Okay, I'm weak. I guess I can admit that. I'm not so bugged about going to the strip club last night-- I know it's not really the place to go for therapy. I went there with the desire to be touched, but when I got there the desire became desperate, almost a need. I felt like a junkie.
It was foolish. Or it would have been, had it been more of a conscious thing. As it was, it seems more like I was masking my true feelings from myself.
And that is the key.
I didn't go because I wanted entertainment. I went because I was desperate for intimate contact with a woman. And that was entirely the wrong reason to go.
You can't buy intimacy.
Come on, I know this. I am aware with every fiber of my being, yet that's what it turned into-- me being desperate for intimacy and affection. How bloody pitiful is that?
I didn't want to hurt you, but you're pretty when you cry.