Thinking

It’s been a long time since I just sort of “blogged” – you know, in the old-school way of putting thoughts onto a screen to tell your personal story or figure yourself out or share something (maybe mundane, maybe personal).

I remember doing it as a vanilla writer when I got divorced. Every post – stupid, silly, outraged, or simply optimistic – was cathartic.

Of course, I remember in the early days of how-do-I-masturbate and WOW-these-orgasms-are-AWESOME. Which was quickly followed by hmmm-BDSM-looks-interesting.

My personal writing has always had to serve a purpose. Blogging, as I know it to be, as been my way of figuring myself out. A way to connect with maybe one or two other people in the world who might relate.

Along the way, things changed. I changed.

It became more about sharing experiences and knowledge.

Hell yeah, I like making people wet and horny and ready to fuck or masturbate or whatever you do to get off.

Fuck yeah, I want other submissives to know those feelings are normal and that D/s is worth it, if it works for you.

But somewhere in there, I decided I didn’t need to share the personal or write to figure out what I thought. No, I don’t know why I felt that way, either. So I tried to do it in the vanilla world. And I was quickly reminded that trying to “figure myself out” in a venue that my family reads is more stressful than helpful.

“Are you okay?”

“What did that post mean?”

“Are you mad at me?”

For fuck’s sake, I was just trying to write.

So I stopped. I stopped writing as a form of thought. I stopped writing for self-improvement.

And I think it’s fucked me up.

Anxiety, mania, depression, and OCD – these are all a part of me. I’m pretty sure they always have been, but it’s much more exaggerated and noticeable than ever before. I’ve repressed myself so badly that my thoughts and feelings squeak and hiss out of me like a wonky engine in need of a tune-up (and thus concludes my one and only use of “car stuff” as a simile).

But I’m a great shover-downer.

Feeling a little worried? Eat something gooey and delicious to feel better!

Unsure of what to do next? Ignore all the problems and read three or thirteen novels back to back.

Terrified of something nameless but scared nonetheless? Throw your energy into anything else that looks remotely interesting.

Yep, if repressing your thoughts and feelings was an Olympic sport, I’d at least make it to the podium.

Where do I go to get it all out? How do I deal with this?

Having a kink-friendly therapist has been wonderful. I never knew how freeing it would be to tell someone else, “Well, I had a major babygirl meltdown last night” and have them know exactly what I mean and help me identify where it came from and why.

Keeping a journal really does help. And John Brownstone sees the difference so he made me a special pen and encourages the purchase of as many blank journals as I need.

But somehow it’s not enough.

I’ve wavered for weeks now. Do I never say anything? Do I use this space where I feel most myself and most comfortable? Do I use my vanilla blog (the one I only keep up because as a writer I’m “supposed to” have a platform and what if I ever actually write my vanilla novel?????)?

I don’t know. I have no answers – and I’m not really looking for any.

I did have a thought a few weeks ago that maybe in this space, as a kinkster, mom, writer, entrepreneur, podcaster, human being, I should “go all in” and just use this space as I need it. When I need it. Which, thankfully isn’t always.

I’m still undecided.

But sometimes it’s just really nice to be able to lay your thoughts out in front of you and figure out what you feel and think…and then share it.

Photo Credit: Pixabay