Kink and chronic illness

Kink and chronic illness

I'm cautious of being over optimistic.

I'm trying for something I desperately want to have again, have wanted for so long, but my body is a traitor and I don't know how to function like this any more.

I was excited and had intentions, plans laid out in my mind for days, then when the moment came for action I was overwhelmed with nausea that stayed my movements. He moved first and that is unacceptable.

I hold myself to a higher standard than that. I know who I am and what I want, but I'm struggling with the how.

My body has betrayed me this endless, pervasive, unnamed illness that has spent three years stripping me of myself. I only know how to be in extremes, a life of half measures was never for me. And I want to again be that woman that turned heads in a room, the one who's confidence was outmatched only be her adventurousness. She lives inside me, now screaming for escape, but the cage of physical limitations is one I haven't learned to break.

I need patience, I need time. I need someone who will understand and wade with me through unknown waters. But I can not reconcile that degree of vulnerability with the dominance that has always raged within me. A misstep, a hesitation, is an affront to myself.

I can not predict the good days, or hours as often the case may be, and so quickly it can change from good to bad or unendurable.

It took me two years to regain a basic, acceptable level of function, and that was only won through rigorous, determined self sacrifice.

But I don't want to waste my non work days preserving my energy, forcing myself to attend the necessities that usually precipitate hours of agony for me. I want my fucking life back.

I know it is possible to have both, that with someone patient and understanding I could. But I haven't the faintest how to ask for, or pursue that. I see it too much as weakness, as betrayal of self. But I don't think there is another way to reconcile my desires with my limitations.

I find myself deeply frustrated. Every outlet I know for this kind of frustration is largely unavailable to me.

In my isolation these past years, the necessary duck and cover I needed to maintain to keep my job and sanity, seems to have made me over accustomed to the silence and solitude. Two things I've always needed at times, but never to this extent. But now I'm breaking it, engaging a world of noise and companionship, a breath of fresh air I desperately needed. I feel more genuinely myself than I have in so long, but there's tax to be paid.

Some days, too many days, the noise becomes a cacophony and the company a crowd. Even though I want the contact, enjoy the conversation, I feel attacked by it. I'm good at setting boundaries, but in the silence I demand, I am left with that contempt within myself. A misstep, a hesitation.

My life is stable, manageable, but in a few ways empty. I am dishonest with myself, denying such significant parts of my nature. Now on the tail end, of a terrible year, where I lost more than I knew how to bare, I am demanding of myself to stop denying myself.

Its just a matter of working out exactly how the fuck I do that with a body that can't handle it half of the time.

Patience. Perseverance. It just takes time.

These are simply the words of an overtired mind.

I want what I want, and I will find a way to have it.

"She's dressed in black again."


Nov 3, 2020