Kaboom

I feel like an explosion that's already happened. Caught in a net of hands of my own making, catching the pieces of me as they try to escape, pulling them in and shoving them back into place with no real regard for where they come from.
And each piece that's meant to be gone is rotting away, unconnected to anything else.

All that kinetic energy dispersed into the effort required to deny the affects of the original explosion.

Fuck that.


I'm leery of not focusing on the negative right now. Sometimes you NEED to focus on the negative, in order to be motivated to get shit done. But that has never, ever, EVER worked for me. I am not a negatively charged particle. I can't actually accomplish anything positive when the negative is in ascendance. I just can't. I can't beat myself up over my imperfections and let that pain motivate me to change.

I have to be happy to create more happy.

It's why I've developed all of these false mechanisms of happiness. Because they fuel more happy, and eventually they become honest.

My love of sex is a negative thing right now. And it's creating negative realities for me. BUT, it's a happy mechanism, and it makes me feel great. No matter the long term consequences, sex makes me happy. So there's a bit of a disconnect happening. Sex with T is always amazing. We have discovered our triggers, and we push them gleefully and often. Not quite as often as I'd like, but still. Often enough to be completely addictive. I'm having a hard time having sex with anyone else at the moment, because my body has decided I'm in a monogamous relationship, regardless of my brains input on the matter, and it looks at sex with others as cheating. Unless I'm travelling, apparently, when all bets are off.
This data isn't new. It comes and goes in waves, but the basic reality of my relationship with T, and therefore the basic reality of my life because he's in my home and my heart, has always been the same.

I've always assumed that he's in my life to help me deal with my anger issues, to help me find the smallest parts of me that cringe in terror at anger, and draw them up into my adult life to be dealt with.

But sex is a bigger part of what's unhealthy about our relationship than anger. Because the anger makes me want to leave. The sex makes me want to say fuck it, and stay despite all the reasons I know I shouldn't. THAT'S unhealthy. It's the unhealthy inside me, not him. Anger was always his issue to deal with. Sex was mine. Sex, and submission, and my desperate need and desire to please. To placate, to be told what to do. To be selfish.

hmm.

I'm going to have to think about this one some more. Sex with T is like nothing else I've ever experienced, and it's been in my body's best interest to not analyze it too closely. And when it comes to sex, what my body wants, my body gets.

I wrote, a while ago, about rough sex on my other blog. I wrote out what I've experienced with him, and none of it felt wrong. It still doesn't feel wrong. The kind of sex that is a struggle, that fulfills a deeply animalistic part of my nature that I've always been taught to be ashamed of, doesn't feel wrong. I hope it never feels wrong, because physically, it is absolutely amazing. And it makes me feel right. The kind of strength I have isn't meant to not be fulfilled, and a huge part of that strength comes from my sexuality, from my love of the struggle, of conquering and surrendering.

So, if it's not the physical reality of it that's wrong for me, it has to be the reasons behind it. The bonds it creates between my partner and myself. Why WE are doing it, instead of why I am doing it.

Yeah. More on that later. Must think.