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21 March 2009

Hiding Still

I am ashamed of myself my dear mortals, afraid of what the world would make of me if I was truelly to reviel what I am in fullness. I fear ostrizisation from a commuty I am bearly tolorated in when I am on ‘good’ behaviour.

Why does it matter to me? Why can I not be brave and show all my faces, all my facets to everyone?

The hiding and repressing are making me sick of mind once more and I do not want that to happen – I have been doing so well. But it pulls at me, my sexual behavour appalls me and excites me and I haven’t even managed to do anything that interesting but if I think about it – think of how easy I now masturbate. How I whisper to my King about all the fantasies that swerl within my mind I feel wronge, I feel warped and twisted and the King in trying to help has made me feel worse.

He says I am looking for something or subconcously trying to compensate for something with the sex but the sex doesn’t quiet fit and so I am only partially saticfied and so keep trying becoming more and more sexual.

I am over sexed in the first place.

What am I though? I don’t even have a ‘sexuality’ to come out about and so I feel alone, the King says I’m gay/bisexual and then says I’m just horney and am not really anything and I get confussed.

Sometimes I want sex but can nto stand him touching me which is not fair on him, he is always lovely about it but I feel bad. I have been having so many issues with sex of late – my breasts have become a no go zone due to stupid flash backs not leaving me alone – I hate it I really do.

I bury myself within fantsies as that they only way I can cope with sex and I want sex – need sex and lots of it – it bizar and stupid and the King has accendently cuased me to relaspe into a way of thinking I thought I had got rid off. My sexulness, my needs are something wronge, twisted, a mental illness, they take what should be pure and make them dirty and I like that but now its making me feel dirty and I want to scour my skin of with steel wool. I want to enjoy sex with out that little voice at the back of my mind telling me I’m sick, saying that I wouldnt like all this crap if I hadn’t been abused. I dont want my base disired to be tainted by that – so much of my life has been tainted I want the memory erased but it wont go it hangs there like a becon in the back of my mind and often when fucking I have to metal fight myself from letting it surface and wigging me out.

I wish I was brave and I wish I could say – I like women, I like men and I especially like men who look like women – but I can’t I get close to it if I feel the company is receptive to this sort of talk but everyone tends to think I am joking and I suppose I probably am a lot of the time but the essence of it is not a joke. Most of the people I spent my life surrounded by though are intollerant to the point of having appaplexy when I deyed my hair for charity. When I braided my hair many did not speak to me and I feel watched and judged and I feel the danger of attracting stigma in the place I am supposed to life for my who life.

Then there is my family – I just can’t even begin to imaging the arguments and being told I am stupid that would result if I even hinted at not being ‘normal’ in the sexual department – not hating sex with my ‘man’ has already got them looking at me funny.

I don’t get it and I dont get my own reactions to things and I feel traped pretending to be something I am not.

6 March 2009


My mind is lost On road some where dreaming of those things I may never know

Like piece of mind A body divine Pain that never lasts leaving me to sleep

My soul has fled Waiting for the day it may return to me Shredded and torn

4 March 2009

All these things

All these simple things Are brought to bare Upon my mind

I shall sing in dispair Of all thats gone never again

All the dreams I knew fading fast way to soon

Screaming out these words that no one hears Lost inside

Reaching for you minds To show you wounds too deep inside

I am weak from this Asking for help you never hear

Pleding with myself for freedom freedom


8 November 2008


And so once more the pressure of normal life has me swamped and I run to those things I know work, this blog and the nshn forum. I can feel the ground rip out from benieth me and the precipiss is waiting with a hungry wide mouth.

I will not allow this to happen – I am over a year shelf harm free now and I fear that world though it looks so inviting and so controlled but the choas has me and I fight to become me once more – I will be the person I have to be reguardless of the obsticals set before me as ultamatly I am selfish.

I feel the power of my thoughts bending the world when I sit down to do my college work, I can see the potential in everything I touch and then I am at home and the Little Lady is lovely but the Ancestors swamp me and consume my thought – the very reason the King said, ‘sod it just go and do your masters – before you can do nothing other than look after the sick and old.’ I can not care for them in the way they expect I do not have the time nor the patience nor the health to do so – I am not physically or mentally stronge enough to take them and their continual demands and the world tilts benith my feet when I think on that I am expected to do.

But the stress – oh the stress of what I have chosen to do – it pour down thickly on me and prevents deep sleep and yet… and yet I crave the lost thoughts of academia and the way my brian goes fuzzy after four hours solid reading or maths or writting. I need this or I really will go insane and then I feel I am helping – just by talking and interacting with others of my true ilk – I am helping – giving them ideas and pointing out unforseen issues with what they are already doing or just considering – I feel the power, the purpose – the release and I crave it more and more.

Home feels more and more like a tether and I do not want to exist here anymore and yet…. and yet the King, the Little Lady are my world, my solid base on which everything is built and here is where the panic begins.

And so I push up to the surface though it is a receeding light to me and the pressure burns my lungs and I feel the chocking fluids of life killing me before I ever begun.

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