Wednesday, 22 April 2015

Removable Disk

It happens, every now and again, that I am struck by a wave of self-doubt beyond the usual amount of self-doubt that I carry around with me as a sort of demonstration effort. I think, sometimes, that I've lost it: like I've forgotten how to kiss, how to cuddle, how to fuck. I've forgotten how to be sexy, how to be affectionate and how to enjoy porn. Like I'm masturbating out of necessity because if I don't I lose my sex blogger card.

And yet I know that's not always been the case. I know that I am naturally affectionate. I hug practically everyone, and I'll even cuddle if you want one. I love to kiss. I love to have sex. I like porn, I like masturbating and I have, in the past, felt sexy. I'm just not feeling it now.

The last few weeks have been difficult. I've had troubles relating to money, work, politics and health, and I simply don't need a poor self-image to go with it, but I get my mother constantly mentioning Slimming World when I'm in earshot and the waves of extreme tiredness crashing against me (despite the iron tablets) at times when I'd usually try to be seductive and irresistible (try... it rarely succeeded too much...). And I think I've forgotten. It's just not there any more. It's a memory and that's all it will ever be.

I recently re-activated my BlackBerry after a couple of weeks without any services on it, not even calls or texts. I went over my overdraft limit, which cancelled my monthly recurring payment, and with it went not only texts and calls, but BBM, browsing and - crucially - Twitter. With a job that affords irregular shifts and the amount of Stuff I Appear To Be Doing, I found myself getting less and less social and more like I was disconnected from the sex blogging / social networking clique to which I so desperately cling. It's not like I need to constantly check Twitter, or read all the blogs on my blogroll, but it helps: it genuinely, really helps, as the people there and the words they write are those I know and love and trust and I'm including you in that if you've read this far.

The amount of relief I felt when my boss was late this morning and I could send a bitchy tweet about it was almost tangible.

Last night I had a dream which involved a porn star, a girlfriend and an old blogger comrade, and it was funny, sexy and totally nonsensical. In it there were hugs and cuddles and there was a large amount of kissing and watching and there was possibly even sex an it ended on a big long kiss wherein I felt that, yes, I knew how to kiss and how to cuddle and how to be affectionate and even how to fuck, even if I didn't have sex with anyone in the dream. But I was so comfortable in it, so secure in my sexual world, that I was severely disappointed by my alarm when it woke me up.

Because I may not be feeling it, but my brain knows who I am and who I was and who I can be, and it's trying to reassure me, and if that's all the comfort I'm going to get, in whatever way I'm going to get it, then that's what I'll take.

And that's all right. That's OK.

It'll pass.

No comments: