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.

This entry was posted on Saturday, March 21st, 2009 at 10:18 pm and is filed under Chaotic Music, Mortals are so thick, The Abyss is Looking at Me. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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