Image via Pixabay
This is Masturbation Monday and it’s supposed to be all about the sex, right? Well, today, this isn’t that. If you’re here for smut, click here (<===) for something from the archive. For those who came for the kink but stay for the crazy, read on…
I hate you.
I hate how you sneak up on me, in small ways I only recognize later, after the storm passes. You tap me on the shoulder and run away like a child, only to come back with a bullying vengeance.
My lovely new play collar felt so good all day. It put me in a submissive mindset, in a most babygirl way, and I loved every second of it.
But you took that away from the first moment of breathlessness, forcing me to beg John Brownstone to remove it in a hotel bar. I couldn’t breathe, and the panic set in. I would have clawed it from my neck if I had to. Get. It. Off!
I shrugged the moment off. Told myself everything was fine, to sit back and enjoy my time with my friends.
But you couldn’t leave me be, could you?
You gave me the night, I grant you that. Let me enjoy my time but you stuck with me, right beneath the surface. Waiting for your opportunity.
Like a fucking thief in the night, you stole my confidence, my composure, and my sleep.
The website is down because you’re shit. Why the hell do you have four websites? What the fuck are you trying to prove? Shut them all down. You don’t know what you’re doing anyway.
I hate that you stole my Eroticon high, that wave of love and generosity of spirit I was riding. All the good energy surrounding me vanished as if it had never been there.
Because of you.
The pain in your neck won’t stop. You’ll have to learn to live with it. This is how it is now. Sucks, don’t it?
You took my emotional and mental pain and let it feed the physical pain. Because of you, my mind went in directions it never would.
The pain will never end. I can’t bear it. How will I live like this?
I’m a fake, a fraud. What the fuck do I know about anything?
Such an amazing weekend and experience, and I spent an hour sobbing into a pillow, unable to draw a deep breath, unable to stop trembling. Even John Brownstone couldn’t soothe me.
I hate you.
Yes, I can hear you in my head, reminding me of what little you offer. The good you sometimes do.
Double checking myself so often it looks like I never make a mistake. You also make me want to curl up into a ball and hide when the mistake gets made anyway. There you are, convincing me I can prevent all fuck-ups even when I know that’s not true.
Weighing everything I say carefully so as never to offend or rock a boat. Drama isn’t welcome in my world, so if I never make waves, I never have to worry about it. But you also keep me up at night, second-guessing every word I’ve said without thinking it through.
Planning my life down to the smallest detail so I’m prepared for anything. I look efficient to the outside world. But you’ve also stolen spontaneity from my life.
I live in fear. Fear of the unknown, of loss, of loneliness, of unworthiness – because of you.
For all that I’ve learned how to cope with you, anxiety, I detest you. You blot out my sun, you steal my joy, and you leave me wounded and small.
I don’t know how to fix you or make you go away, and maybe I’ll have to live with you forever. But fucking hell, I don’t have to like it.
Yeah, I know, it’s not smutty. Probably all wrong for Masturbation Monday, but when it’s your own meme, you can do what you want. Right?? (And anyone who’d like to soothe that anxiety, feel free.)
It’s also Wicked Wednesday (or nearly so) and the prompt is “sad.” My anxiety makes me very sad because I’d like a brain that works properly, thanks. I know I have work to do to find balance and my own center to help mitigate my anxiety. I’m tired of amazing moments like Eroticon being nearly ruined – even temporarily – by a brain that lies to me.
To read actual sexy stuff, you know where to go.