Starting my blogging an hour late for the usual reason : I was masturbating.

And of course, once I get into the groove of jerkin’ the gherkin, I don’t wanna stop. It feels too good to keep going and it would feel real bad to stop until I have worn down my sexual battery.

So yeah, I still don’t ejaculate very often. Which is still quite frustrating, but I am learning to get used to it and no longer expect it to happen.

On the rare occasional it does, it’s a happy little surprise.

And I at least can discharge my sexual energy if not the fluids. Seminal buildup and the dreaded “blue balls” are a constant problem for me, but what the hell, jacking off still feels wonderful and I do it pretty frequently.

And what the heck, it even counts as cardio. Ya know, anything that gets your heart and respiration rate up for ten minutes or more….

And modern psychology says that nothing beats depression like exercise, so I can even count it as a form of psychotherapy.

I miss cumming, though. Nothing breaks tension like a healthy, hearty squirt.

Oh well. Maybe some day it will return. Maybe I just need the right kind of stimulus. Like, say, the kind that comes from sex with other people.

I’m working on it.

Today was Therapy Thursday. Once more I had managed to completely forget about therapy until the phone rang, and yet, I was able to instantly shift into therapy mode without even slowing down, and I am proud of myself for that.

See? I tell myself. I can handle things. I can react to the unexpected. Not every surprised has to hit me like a hammer to the head.

I can do things. I CAN do things. I can DO things.

Repeat until believed.

I told Doctor Costin about all my thoughts about being isolated from reality and the effects it has had on my interpersonal relationships, including the very real possibility that my childhood was only as lonely and isolated as it was because I had this massive wall between me and reality, and just on the other side of that wall were people trying hard to get through to me but the wall was just too thick.

It’s like I was off on a planet of my own. It still is, really, though I do what I can to come back to Earth for my friends.

Well, I at least get a little closer to Earth. I expect that I won’t actually be able to make it through the atmosphere and touch down for some time yet.

But I am making progress. I am sawing my way through that big thick wall between me and the real, live, sensory world, and swallowing the resulting ice cubes.

I feel hopeful because I don’t feel lost any more. I know where I am trying to go and what am I trying to do. I have faced the sheer enormity of my problem and now I have its measure. It’s no longer an infinite burden with no end in sight.

I can see it from here. More importantly, I can feel it from here. It’s that wonderful warm thing on the other side of my incredible wall, and feeling it there makes it a lot easier for me to keep burrowing in that direction.

I just have to watch out for that wrong turn in Albuquerque.

Soon the Sun Sign will be turning from Aries to Taurus, and I will start getting all that sweet, sweet Solar energy.

All the better for melting the ice around my heart, n’est-ce pas?

More after the break.

---

It’s all a lie

Well, maybe not a lie. But a mistake. Lies require intent.

But it could be that my real, lived life does not match the internal narrative of it that I have built up over the years.

I thought I had be left out in the cold or thrown to the wolves, but it could be that both the cold and wolves were me all along.

Me, and that miles thick invisible wall between me and reality.

Invisible because I don’t do anything overt to alert people to the fact that I am not really there. I am, in fact, eerily good at pretending to be right there in front of you when I am actually crouched behind a blast shield in a bunker ten miles away.

And even then, I don’t feel safe.

Well okay. Say it turns out that my internal narrative is way off and that I was not nearly as alone as my mental illness made me think I was.

So now what? What do I do with that information?

For right now, nothing. Nothing but keep writing and talking and thinking about it in order to keep it fro sinking back into my mental morass until I re-discover it in three years.

But the question that sticks out at me right now is, “What do you do when you realize that the entire theme of your childhood and all the conclusions stemming from that were based on a fundamental mistruth?

That would partially invalidate not just a whole lot of my internal narrative but a lot of my memories of my childhood too.

Well I have always suspected that the truth of things was a lot more complex than my oversimplified internal narrative of victimhood.

Things are rarely that cartoonishly simple.

I know that I felt cold and lonely and isolated for many years of my childhood, and that for a lot of those years, I had absolutely no friends.

And I know that I did not feel like I could approach my parents with my problems as they would just brush me off without so much as acknowledging me.

I know that my feeling of being abandoned didn’t come out of nowhere.

So in that sense at least, nothing has changed. Perhaps my subjective experience of life back then was based more on my own emotional state than the evidence. I dunno.

But in the end, it is still what happened to me.

At least, from my point of view.

But I am still going to work hard to correct my internal narrative because I think it has been holding me back for a long long time.

After all, if I imagine myself as the victim, that means I can’t get better without losing a big piece of my identity. Right?

And people will do damned near anything to keep their sense of identity intact.

But me…. I have to know more.

I have to understand.

And by God, I will, or die tryin’.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.