone? Is that so bad anyways? Who knows. God knows.