As I write these I wonder how long they will haunt me

Because essentially these thoughts need to be processed and overcome
Or broken down and built into better and more pleasurable outlets
Yeah I was raped.
By a girl.
As a boy.
A little tiny boy.
A good boy.
Of age 6-7.
I was nice.
I used to enjoy listening to adults when they would say "God will reward you!"
I was the goody good kid.
That was faced with adversity and I took it upon me to help another person
That person used me.
That person programmed my body to be a sex god.
I am not aware of the dangers this implicates.
Because anywhere and everywhere social status is something people fight for.
It's kill or be killed when it comes to social status.
Well, I was killed at least 15 times during that week and a half process of being with her for an hour daily.
I wonder how dead I already was when I asked "again?" and she said "no, it's wrong."
And just like that a BabyGod was born.

My desire for helping someone became into me being used like a tool.
Now I try to find love in using others like a tool.
Who is supposed to teach me how to love again?
I already try to love myself as much as I can.
Nah who am I joking.
I hate myself.
I am disgusted at myself each time I am unable to be happy at the jokes people crack at me.
Each time my disgusting sad sack stare procures it's kill or be killed.
People fight each other for status or try to suck up to me super fast.
It just amazes me and both scares me as well as to what I truly am capable of now that I have this super power.

These thoughts are a super power?
Huh. Really now?
What is it good for?
Well, social status for one.
Immediate power in any sitting.
My mother would ask here, "How will that power help you?"
I will reply "I don't need help."

Man this suicidal pot is huge. I wonder how long it'll take to vent enough for today so I can just eat popcorn and watch Netflix.
This is a fucking job.
Just staying afloat and being able to have the luxury of smoking a cigarette is somehow tied into BLOGGING my thoughts.
This is actually good therapy.
And it's a pure kind of a therapy.
The kid who went into hell flames is now trying to forge his own kingdom.
It's beautiful to witness.

Good on you, kid! (I tell myself)