If You Can't Handle Raw Thoughts Don't Fucking Read This

I can't connect my heart with my pussy.

It's already happening again! When the hanky panky first started, my body responded as it should (could would) but now that my spirit is getting involved, my tingles shut down and my juices stop flowing.

Shy? Scared? Self Conscious? Or just Conscious?

My therapist found it interesting when I said many weeks ago that I wanted to work on "sexuality" and "dating". He thought it was odd that I would separate the two as if they were not connected. But the thing is, for me they're not connected and never have been. I've only had great sex with guys I've never dated. And when I've been with someone...let's just say the sex life was never the draw.

So yeah they're separate. I don't want them to be. Some of what attracts me to someone in the first place is the chemistry. But then, I don't know, it dies. It dies! It goes to sleep and hides away and dries up and vanishes and pisses me off and pisses them off and causes anxiety and frustration and rejection and pain. This isn't what I want.

How do I keep the two connected? I think I need to attain an even greater level of authenticity. (Possible?) I feel like I keep evolving. Mutant authentic. Maybe one day I'll be see-through.

Dumb Numb

Things are numb or dead or asleep. Not sure if it's physical or emotional or spiritual or or or. I don't know. No interest whatsoever even in healing this.

Get Ready For Some Anger

I am so angry. I am so furious I want to fucking choke that motherfucker.

I have fantasies of slapping him across the face. I want to shake and throttle him until he UNDERSTANDS. He needs a fucking wake up call.

He needs to know that even if it's okay, IT'S NOT FUCKING OKAY.

Disrespect is too small a word. Why the fuck do we keep making excuses for his sorry ass? He's not "developmentally challenged", he doesn't DESERVE the justifications we make for him. He's so fucked up.

I can't believe I even remotely considered not being angry with him because, well, he's so messed up he just doesn't know any better and I can't possibly hold him to the same standards I would hold a "normal person" to.

FUCK THAT SHIT.

Shock my Body

Lately, my sexual drive has been, um, highly active.

Not that I'm getting any extra action. But I'm feelin' the fire.

I think it's because I'm exercising more than ever, I'm thinner than ever, and I'm practicing yoga, which is linking my spirit with my body in a way I've never before explored.

I'm connecting the soul to the corporeal. The upshot is I'm freaking horny!

Okay, I really hate that word.

I'm sexually charged.

Like a frigging light bulb. I'm hormonally electric.

Zip zap.

Bye-Bye Mercury

Ever have one of those nights that leaves you reeling, yet you're still not entirely sure why?

Without going into too much detail...

Last night began on a precarious note. I was fighting a sore throat (I won, by the way, and despite the lack of sleep woke up having beaten the cold that was trying to grip me.) and I was very tired. Two conditions that are sure to put me in an emotionally vulnerable state.

Then some stuff happened.

Ha!

Okay a little more. That friend I fooled around with before; we began to fool around again. Third time now. And then he stopped it. That hurt. But we talked--a lot--and after much thought today I think it would be best for our friendship if we didn't fool around anymore. Screwing up a good connection just for the sake of, well, screwing? Bleah. This conclusion I reached after meditating deeply about something else he said later on in our difficult conversation. He said:

You don't want to fuck. You don't want the dirty nasty hard fuck that we've been playing around at. Maybe you did once, but now you want to be held. You want your hair stroked. You want to be hugged and reassured and told you're all right.

That hurt so much. Partially because it's true. Partially because someone else once said the exact same thing to me under extremely similar circumstances. Except that guy said it after we'd already fucked. Then I was celibate for a year.

It also felt like a rejection, even if it (a) wasn't and (b) is emotionally better for me if we do cut the foolin'.

I was angry, too. How dare he assume he knows what I want or need? How dare he make me vulnerable and see me cry? How dare he be right?

Can't I want both, though? Can't I want the loving, gentle touch and the rough and raunchy? Can't I want to be held and stroked and manhandled? And if I'm not getting one (the love I desire) why not get the other?

After he left around 2 AM, an old OLD ugly behavior reared its head. I stuffed. I ate a bowl of pomegranate seeds, a plate of sweet potato and kohlrabi, and a huge handful of pecans. I felt like shit. On the plus side, I didn't purge, so that's a shift.

Yeah, I know. Really healthy for a health-counselor-to-be, yes? At least it wasn't Ben & Jerry's.

I woke up feeling trainwrecked. So today I'm left wondering was that a bad evening or a good evening? (I'm leaning towards good.) Was it painful or deep? (Both.) Was it friendship builder or a friendship destroyer? (I hope and am pretty sure it's the former, not the latter.) Was it healthy or toxic? (Let's hope healthy.) Necessary or dramatic? (Probably a little of both.)

Ack. Categorizations are impossible and useless.

Fucking Mercury in retrograde. Planetary pull is a bitch.

Desire

Again, a post of possibly too much information. At least nobody really reads this blog...

So last night I fooled around with a friend of mine. No, this is not me wanting more. This is me having fun with a friend. I would much rather satisfy my need for physical and sexual contact with someone I know and trust than with a stranger I picked up in a bar.

But some thoughts and questions came to me. Although I thoroughly enjoyed myself, I found that I wasn't as "turned on" as I would like to have been. I had to ask myself why that was. I've encountered it before, when I've been in charged sexual situations, where "action" was happening, and my body just wasn't responding the way I would want it to. I have a theory.

I didn't feel like I really mattered. I didn't feel especially wanted or needed and while in one way that sparked my interest--O the challenge!--in another way it killed my desire.

I need to be desired.

I felt that it didn't matter if it was me. It mattered if I was there--playing with me was assuredly better than masturbation--but it didn't matter if it was ME. And I need to feel important. I need to feel important and special and beautiful and wanted and honored and worshipped and desired. I need to feel like more than simply a fun time and much more than a notch. I need to feel like A BIG DEAL.

I did feel attractive, at least. I did feel that I was arousing to him. But I wasn't MAGICAL. I like feeling that the person I'm with wants me so much that if I didn't reciprocate, he might be inclined to ravish me. A little unrealistically sado-masochistically romantic?

It was fun and in some ways necessary and satisfying. The human contact was lovely in a slightly sick and twisted way. Safe in some ways, highly dangerous in others. I have no idea if I'll do it again.

But it was nice, and I think healthy, to have a wild night in the midst of the bliss bunny weekend. I'm holistically inclined and spiritually bent, but I'm also a sexual being with a rock n roll heart. Paradox and dichotomy. I love it.

Over Rees

This will probably fall under the category of way too friggin' much information, but...

For quite some time now, I've believed my ovulatory cycle to be slightly, well, off. So I started using FAM (Fertility Awareness Method) to chart my cycle. It's more involved than "the rhythm method" of old, but can also be used as natural birth control. Which is good, since I refuse to ever get back on The Pill because it MAKES ME CRAZY LIKE A SCARY LADY. So I've been charting for a few months now. Three or four.

During that time, I have had two instances of excrutiatingly painful ruptured ovarian cysts. The last instance of this was just this last weekend. Goodbye Halloween plans, hello couch and heating pad.

So I already know that obviously SOMETHING is up. Well, tonight, my charting confirmed that in addition to not having the right type of cervical fluid, I have a very very short Luteal Phase. The Luteal Phase is the time that elapses between the releasing of the egg and the start of menstruation.

What does that mean? That means that if I ever want to have kids, it's going to be near impossible.

I had already decided a while back that I didn't want kids. Well, I was pretty sure I didn't want kids. I couldn't imagine kids in the foreseeable future. Not sure. Eh, we'll leave it up in the air. But mostly sure. So I don't know why, when I realized tonight that my Luteal Phase is indeed super short, I started crying. Yeah, I know, crying is a theme of mine lately. But this was huge. This was sobbing, rocking on the floor, holding my knees, laughing while crying because of the ridiculousness of my emotion, shaking, wondering what the hell I was doing crying. I'm not sure if I was mourning or relieved or validated or what.

In a strange way, I'm a little proud of myself. I've never really been able to let go like that when I've been alone. I've been able to reach wracking sobs when in the company of someone who loved me; but I've never been capable of holding myself through it. Although I feel raw, I also feel a sense of calm. I really "Mommy'd" myself tonight. I guess Mommying myself and my two kitties is the only kind of mommying I'll end up doing, huh?

Laughter through tears, baby, laughter through tears.