Thank you to everyone who sent me those kind messages. It's nice to be reminded there are people who care. But I really am okay. I nearly deleted that last post right after I wrote it. Now I'm glad I left it up. It's the first time I put some of those feelings into words, even just for myself. But those feelings aren't new. They've always been there. So I'm okay.
I had a funny dream a couple nights ago. I was in the washroom of a fast food place sitting on the toilet. I saw a roach run past me and go behind the toilet, which sort of gave me a creepy feeling. I leaned over to see if I could find the roach and I ended up on my hands and knees next to the toilet. There were a few roaches behind the toilet but they were dead. I picked them up anyway, one by one, and reached between my legs to push them into my vagina. I felt like I didn't want to do that but I couldn't help it. I wanted to feel dirty.
So, this being a dream, my pants are not around my knees anymore, they're suddenly just gone. And I'm crawling on the washroom floor, because now there are roaches scurrying everywhere. I catch one and stuff it inside me, and then another, another, another, and I'm getting upset because they're hard to catch and I need them all...
That was the whole dream. I didn't get to cum or anything. I've never had an orgasm when I dream. Would I do that for real? I don't know. I've surprised myself before.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Down
This post isn't something that everyone will find stimulating. I haven't written much because I've been troubled lately. I've been thinking a lot about things that happened to me when I was younger. Things that probably shaped me into the kind of person that does the things that I've written about on this blog. It's really not good.
When I was young, I was damaged. As a person. Not physically damaged; I've done way more to hurt my body than anyone else ever did to me. I mean me as the core of my being, the place where I think and feel from, where I separate me from the rest of the world. That's where I'm damaged. I'm the loaf of bread with a fuzzy oval of green mold on it. I'm the pretty face with an unfortunate blemish. Sure, she's nice, but there's something about her... It's that kind of damage.
Everyone tells me I'm beautiful in my individuality, but no, that's not realistic. I am what I do, and I do what I've been conditioned to do. I was made by my life's experiences, and there have been some particularly bad experiences. I'm also a product of the defenses I've built up over time, many of which no longer make sense to me, but without them I wouldn't know how to interact with people anymore.
I act out with my sexuality. I find beauty in the world, so I seek the opposite. Where flowers bloom, I'm attracted to dead leaves. When butterflies sip nectar from the flowers, I seek worms. But even these aren't good metaphors. Better, when an animal squats to relieve itself of waste, I spread myself in invitation. Go ahead and imagine that, and then imagine much, much darker. In there, in that complete, corrupt darkness, somehow, I find my ecstasy.
But I'm troubled now. I wish for that ecstasy more strongly than ever, but as time has passed I've allowed fear to overcome my desire. Fear of what? Injury? Death? Discovery and humiliation? I don't know. I'm so fucked up I don't know what's natural to feel anymore. I don't know who I am.
Sorry to be a dark cloud today after not writing for so long, but I had to get that out. I'll get better. I promise I'll write something more fun next time.
When I was young, I was damaged. As a person. Not physically damaged; I've done way more to hurt my body than anyone else ever did to me. I mean me as the core of my being, the place where I think and feel from, where I separate me from the rest of the world. That's where I'm damaged. I'm the loaf of bread with a fuzzy oval of green mold on it. I'm the pretty face with an unfortunate blemish. Sure, she's nice, but there's something about her... It's that kind of damage.
Everyone tells me I'm beautiful in my individuality, but no, that's not realistic. I am what I do, and I do what I've been conditioned to do. I was made by my life's experiences, and there have been some particularly bad experiences. I'm also a product of the defenses I've built up over time, many of which no longer make sense to me, but without them I wouldn't know how to interact with people anymore.
I act out with my sexuality. I find beauty in the world, so I seek the opposite. Where flowers bloom, I'm attracted to dead leaves. When butterflies sip nectar from the flowers, I seek worms. But even these aren't good metaphors. Better, when an animal squats to relieve itself of waste, I spread myself in invitation. Go ahead and imagine that, and then imagine much, much darker. In there, in that complete, corrupt darkness, somehow, I find my ecstasy.
But I'm troubled now. I wish for that ecstasy more strongly than ever, but as time has passed I've allowed fear to overcome my desire. Fear of what? Injury? Death? Discovery and humiliation? I don't know. I'm so fucked up I don't know what's natural to feel anymore. I don't know who I am.
Sorry to be a dark cloud today after not writing for so long, but I had to get that out. I'll get better. I promise I'll write something more fun next time.