Right now there is a truly horrible, f–ked up deep itch being forced on and under my breasts. I don’t understand why I keep being surprised by the level of hate and ugliness in this. Part of the point in doing this is the humiliation I feel if I did succumb and scratch my breasts in an unprivate display; of course, I’m too conceited to deserve any kind of dignity and respect as a living being and need to be “put in my place”.
Scratching doesn’t help anyway as it just comes back and the relief is a teaser so unsatisfying and scary it makes me cry, so I just have to sit here and curse to myself in wonder at what kind of souls these people are cultivating as they do this.
Or is it like the majority of meat-eaters in the world who somehow are able to separate that part of themselves that blindly and unthinkingly is responsible for death, and still may be “good” people. Just confusing. Having done this to me does hammer home all over again, hey, evil is real. Maybe not cartoon, Satan-worshipping evil, but I actually think I’m a responsible, good member of society while I sit here at these controls and torture someone who begs for her life (see Stanford Prison Experiment by Philip Zimbardo). Routine will get you used to anything? Daily life is tricky in my own experience, I got used to an emotional abuser and didn’t see him for what he was. “The banality of evil”. They should add to that the banality of a new day.
