Taking a Breather

Took a naked swim in the lake behind my house this morning. Something about the water is very healing; something I very much need right now. His really harsh words last night cut pretty deep. It’s what I get when I don’t listen.

I was asking…begging for attention. That kind of begging gets me a ball peen hammer buried in my fucking skull. The withdrawing of His attention from me–it’s so intensely painful. While I was floating in the lake, watching my nipples surface above the water, I took in a deep breath and wondered why. Why is His attention so important to me? Why do I feel I need it so badly that when it’s gone it feels like death to me, and all I want to do is find that air again; fill my lungs and heart with that touch from Him? More importantly…what do I feel isn’t enough in my life and inside of me that I feel I literally can’t live without Him? Without His attention.

That’s literally how it feels. Last night I wrote back that I wouldn’t bother Him any more, and it was as if my body and soul were in this panic. It was like drowning, and I could feel myself grasping for something to hold on to. It’s humiliating, and this is not the good kind of humiliation. It’s not the healthy kind He’s shown me.

So much of this journey has been about this issue. The sexual experiences get submerged when this happens. Let me rephrase that: when I go off the deep end and pitifully beg for attention. If He gave it to me at just that moment, it would be like rewarding a child for having a tantrum by giving them a treat. And we all are guilty of doing that to others. As a parent, I know I’ve made that mistake. The tantrum brings up feelings of our own pain, so we “soothe” the child instead of teach them how to calm themselves.

Not speaking for His reasons for doing what He does, yet I admire His strength and at the same time fear it. I fear it because His is a gaze that will not let me slip anything by. His is the brightest, harshest light that anyone has ever shone on my insecurities.

Inside of all of this is me questioning my motives for everything. Even do I or can I love? It’s more than guilt, it’s this absolute black hole inside that just has no end. It feels more separated from everyone and everything than anything. What causes that in me, that I have that kind of fear?

I was thinking about it before, and I’ve fucked or sucked over seven cocks since I blew everything up. If things were good between us and I were in a good place with Him, that would be feeling good and fulfilling. That’s because it would have been shared with Him. In this case, it’s been me just feverishly frantically trying to keep my head above water and “please” Him. To make amends. Nothing is though. Not seven cocks, not videos, not me. It’s all a blur and filled with this murky disturbing film over it, instead of feeling amazing.

It’s abuse on so many levels. It’s sadly offensive to Him, too. On the surface, I never mean it to be. On the surface, I only try and show Him I’ll do anything. Deeper down it’s my neediness and insecurity that without His gaze…I’m nothing. I don’t exist. That’s not giving to Him, and it’s not caring or love or knowing Him; it’s just more selfishness and fear.

I thought about my family, and how I have love in my life. They love me no matter what. Even when I’m abusive and wrong with them. They forgive me and still love me anyway. But their gaze isn’t as powerful. They’ve accepted my wrongs as a given, and there’s very little stress from them. His gaze is the strongest stress I’ve ever felt, and it pushes every insecure, subconscious and conscious reaction to surface and show itself in the most ugly of light. It makes me feel dirty and tarnished and unredeemable.

I couldn’t sleep last night and after lying in bed for several hours, I got up and checked my phone. Skype said He was there. I wrote “still awake?” and deleted it several times before I finally hit send. He wrote “yes” back. This buzz was running through my whole body, and I pondered long and hard before I said anything more. The insecure impulse was to say how much of a psycho I can be. How my insecure freak outs cause all my pain and offer no comfort for Him. How sorry I was, but I just text, “good morning, then”…”gm” came back.

Just taking a breather for now. Staying quiet with Him and looking at all of this. I hate it. It’s all that’s left now, after all of my splashing around. I have to deal with my own feelings inside. My anger, frustration, depression, panic, pain, fear…it can’t be buried in Him or cock at the moment. Redemption through cock only cums when I stop what I’ve been doing.

I hear the word co-dependent rattling around in my little brain. Yet, is this really co-dependent…or have I allowed this relationship to be the single most forceful purging of all my shit in my life? Am I drawn to Him because the knowing part of me is demanding I stop hiding? Everything! That oddly enough could be the only way to finding love. Not for need but for purity.

 

 

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