deconstructing into fear
the long flowing sobs I poured into the swimming pool remind me of the suggestion I offered to Pilar. Deconstruct the emotions into its core components.
So, these sobs. What are they made of? Where do they come from?
Blocked anger, resentment at not being able to express. The raw want of being and caring and connecting blocked so stringently by society and, worse, myself. Resentment of knowing that others, especially women, are able to enjoy their sexuality like bees in a flower field, like honored guests at a perpetual buffet, while I feel I have begged for food at every doorstep, ever so meekly and with fear, for the glaring looks of "no" and the hidden kicks of "I just don't see you that way" hurt like a 2-meter long thorn piercing my masculinity and my sex drive, which deflates it to the point of sadness and shame. And I hold the firm knowledge that I have not the right to appeal the decision, and that it likely only lessens my odds of connection. And so I have learned to not show myself exactly as who I am, but as a shapeshifter who blends in with what she may perhaps like, a provider of gifts and miracles who provides not only for the pure pleasure of sharing, but for the possibility it just might trigger her gratitude enough into desire for connection and sex.
Yes, yes, story. What is the fear?
The fear is that I have lost my potential and my masculinity to time and wasted opportunities. The fear is that my true energetic potential remains unfulfilled. My fear is that the strength I know I have is locked away in an iron cage deep in my being, only to come out when it cries and when it explodes in anger. Not as my true self.
The fear is that I do not express my true self.
The fear is that I pretend, keep pretending.
The fear is that my life is wasted.
The fear is that my beast serves a life sentence for a crime it doesn't even know it committed.
My fear is that I do not find a way to allow it out,
in this society
laden with iron rules, heavy assumptions, and fiery backlashes.
My fear is that I live a lie.
Even when I feel I don't.
(most of the time)
More than one fear. So, what to do with these fears?
Face them head on. Feel them. Experience them while the action takes places?
Actually invade the boundaries I've so far kept unviolated? To break free of the iron cage?
Theoretical looking into the fears is... it causes crying and catharsis. And sadness. It does not, in my experience, heal.
Bring love to myself? I have done that.
More love? Just keep loving?
That does not provide me with any experience or any connection. Well, I guess that's the point. That the thing desired is let go.
No success yet.
Catharsis? Keep shouting and crying and screaming unto channels that will take this, and clean me of it?
Part of me feels it's a waste of energy. Part of me feels it helps. Part of me feels it doesn't. Crying into the swimming pool was a somewhat relieving sensation, but I've experienced that before.
I don't know. I keep
seeking
observing
listening
for now, containing.
even when I feel the place from which I act is pure
the floor on which I stand is flat and clear
a thorn I sometimes think is gone
is actually hidden away in the corner,
it can be so hidden, yet not gone
and when I happen to
step on it
as I dance, my foot feels the stab,
it remembers what lies under it
and it remembers it, it uncovers it,
and finds under a miles-wide chamber of rage, hatred, resentment, anger, desperation, and starvation.
because even when I don't know it, my approaches to women begin as stratagems
always
even when I don't remember it
it has been that way so long I don't know how to not play the stratagem
not to live the lie
I don't know how to
and I don't know how to learn
I fear the time to learn is past
gone with the time when friendships bud sparkling from the young flames of puberty.
gone
with no social context to emulate it
with even no biological circuit in me
to relearn it if a societal context were there.
I fear it is gone
and my beast is
trapped forever
doomed to die caged
or due to explode and destroy myself in the process.
the long flowing sobs I poured into the swimming pool remind me of the suggestion I offered to Pilar. Deconstruct the emotions into its core components.
So, these sobs. What are they made of? Where do they come from?
Blocked anger, resentment at not being able to express. The raw want of being and caring and connecting blocked so stringently by society and, worse, myself. Resentment of knowing that others, especially women, are able to enjoy their sexuality like bees in a flower field, like honored guests at a perpetual buffet, while I feel I have begged for food at every doorstep, ever so meekly and with fear, for the glaring looks of "no" and the hidden kicks of "I just don't see you that way" hurt like a 2-meter long thorn piercing my masculinity and my sex drive, which deflates it to the point of sadness and shame. And I hold the firm knowledge that I have not the right to appeal the decision, and that it likely only lessens my odds of connection. And so I have learned to not show myself exactly as who I am, but as a shapeshifter who blends in with what she may perhaps like, a provider of gifts and miracles who provides not only for the pure pleasure of sharing, but for the possibility it just might trigger her gratitude enough into desire for connection and sex.
Yes, yes, story. What is the fear?
The fear is that I have lost my potential and my masculinity to time and wasted opportunities. The fear is that my true energetic potential remains unfulfilled. My fear is that the strength I know I have is locked away in an iron cage deep in my being, only to come out when it cries and when it explodes in anger. Not as my true self.
The fear is that I do not express my true self.
The fear is that I pretend, keep pretending.
The fear is that my life is wasted.
The fear is that my beast serves a life sentence for a crime it doesn't even know it committed.
My fear is that I do not find a way to allow it out,
in this society
laden with iron rules, heavy assumptions, and fiery backlashes.
My fear is that I live a lie.
Even when I feel I don't.
(most of the time)
More than one fear. So, what to do with these fears?
Face them head on. Feel them. Experience them while the action takes places?
Actually invade the boundaries I've so far kept unviolated? To break free of the iron cage?
Theoretical looking into the fears is... it causes crying and catharsis. And sadness. It does not, in my experience, heal.
Bring love to myself? I have done that.
More love? Just keep loving?
That does not provide me with any experience or any connection. Well, I guess that's the point. That the thing desired is let go.
No success yet.
Catharsis? Keep shouting and crying and screaming unto channels that will take this, and clean me of it?
Part of me feels it's a waste of energy. Part of me feels it helps. Part of me feels it doesn't. Crying into the swimming pool was a somewhat relieving sensation, but I've experienced that before.
I don't know. I keep
seeking
observing
listening
for now, containing.
even when I feel the place from which I act is pure
the floor on which I stand is flat and clear
a thorn I sometimes think is gone
is actually hidden away in the corner,
it can be so hidden, yet not gone
and when I happen to
step on it
as I dance, my foot feels the stab,
it remembers what lies under it
and it remembers it, it uncovers it,
and finds under a miles-wide chamber of rage, hatred, resentment, anger, desperation, and starvation.
because even when I don't know it, my approaches to women begin as stratagems
always
even when I don't remember it
it has been that way so long I don't know how to not play the stratagem
not to live the lie
I don't know how to
and I don't know how to learn
I fear the time to learn is past
gone with the time when friendships bud sparkling from the young flames of puberty.
gone
with no social context to emulate it
with even no biological circuit in me
to relearn it if a societal context were there.
I fear it is gone
and my beast is
trapped forever
doomed to die caged
or due to explode and destroy myself in the process.
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