Um. The reason I signed up today is because I'm at one of those low points that follows a high.
Went back to college and got my degree. Got my internship. I've self-published my books, including the trilogy I deliberately wrote to talk about surviving the problems I had from abuse as an adolescent. I really ought to be bright and eager.
But I feel hollowed out, not victorious. I'm so sure that the year's of working full time to pay for full time school, going without sleep, etc, are just going to mean nothing. There's no way someone as damaged as me could ever succeed in life.
It's crap, right? I mean, I know it's crap, an old would flaring up like malaria of the soul. But i still feel it.
And the old patterns I learned, to retreat into compulsive masturbation, pornography (which would just be betraying who I want to be as a religious man), even fantasized about acting out, though I've decided to be celibate. 'Cause my brain's learned that when I'm servicing someone, at least then I'm wanted.
Total. Total crap.
And part of me wants it all anyway, because I remember tuning out, going away. Not having to feel on sexual autopilot.
I tell myself it's dumb to hate myself for wounds others inflicted. Not to own their imprints, their bloody footprints in my sexuality. If they hit me with a bat I wouldn't hate my arm for breaking. Well they broke my sex not my arm, exactly what they wanted to do. I don't have to own it.
But sometimes I do, when I'm under pressure. Part of me wishes someone else would just take control. Rather be used than useless? How fucked up is that!
I'm going to stop talking now, before all my guts spill out on total strangers.
I'm safe. I'm going to be ok. It's just a flare-up of old wounds. I've gutted them out before. and every time I make it through days/weeks/the odd month like this, it's one more day/week/good God has it been a month?! That I'm who I decide, not who they made me.
And so at the other side of this, I'll still be a survivor.
Edited by Onesimus75 (08/22/13 02:51 PM)
Edit Reason: stoopid typos
We are not defined by our faults, or our wounds, but by the truth within us, which nothing can take away.