Archive for the ‘sex’ Category

I can hear my next-door neighbour play eisbrecher http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=eisbrecher .. who’s music I know, but who’s name I never knew before.

My ex in high school burned a cd with a bunch of metal, eisbrecher being one them. So hearing it again is awesome. I’m pretty sure its them who play this song where the middle breaks into the breathy heaving of a couple having sex.

My point is, being here, now, is like total deja vu. From the different personalities, to the conversations, to the lust-filled looks I see, to the music, to the language… everything.

This, for the most part, is good. Its like I’m reliving a path I originally became hopelessly lost on, and am now finding the right footing.

But there are times I wonder to myself what the fuck am I doing here? This mostly happens when I find myself craving a smoke or a drink or a pill in the worst way. And I catch those thoughts and wonder where they come from. Of course I know… It feels like I’m back where I was, just in a parallel sort of universe.

So by keeping clean, am I changing what was and shaping what will be? Ya, I think so.

Cause it would be really easy to slide back into what I knew. Already I can feel the subtle downturn in my mood. The miniscule shifting in my thinking. The presence of triggers waiting to erupt. The slowly bubbling volcano of rage within me.

And I wonder, how much longer I can take this.

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For a long time I wanted to be sexually neutral. I remember at 16 I wanted to cut my breasts off. I even have a scar above my left breast, where I dug into my skin, thinking I could cut them off by myself.

Since I was 16, I’ve used a Mirena IUD for severe pelvic pain. The thought being that without a period, there would be no reason for my pelvis to hurt.

This has been true, to an extent. I had the IUD removed when I was 18. I freaked out so badly I had it reinserted, and have kept it since.

Its one of those things I’m aware of but don’t really acknowledge: The need to remove anything that makes me a woman.

This is kinda a weird place to be in, cause I fully embrace my femininity. Yet there are times when I do not want to be female at all.

Its a trigger that’s been waiting in the background. There, and I know of it. Just the trigger and I ignore each others existence. Until, of course, I have to face it head on.

Like, when I’m sharing quarters with other women, and one of them asks me if I have a tampon. And my first instinct is to lash out violently. So while I smile apologetically and say no, I’m envisioning a bloodbath where there will no longer be anything left to mark us as women.

This could possibly be playing into my heightened awareness of what I am wearing, and my need to disappear behind clothes, and the frightening realization that its not actually possible. And the knots in my stomach twist a little more.

I tried to unsex myself before. By losing too much weight, by gaining too much weight, by trying to remove or restrain my curves, went out with my head veiled. I pierced sexual body parts multiple times in a twisted form of self-injury.

And, of course, I still don’t get my period.

Which made me wonder about my capacity to heal.

I closed my OKC profile. Closing the dating profile on POF a while back was a huge step forward for me. This time, it was just a logical step forward. Yet, when I clicked the button to delete it permanently I panicked.

There was this thought of who would know I exist? Which is about as ridiculous as my conviction in my own invisibility.

Like this need to be Seen competing with my need for anonymity. Seen, capitalized. Cause it has nothing to do with my physical visibility, has nothing to do with the skin that holds me together.

I heard a sermon about intimacy and submission to God. Many sermons, actually. And there was this automatic reaction of no effing way. Intimacy, cause it terrifies me. And submission cause.. well, I associate it with abuse and prostitution and sociopathic behaviour and kink.

Those sermons kinda clicked things together for me, once I got over my stoic freak out.

My intimacy issues have to first be resolved within and with God before I can look anywhere else. And my submissiveness can find avenues besides sex.

Which is why I shut down the profile.

Then on Sunday I found myself nodding along to a variation of no sex before marriage while wondering to myself when exactly did I start agreeing with that?

I have no idea. Cause its not so much about sex, its about recognizing myself as sacred, and being unwilling to be desecrated in any way. Which is possibly why I can’t maintain any romantic interest in anyone. I’m finally gonna pay attention to that. Message received.

So the fact I’ll be out of the country for four months is actually a really good way to take a break from men, and discover me more.

So… I am Seen. God sees me. That’s all that really matters.

It’s now been six months since I detoxed from psychotropics and narcotics. I actually had to count out the months.. It feels like a lifetime has passed. And really, I have my um, birthday rapist to thank for all the positive changes I’ve gone through. I brooded for two months, then decided life as I was living it was completely unacceptable to me. So I changed it.

Six months on and I know there are still plenty of things that need changing. Mainly my ability to relate to other people outside of a sexual context. I’m being pretty forgiving towards myself in this aspect. Here’s why:

I’ve been mostly isolated for years, I cut out positive friendships because I didn’t feel I deserved them, and gravitated to those who were more damaged then me, or who affirmed my belief in my worthlessness. I cut all those people out too. But was too scared to make new friends. Plus, how do you create a friendship when the only friendships you’ve had for years would be created out of sex?

So I find myself in a weird position now. My beliefs have changed. My actions have changed. The way I life has changed. But I’ve only really been confronted with having to positively interact with others very recently.

So I find myself having to adjust while around people I’m trying to or want to befriend. Which is really weird.

I guess I would call this stage confusing. I’m breaking old patterns and I’m breaking through the brainwashing.

While the last six months (and longer, actually) have mostly been me by myself, that’s no longer the case. I’m actually trying to connect with other people in a positive way.

Which leaves me… unsettled.

I’m trying to find a new normal. And it’s working. But then every so often I’ll do or say something that reflects the person I used to be, and not who I am now.

I was trying to figure out why I kept acting on this compulsion. Cause I don’t do things believing I deserve nothing better, or to objectify myself intentionally.

I’m just trying to adjust. Which is hard. And could also be a sign that I have to stop placing myself in situations where I’m vulnerable to acting stupid.

To which I can say to myself, “duh”.

Anyways. It’s something for me to mull over.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m4G4IaCOglE (warning: it’s loud!)

Stay safe ❤

 

My vision of the city I grew up in comes to be in flashes of Technicolor.

Doctors offices, roving doors of emergency rooms, psychiatric wards, rooms made to look comfortable while having my mind probed. Medication. Violence.

This city:

It’s the scent of desperation coating my skin. Hopeless that smells like Chanel *5. The scent of death in its sweet seduction. The scent of choking on the very air you breathe, gasping out without sound.

This city:

It’s the feel of silky stockings, riding up to my thighs. Sexy in heels, and covering up red gashes of misdirected anger. A multitude of sin wrapped in a pretty package yet still rotting.

This city:

It’s the blurred location, blurred vision of bedrooms, blurred vision of faces. Meaningless. Endless.

This city:

It’s the feeling of violation. Of violent penetration. Of silent pain.

This city:

It’s the reflection of a person I don’t recognize. A familiar face masked in death. A body waiting to expire and eyes who’s light has extinguished.

This city:

It’s the relentless drug of sex and money. Of devaluation, objectification, and money purchasing worth and consent.

This city:

It’s the loss of any sense of Self, of no longer being an autonomous entity. Body and mind a product belonging to those posing as loved ones.

This city:

It’s forced orgasms, forced screams, posing and pretending, terror and anxiety.

This city:

It’s the unbelievable question ‘Is this making love?’ while being raped. And as the customer is always -always- right, it’s my flirtatious answer and another blow to my soul.

This city:

It’s being indebted to my pimp after running out on a client turned violent.

This city:

It’s the inability to hold onto tainted money. And the lasting incredulity of minimum wage. The knowledge what I can make in an hour. And knowing I never could.

This city:

It’s filth. The inability to feel clean. The feeling of scalding water and abrasive surfaces and sobbing in the shower.

This city:

It’s degrading names, and derogatory terms, and shame. Of isolation. A conviction of corrupting anyone near me.

This city:

It’s finding false redemption in hatred masquerading as love. It’s waking up on the floor of a hotel room mostly dead. It’s anger at not being allowed to die.

This city:

It’s survival. It’s forgiveness. It’s redemption. It’s healing. It’s mine.

I feel really sad. I’m listening to this song right now, and it’s sharpening the emotion:

While trying to gather my thoughts for this post, I thought I wouldn’t be able to articulate anything, specifically the reasons for my disquiet. I think I can though. Cause really, the only person censoring myself here is me. And what’s the point in that?

I got to experience the intense sex I’ve been wanting. With someone I actually found (find) myself liking. And this is extremely unsettling to me. I’m not used to having romantic emotions towards others. I’ve had a tendency to feed off of others feelings for me and take them on as my own (sounds horrible, I know).

And part of the problem is my fucking quietness. It’s something that is improving. But… I dunno. Maybe the fact I actually like(d) this guy magnified it. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was. Maybe it was worse then I am imagining.

Ok, I’m back to listening to metal. Puts me in a better frame of mind to write this. Out of respect for your ears, I won’t link you.

Anyways, I kind of realized last night it’s not very fair to just stay silent. I have opinions and ideas about everything. But keeping my mouth shut makes me seem like an ignorant fool. I really need to comment on it to potential partners. I don’t want him/them/whatever thinking I’ll be incapable of speech always. Admittedly, my silence sometimes borders on the pathological. And the more I think about it, and pressure myself to talk, the more I shut down.

Fuck.

Like I said in a previous post. Dating is fucking confusing. Relationships, not so much. Though I’ll probably change my mind about that once I find myself in one that is healthy and functional.

A couple people mentioned waiting a couple months of knowing someone before springing the whole previously prostituted part of my past.

I agree. To an extent.

I tried being in a relationship without mentioning it. Granted, the guy was a bit close-minded and judgemental. But, it’s not just about how they will end up seeing me, perceiving me, or otherwise judging and changing their opinion of me. It’s also about me. I actually can’t get close to, or open up, if the other person doesn’t know. And then I shut down and am silent. Which effectively kills any relationship.

Last night as I lay awake, I started thinking about how it’s like admitting to having an STD, after you’ve fucked someone without protection. Deep thinker am I, at 5am. Both are fucking disturbing to hear. And can create a sense of horror in the other person.

Or worse, I’m seen purely as the sex worker. Fun to sleep with, experiment with, but not to bring home and keep by your side.

Ugh. Either way, I can’t win.

Fuck it. I’ll write more later.

I’m disturbed. Distressed.

A while back I rejoined FetLife (you can google, I refuse to link to them here). It’s possible my old account is still there. No idea. My past presence online isn’t something I want or like to think about.

It’s one thing to do what I have done on the site, which is mainly lurk and occasionally join in a discussion I find interesting. There’s even a group for kinky people who have been abused. I lurk there too.

I thought it was a trigger that had kinda faded like the others. But it’s different when you look on a profile of someone you’ve spoken to, and with whom there is a mutual want-to-get-to-know-each-other vibe.

Fucking disturbing.

I get that it’s something done with consent, and when consent is given, it can be a really awesome experience.

And regardless of my own feelings about monogamy/polygamy… (I’m on the fence, both are valid, in my mind, depending on the relationship dynamic)

I HATE. HATE. it when someone says they are being shared.

It’s so massively triggering I don’t even know where to begin.

In my head it reduces a human from being a person to being a commodity.

And I know part of the problem is that I have unresolved issues with the whole BDSM thing, which is why I dabble, and not commit to anything that would label me “officially” as a Sub or Slave (another word I strongly object to).

And why I’ve run from any guy who wanted to collar me. I’ve been there, it was awful. Freedom (or the feeling of freedom) is so incredibly important to me. I really couldn’t submit to someone I felt constrained by. Which might sound backward, but it’s not. Done properly its freeing and liberating. The power is equal between the two, just expressed differently then in a more “vanilla” (mainstream) relationship.

Part of the issue is that I really have no idea what I like sexually. DublinCallGirl said it really well: http://secretdiaryofadublincallgirl.wordpress.com/ when she stated she feels like a really ironic virgin. It’s so true.

I had actually planned on turning in early. After years of chronic insomnia I’m taking advantage of my sudden ability to rest.

But. Fuck. I need distraction in the worst way. And of course, any time I need distraction my mind automatically turns to sex. My drug of choice.

So I was thinking I’d really love to take a martial arts class. I did karate as a kid, and Brazilian ju jitsu as a teen (which didn’t last long, my instructor was male, and I’d throw up at the end of each session).

I’m now looking into Krav Maga. Just seems like a more practical form of self-defense for day to day life. Dunno. I think finding physical strength will go a long way to calm my mind. As well as work of some of aggression. And fulfill some of that need for intensity.