In that I have been shedding a lot of water.

I have been peeing so much in the last 12 hours! I have emptied a very full bladder at least eight times in that time period.

Not only did it mess with my sleep big time, but now my bladder is very tired and really would like a break from all this retaining and dispensing, please.

As usual when this happens, I find myself wondering where the heck I was keeping all this fluid. My bladder only holds so much. Where was the rest of it?

I could pull a Marvel and say it was stored in a dimension of pure urine.

That would make my urinary sphincter a portal between dimensions.

That would explain a lot.

Anyhow, obviously I am a little worried about the situation. Frequent urination is classic sign of diabetes, after all.

It means your body is desperately trying to get rid of a toxic level of blood sugar by making lots and lots of urine and dumping it in there so you will pee it out.

I have also been craving the sweet stuff lately. Like, hard. It’s quite disturbing. I’ll be in a store and see a chocolate bar or a donut and this surge of pure greedy animal hunger will hit me and I will have the urge to grab the thing and run off somewhere to eat it like I was a toddler on a tear.

I have never experienced this before. Even in the period leading up to my initial diabetes diagnosis, I never craved the stuff that hard.

I just found myself eating entire boxes of cookies and still wanting more.

This is different, and I am honestly not sure what to do about it.

On the one hand, it might indicate that my blood sugar is low and that I honestly really should be eating something with sugar in it to build it back up.

Problem is, despite the cravings, I find most sugary things pretty gross now. I associate them will how gross they make me feel and that makes them quite disgusting to me.

Still, a small experiment might shed some light. Perhaps a muffin or other only luightly sweetened baked good.

On the other hand, there’s different fingers. (*BZZZZZT* START AGAIN. )

On the other hand, it might be that my blood sugar is too high and I am only experiencing it as these cravings because my body is foolishly trying to maintain that poisonously high sugar level.

I really need a glucometer, dammit. Then I would know and be able to take steps to fix the situation. It’s crazy that option paralysis and executive dysfunction are keeping me from getting one.

Why, you wuld have to be some kind of lunatic to have a problem like that.

And I am that kind of lunatic.

It’s a very dull kind of lunacy. I don’t howl at the moon or think I’m a pair of barbeque tongs or dress up like Napolean.

I just stay out of the way and play video games all day every day.

And slowly, ever so slowly, rot away.

More after the break.

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I can’t wait to get rid of this goddamned compression bandage on my leg.

And it’s not because it’s uncomfortable. It isn’t. And it’s not that it’s painful. It doesn’t pinch. And it’s not that it’s unsightly. With the stocking over it, it looks quite good.

But holy hannah, do I need a shower.

I must smell atrocious, despite all my scrubbing. I have been scrubbing out my armpits, crotch, and asshole quite diligently and yet I still feel grungy as fuck.

I swear, once this thing is off, I will shower for a week. Or draw myself a super hot bath and sit and steep like I am a goddamn teabag and am making very strong tea.

Me flavoured tea, I suppose. Ick.

What I need is one of these compression setups that is water-resistant. Like it comes with a waterproof stocking instead of the sock it’s in now.

Either that, or have it be something I can slip off and put it on all by myself. Then I could take it off just long enough to shower.

Or something. This no-shower bullshit is killing me.

It’s ironic that in order to treat something I got from an infection, I have ended up all dirty and gross and feeling downright septic.

The thing is, without the steam and sluicing of the shower, the deep down dirt and gunk never gets driven to the surface and washed away by the water.

It’s times like this that make me wish I had access to a big ol sauna.

There’s one in this building, but it’s way too small and dark for a ginormous claustrophobe like yours truly.

Besides, I don’t have anything to wear in the sauna, and something tells me that technically, I should not lounge about naked in a public sauna.

Even though that it totally the way I prefer to do it and I would be wearing a towel.

Well, it would be draped over my lap, anyhow. Mostly.

Having the deep down sweat and funk steamed out of your cock and bals is one of the best parts of a sauna, dammit.

Ditto nude sunbathing. Same principle. Hot tubs too.

Great, now I am all horny again.

Maybe I should take up writing porn,. I know I would be good at it. I am good at conveying mood and emotion, and so whatever I write would have both a smoking hot mood and that most vital thing missing from most porn : emotional context.

Don’t just tell me they are horny, make me FEEL it. Sex is so much more than the mechanics of it all.

And the sad truth is that there is always more money in smutty art than any other kind, because not everyone appreciates art, but everyone loves sex.

Well I guess that’s enough drivel for today.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

When they both get bad enough, they become the same thing.

Time for me to alienate people by talking about my sexuality again!

I’ve been very horny lately. Seems like I am always simmering. And because of previously discussed issues, I ain’t getting any relief.

Quick recap : health issues and the medications I am taking for them, especially the antidepressants, make it so that I can jerk off all I want but I will never orgasm and hence will not relieve my sexual tension via sperm squirting.

And this is so much the norm for me that I don’t have any but the most abstract sense that my testicles are overladen.

For all I know, I have been suffering from “blue balls” for most of the time for most of my life. That’s my normal.

It’s sexual satiation that is bizarre and abnormal to me.

And I wonder how that contributes to my emotional state. A certain kind of restlessness and yearning are normally associated with sexual frustration in men.

Were I even a smidge more in touch with my emotions, I would likely be feeling the sort of heat and pressure that causes normal, healthy people to go out into the world looking for some serious sexytimes with a sexy stranger.

Which sounds great at all, but not suited for us socially anxious types.

Especially when it’s as bad as mine. It’s not like I have the option to just go to a gay club or one of the gay bath houses around the GVRD.

The one time I went to the downtown Steamworks bath house. I was experiencing a Level 4 (of five) panic attack the whole times, and the notion of somehow being able to navigate this complicated and sexually charged milieu in order to get myself some cock seemed quite insane.

And that’s when it was pretty empty. I was told there were nights when the place was packed (imagine the smell!), and at first I was like “Yay!” and then I realized that if this low-ceilinged basement was packed, my claustrophobia would be going nuts along with my social anxiety and I would probably faint.

Plus the place was all exposed pipes and bare concrete and very little in the way of creature comforts, and that was very unsexy to me.

How can a place run by and for fags be so poorly decorated?

Anyhow, the point is, no clubs or baths for me. And using a hookup app like Grindr is a no go too because that involves one on one meetups with a stranger and that is a super huge challenge to my soc anx.

I will never call it that again.

The thing is, I have to know someone before I can relax around them, and I have to be pretty relaxed to even consider trying to share happy squirtings with him.

I suppose dating might work. Still scary, but not as scary to me as the prospect of hopping into bed with someone I don’t know and immediately being expected to perform on cue and to get it right.

I iwant slow snuggly sensual sex, dammit.

Man, I am such a chick.

More after the break.

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Of course, even when i have had sex in the real world, with real adults, it has not gone well for me.

I’ve talked about this before. No matter how horny I am, no matter how into the other person i am, and no matter how stimulating the situation, I have a tendency to have a panic attack when things turn sexy, and from that point on my mnd is scramgled and my emotions go numb and a big part of me wants to run away forever.

That has to be because of the rape.

Yes, that same rape that is probably why I am gay in the first place and that gave me the most unaccepable to the public kind of sexuality also makes it very difficult for me to enjoy the sex acts it forced me to desire.

And ain’t that a bitch.

It’s possible that I am, essentially, sexually crippled for life. It’s a horrifying thought, but I can’t rule it out. Maybe sokeone with as severe a set of interpersonal issues of mine is doomed to a lifetime of solo sexuality.

And even that isn’t very good.

If anything was capable of thawing me out sexually, it would have to be some situation so amazingly stimulating to me that it blasts right through my conscious mind and all its issues via sheer force of id.

Either that,or I would have to meet someone very patient and understanding who is willing to take me through a sexual awakening in tiny little baby steps.

Or someone who can make me feel safe. I don’t know what it’s like to feel safe. I can’t remember ever feeling safe. It’s hard for me to even imagine feeling safe.

Sounds nice, though.

I don’t even feel safe when I am having a great time with my friends, which is roughly as happy as I get in my daily life. Even then, that deep down screaming terror that makes me paranoid and fearful is there, waiting to emerge.

Warmth never truly reaches my heart.

The thickness of the ice around it varies, but there is never a true thaw.

Between the rape, the bullying, the isolation, and the emotional neglect, the ice grew thicker and thicker as I buried myself deeper and deeper in my distractions until the warmth of the sun was only a theory at best and a myth at worst.

Even today, after quite a lot of recovery, I can’t really feel the love people have for me. I appreciate it and I believe it is real and I feel lucky to get it…. but I don’t feel it.

The glacier around my heart is just too god damned thick.

Now i am going to lay down and do my best to weep for the man I might have been, if only I had lived.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.