I admit up front I’m not a fan of the type of blog posts I’m about to write. It’s not that I have a problem with them per se, nor do I think they shouldn’t be written by others, but it must be my mother’s stoic Nebraskan upbringing that makes me wince at the thought of writing one myself. I come from the kind of people who don’t talk about their problems and just suck whatever it is bothering them up.
Even now, having just coughed up that first paragraph, I can feel a weight come down on me and an overriding urge to click into another tab to find a distraction so I can stop doing this. I can say (and show) a lot about myself, but some things are more of a challenge than others.
I’ve mentioned before my issues with anxiety. I think I have problems of a larger significance than just that. I think I’m also depressed. But it doesn’t feel like what I think depression is. My image of depression is sad but I don’t always feel sad. When it’s bad, I don’t feel much at all. Or the anxiety shows up and I feel freaked the fuck out. Freaked out about what? Anything. Everything. Usually it’s something I have to do which, when looked at from outside, would appear to be a minor thing. A thing that will take me three minutes to accomplish. But it looms over me and I avoid it and the longer that goes on the more freaked out about it I am.
I found a comic online. It perfectly illustrates (literally) what I feel except it ends on a positive note and I don’t feel positive at all. If anything, this is getting worse. And I can’t keep going on without making some kind of change.
I searched the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors and Therapists website (AASECT for short) for someone to talk to. Not because I think this is a sexual issue. Not because I have any issues whatsoever with my sexuality or how it manifests in my life. If anything, I’m more comfortable about who I am and what I do now than I’ve ever been. But I recall when Belle and I were seeing a therapist during our troubles and the issue of my kinky predilections was raised (not in a bad way or in much specificity, just in passing) and I didn’t get a good vibe from the therapist about it. Not that she was too negative, just that the first thing she thought of when the word “kink” was used was erotic asphyxiation and she seemed otherwise pretty clueless to my kind of sexuality. When I meet this new person, and assuming who I am sexually comes up, I don’t want to have to spend a lot of time fighting a headwind of sex negativity or ignorance. I don’t necessarily expect this guy to have a deep understanding of my specific proclivities, but I also don’t want to have to deal with any sex negative bullshit.
In my previous writing about this, I speculated that the denial might play a part. I don’t think that now. Belle let me come several times in a week recently and nothing changed. Some days are good, some days OK, some really bad. Even though I was, for that short time, on a normal kind of release pattern, I still woke up one night in a near panic about nothing in particular.
Belle’s on a trip at the moment and I can’t even say how long it’s been since she let me stay unlocked while away like this, but I’m out now. I asked to be because I didn’t want to go in. Not for the typical reasons. Not because I want to play with myself or whatever. I have little interest in that. I little interest in being out or locked up but being locked up when I feel like this is way more demoralizing than being unlocked.
So, it’s taken me like a week to write as much as this. Then I ignored it. It’s like sludging uphill in heavy boots through knee-deep mud to push these words out. I’m not quite as morose as I was when I started but I’m not in the clear, either.
Another reason this is hard to write is because I’m preconditioned to think I’m just being whiny and not trying hard enough. Somehow. It’s the development of the weird panicky anxiety issues that have driven me to finally see a professional. They don’t feel normal. I can’t easily rationalize them away.
I am back in the Steelheart, for those who are interested. I didn’t put it back on because I really wanted to but I thought Belle would want me to and I was starting to feel little urges to play with myself. It’s a testament to how ingrained this denial and chastity dynamic is in our relationship that even in the face of these issues I’m having, it remains. Perhaps we won’t put it aside because to do so would mean something was seriously wrong so we keep doing it. But I don’t think so. It’s not superficial. It’s not a thing we’re just doing. It’s more how we are.
I’ve mentioned before about my dent. My current mood has left me feeling bad about that. Like I’m broken or ruined or…I dunno. I am not broken. Everything is still functional. But I’m not the same. And my anxiousness is very happy to attach itself to that. In a different state, I’d have no issue with it at all. I might even embrace it as I did when I wrote the post I linked to at the start of this paragraph. But now it’s all about worry and fear. It’s far worse in my mind than it really is and I know this but I still think it until I feel it again. But I won’t allow myself to be rational about it.
In any event, I know I may be moderating because I don’t feel as negatively about it as often as I have. I can nearly accept my logical arguments and kind of feel the tendrils of what I used to feel about it. But I’m still not there 100%. Not even 50%. I’m even getting things done at work all by myself. It’s a challenge and much harder than it should be and I’m still nervous more than seems healthy, but it’s progress.
So I’m back in the Steelheart. Not because I crave it. More because it’s a kind of security blanket. A reminder of better feelings and thoughts. And because Belle prefers me in it.