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Citati iz knjige „This Will End Badly“ autora Rob Hayes

World like this though, we can’t care too hard. We let ourselves loose we’d kill ourselves caring.
What we do is we develop coping strategies. Don’t choose them. They happen to us.
It’s one of the beautiful paradoxes of life. If we actively avoid looking out for what it is we want, it will come to us.
Save yourself. The truth is, we want to dominate you. We want you under our dominion, that’s the goal. Whether we never see each other again after tomorrow morning, or whether we fall in love and start a family.
In earning your love, we will own you. This is what we want. This is why we do this. Whoever we are. Me, my associates, the fucking reprobates in the t-shirts. It’s never about you. It’s always about us.
This beautiful girl, sat on a lawn chair with her legs over her head and this smile on her face. So relaxed looking and at peace. This beautiful person providing a terrible profane service that I’m not even paying for. And this was probably not how she saw her life going even though she’s probably smart and dealing with her situation on the lawn chair best she can. And then me. Doing what I was doing. Being the entire reason why she would need to do what she was doing.
Feel sad for the girlfriends of boys who grew up watching porn. Girls who’ll be asked to get down on their knees and take a cumshot in their face. I think this a lot when I look at porn so I’ve decided never to watch any video of a guy and a woman together.
Partly this idea that men have held on to some primeval need to dominate and subjugate women in an age where one person’s ownership over another is impossible. And how we somehow bypassed an era of loving equality and mutual respect and skipped straight to financially incentivised and heavily ritualised status games. Makes sex about hatred and humiliation.
Partly that, but also it’s not sexy. Girl kind of flinches when it hits her face and has to squint while she’s moaning. Can tell she’s desperate to wipe her face because it must itch or tickle or something. But she’s not allowed to touch her face. All she can do is try and make it not dribble into her eyes.
Imagine that. Some dude’s jizz in your eye
But I had nothing to say to them. I couldn’t tell them what was happening to me and I sure as hell couldn’t pretend it wasn’t.
And every normal thing I’d do on a normal day, I just couldn’t do. I’d sit there in the morning and think, what am I gonna do all day? Dunno
Then there’s the other argument which is the opposite. They’re all about women being strong and independent and demanding whatever they want. But if what you want is just random sex with loads of guys then all of a sudden you’re a slut. Or even worse, you’re a victim. You’re getting the shitty end of the stick somehow because there’s all these guys getting laid off your output, regardless of whether or not you’re enjoying it. And it’s now become a shorthand for going off the rails. But only for women though. For men it just makes us a fucking hero.
When we’re dealing with you, we’re always aware that you’re bearing the weight of this psychic conundrum on your shoulders at all times. You care about being judged.
But then would we go home with a girl if we knew we’d be her third or fourth runaround of the week? We don’t know. We genuinely don’t know.
Because the whole thing’s got totally out of hand. You get the magazines and the things that say ‘you should behave like this. You should give blowjobs like this, or use this technique because it drives every single man in the world crazy’. And that’s the kind of angle that pretends to be liberating you sexually but is in fact kind of keeping you in a box. It’s just a modern take on the be a good wifey and give your husband what he wants, sort of thing.
Because it’s the same magazine that’s telling you how to lose weight, what to wear, how to keep your house nice, and usually they have this bit where they’re just shaming women in the public eye who are getting it wrong.
a while we fussed constantly about what women want from us. How we can please them. But then we started to meet them. Women just like you. And we learned it doesn’t really matter what you want. It’s more about what we can get away with based on your sense of self-worth.
ve got nothing to offer these people. I can only take. And it makes me feel worse. I love you, and I can’t keep doing that to you.
I know you’ve just been through a break up and you’ve probably got all that to deal with. And your internship is like a constant high-stress situation. You don’t need me, calling you up and moaning at you.
Other end of the phone you’re gesticulating for someone to invent some reason to get you off the phone. I can hear you get like a fake call for dinner from another room. I know this is all happening.
I can’t put you through that any more.
We’re told to develop what they call a support network. People we can talk to. But I wear them out, like brake pads. So I need to have a rotation thing going on. Constantly on the hunt for new people to talk to about how I’m feeling and what I’m going through and that.
Because thing is whoever you have to talk to, you become a burden. For them, I mean. I know I’m a total boring fucking whinger.
The hard thing, the hardest thing, is that it was amazing for ages. It was so good. And then these tiny little shifts started happening. And I couldn’t— I couldn’t… do anything. It’s like I just had to sit there and watch. Not knowing what particular, specific sequence of words would snap us out of it.
Reason so few people actually end up finishing the job is because it’s not enough to just want to kill yourself. That’s not it. Gotta reach a point where you simply cannot continue living. Subtle difference, there.
of this you’ve got the fact that only one in eight people with serious suicidal thoughts actually go and try and actually do it. If you’re seriously contemplating killing yourself then statistically, you won’t.
You used to ask me how it felt. But I couldn’t… Could never seem to find the words.
But then recently I had to write about it. How I’d describe the pain. Took ages.
Eventually I said it’s like you ate a seed. In your food or something and you didn’t taste it or know it was there. And then it grows inside you and no one notices. And for ages you don’t notice. Grows and widens and deepens and entrenches itself, ploughing roots down into the core of your matter so it can grow taller, and thicker, from your chest and outwards, up out of your body until it is you. More you than you are. Until you’re just a vessel for it.
It’s not even pain anymore. Something else completely. Can’t really call it pain at all
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