Quick woman to woman sex talk

I have been thinking of writing on this for awhile now ever since I faked two orgasms. I am saddened that I boosted her ego that she thought she made me climax. Twice. She probably has this smile or smirk on her face when she thinks of me. I am more saddened of the women who have been in her life. Is that what they have gone through? How many women are going through unsatisfactory sex and think that is what it should be like? There is probably a lot going on behind closed doors and people do not know how to express themselves or have the courage to. I am not a sex guru nor do I intend to be. I just want to talk about sex.

People still lick the clitoris the way a cat licks its coat. Yes I said it. I think once you are down there your inner exploration needs to perk up. I hope you have tasted yourself before tasting another person or I don’t know, maybe another person will be your first time. A friend of mine told me she told her partner that she has to have known her taste first before going down on another and I guess there is a point to it. I haven’t thought much about it. Just don’t go all kitty on the pussy. Touch here, touch there, swipe here, swipe there, one long swipe..I can’t find the right words on what I do when I am down there. Be adventurous, don’t just stick your head between her thighs like you are in that massage table and your head is poking through that space. I don’t like boring head, even eating cereal is more interesting.
Some folks like being licked at the entrance of the vagina and some do not, I am one of the ones who do not because I feel nothing unless the tongue is going inside. And I get the tongue is not long enough. Tease around the labias before going for the clitoris, you will know when she is begging for some clit touch. There are also different types of clitoris as I have noticed from porn and real life. I got lucky when my dream clit was in front of me and I almost did a thank you lord prayer between her legs. Ask how a person likes being licked. This could be before going to bed or wherever you wanna or might end up having sex. I like doing that. Talking before the act what we both like and do not like so that I can avoid the big questions in my head like,”Does she want it this way? I’m I doing the right thing, was that too much does she like her neck being bitten? Do I tickle her or will I be kicked off the bed?”. It also builds up the sexual tension between you two, the looking at each other and undressing each other with your eyes etcetera.
Teasing. Some people like being edged. Don’t do that to me. I could have been about to get an olympics medal for concentration and then you stop when I am about to cum??! You fuckin pleb! Anyway, there are those who like it. I used to do it when I was younger and masturbating and the orgasm was unbelievable. This days not so much, my focus is fucked up.
I like seeing my partner lick off my cum and kissing me afterwards with it, I like that, and licking it off their face too. You know what I mean, if she was adventurous and not eating with a fork and spoon then it will be all around her mouth and damn it is cool for me to see her face wet.

Okay, till next time.

Void

I cannot say you can’t hurt me, you can. I’m just numb and have been for awhile. I can’t develop feelings with anyone I like anymore. Each time I get hurt a harder layer of wall forms around me. It feels more of a coldness, a void that I sink into deeper and deeper. Like I’m floating in this void, suspended in it and alone. Someone told me the other day they are afraid they will hurt me. I literally laughed knowing how that is not new and I said it is fine. I’m nowhere emotionally close to feeling normal and any jolt is welcomed. Actually no, no more jolts. Let me float in this suspension. Today morning someone in my life held me for awhile while I was asleep before waking up and going to make breakfast. That was sweet.

Nauseous. 

I still have moments where everything comes back at once. I struggle to feel it, let myself have this moments where I am emotional and I am agitated and the days where I have managed to block out a pending downward spiral stops and I am knocked down to my knees. I am really fighting to be on my feet every day. I feel like my medication does not allow me to experience my emotions the way I used to. I cannot plummet the way I used to and I somehow like it cause I am now in ‘control’. However it is not control, I never want to imagine I have believed the delusion of being in control. It feels like your body wants to throw up, it reaches your mouth, you taste it but you swallow it back again. Every day. I get punches left, right, center and I am expected to remain okay. Because I am on medication. Trying to get back some parts of my life that I had 5 months ago. It is as if no one realizes how much I lost and just. I don’t know, I just don’t.

I have been going through a shift of my lifestyle, for the better. I have been able to come out of my depressive episode (as seen from a lot of my previous posts) from which I had given up hope about. I never thought it was possible. I accepted I was sick and began medication again and so far it has been good. In the beginning I could feel my mind trying to go back to that dark place and I would close my eyes and beg myself, please don’t please don’t, let me have this moment.

I began running every morning from 7.30am. It is therapeutic especially when listening to the audio of Erykah Badu live at the Jakarta festival 2012 or Dance this mess around by the B-52s. I come back and take a cold shower. Sometimes I fall asleep again cause I used to sleep till 12pm. I’m eating better too, less junk food. My skin is really good, I have not had a break out since December.

I keep thinking when will this ‘feel good’ end, when will I snap again, where will I be this time. I overdosed last month but I was not thinking of suicide, I just wanted to be in the clouds, the stars.

I’m about to get my own place again, my mother cried. She says she has not yet healed from the tragedy that happened last time I was living alone. She understands I have to live my life, she cannot cage me.

I cannot remember where I read about people who died, were already acting in ways a little dissimilar to themselves. They were more loving, they said it a lot, they were caring and touched a lot of lives. They were not aware of this. I’ve also noticed this from the people who died and the testimonies people give when they are gone. I have been acting this way the last couple of months. I have so much love and feelings for friends and acquaintances that I turn friends, my family members that I didn’t much care about. I find myself telling this group of people I love them, spending time with each one of them and listening to them. I am having some profound and intense moments with my close friends. Being told I have awakened their love of nature again that was lost, how to live each day fully not knowing how tomorrow will be. I get into conversations about life and spirituality  with a friend of a friend at 3am on on a balcony and tells me that star, points at it, will guide me. My medicine touches so many people, affects them and I don’t even know it. He said I have something for people and I have to give it out. I thought he was delusional until he started saying things that hit real close to home. I wish I could stop feeling so much because it is heartbreaking for me. Not everyone knows how to give it back, and it is okay. I’m okay with it. Not everyone has good intentions for you either.

I’m I dying soon?

To the ones who fall too fast

To the ones who fall too fast, too soon because they don’t know any other way.
To the ones who fall in love at first sight, the ones who believe in romance, the ones who get attached to a comforting word, a tender touch or a deep conversation.
To the ones who fight for love and see the best in people.
To the ones who think that everyone will appreciate their love because it’s unlike any other.
To the ones who can’t sleep thinking about people who are not thinking about them.
To the ones who don’t always know what they’re getting themselves into but they take the plunge anyway.
I hate to tell you this because I hate telling this to myself but maybe we need to stop, maybe we need to slow down, maybe we need to park for a little while before we start driving again.
Because we’re only hurting ourselves, we’re only breaking our hearts, we’re only giving our all to people who are giving us nothing. We’re only fooling ourselves when we wait for those who don’t even try.
Maybe you need to take a few steps back instead of taking a huge leap of faith. Maybe you need to stop chasing people and let them chase you instead. Let them find you. Let them choose you. Let them get your attention first instead of giving them yours right away.
Maybe we are just living in the wrong generation because we don’t know how to cage our emotions, how to pretend like we don’t feel but we’re also killing ourselves when we live this way. Things die inside us when we’re always faced with rejection and heartbreak.
We live in a world that doesn’t appreciate people like us, we live in a world that doesn’t understand people like us.
And maybe we shouldn’t change who we are completely, but let’s hide it, let’s keep it for a few special ones who prove they’re worth it, let’s be selective in who we choose to love and who we choose to build up.
Because we keep building up people who destroy us and we keep loving people who don’t love us back.
And maybe we need to stop falling for those who don’t want to catch us, maybe we should wait for those who fall for us first so we can fall together and maybe we should fall only when we know it’s safe, only when we know it’s not going to break us and only when we know that we’re not going to
drown.
Rania Naim from Thought Catalog

I’m so scared of love right now. It’s a beautiful thing, I know. Suddenly I’m just scared. My pms is not helping as well. I miss her. I miss the feeling of her waking up so early, watching me and brushing my hair off my face. I’m just scared.

Cosmic doom

Hi, I’m not enough, what’s your name? When you realize what you were doing was trying to project magical qualities onto someone that totally do not exist. You, you beautiful thin distraction with most forms of intellectually stimulating media and I spend moments alone and the quiet terror of being alive is growing louder and louder.

Two black holes silently and violently orbiting around each other, trying to get drunk every night to block out this consciousness that which feels like rodents in my day dreams, trying to block out the error of our romanticized fantasies.

I am enjoying the unreplied texts to death, I’m ghosted by death itself. Now it doesn’t even matter when humans ghost me. My inner demons are already tired of my inner monologue.

Our affair is so empty even the void is jealous of us. We definitely should perceive other realities. But nothing tastes as good as this void. Cosmic aloneness, my main bitch. We fucked reality and married fantasy. Taking walks on the beach, drinking coffee and imagining situations that cannot happen. I got something for you this valentine’s, disappointment. I don’t think you’ll feel it though…you know, with the lack of expectations and all.

Please deny my existence. Before that let’s go eat off the bare earth the delirium from which we were born. Like out of all the abysses in all the land, you had to stare into mine.

Not tonight love, I have to spiral into uncontrollable anxiety. Maybe we could avoid each other again soon, yeah? Even the skeletons in my closet won’t talk to me. Movie and chill? No thanks, but we could binge watch the rapid loss of our sense of self and compare darknesses together.

We are obsessed with ourselves, comes with mental illness territory, no good can sprout or be maintained from us and we secretly like it. We know it.

You know why I do not care what you do to me or anyone really, unintentionally or not, because it is like a confirmation bias with my inner self. With my fucked up ness I am okay with it. Don’t even apologize, that’s for people who care.

Be free, be enchanted, be ready to be cosmic dust. I released you when my fantasy of you ghosted me. I now belong deeply to myself. In a complicated relationship with my sense of self, self destruction, blue period, trying to find the return policy on the gift of life.

Maybe one day you will come over and binge watch my manic episodes.

I am not leaving. I was never there. Petals of illusion. I need to focus on being my own pestilence, you can destroy me, I want it but I want to do it myself, the satisfaction. I am desperately clinging to an endless day dream of drug fueled art parties.

Constant thoughts of decay. Everyday I am questioning why I am alive. Our depressions are not compatible. I wish they were. Maybe our silences won’t be so loud. I am being held hostage by human consciousness and that is the war I am fighting every day. All you tell me is what I go through but you may just be blind to that with the concept of how nobody understands you, so I will not my head and listen. I m done wanting to be understood.

That awkward moment you realize how cold you’ve become but you still want to say, “let’s dress up as our vague sense of incorporeal dissatisfaction and dance under the pale moonlight.” because you have nothing to lose.

“Loud music is playing in the next room. I’ve closed myself in a room. I have a knife with me. I’m pressing it against my thigh. Suddenly I’m getting texts from people who care about me.”

I wrote this on Sunday, January 2017 at 2.49pm. I had crashed again, I was wondering when I would go down again, it had been some days after the last episode. At that moment I realized, my ‘happiness’ will always come at a cost. I should live through each moment not knowing when the drowning will begin. I got two more piercings but I’m the only one who knows how much I had missed some kind of physical pain. It begun to hit me whether getting all this tattoos and piercings was my way of self harming. That pain.

They were looking for the knife and I could hear them asking around. I heard them say they don’t know. My door was locked and then I got a text from them, “Don’t cut yourself.”

Too late..

There’s a way I feel when I come back home. This shadow that descends on me, amorphous, ethereal,but dark. At this moment I can’t visually explain how much my chest hurts. It really hurts. I’m looking at my drugs and thinking of how I’d feel to be out,again. I want to be unconscious until it passes.

I was talking to my mother about art and my life and she told me how she would support through anything I decide to do. I can live with my parents and use my income to progress myself. Somehow that made me think of how my future would be like; will I always be dependent on my parents? Should I just kill myself now, I cannot have such a future. Suddenly I was no longer passively suicidal. I got that feeling of self harming. Maybe I should just listen to music till it passes.

I visited the mental institution I was at

Okay, I’m not horny right now…based on my previous  late night post.

From getting into a matatu and alighting at the institution, it felt surreal. I kept thinking of the men and women with whom I was admitted with. The tall kind one who loved watching television and knew when certain shows would be on, the constantly drugged guy under detoxification who wore sneakers and shorts every day, Pinky, the very confused etc. I could feel that numbness I had when I was told I had to be admitted. I thought being admitted would help me.

I remembered the waiting hours when I’d be visited. What time would my mother show up at the door? I’m not drugged enough to sleep till she arrives. Would my friends show up today? What time? It’s already 3pm. My cousin always visited me. He would come with a bouquet of flowers then leave for work. The goodbyes at the end of the day was always the hardest. As a person struggling with loneliness, waiting for people and seeing them leaving each time did not do well for my anxiety.

I was the only suicidal one. When the patients were being detoxified or treated for other mental illnesses, I felt fine. I felt normal. I was not like them. They shook their heads when they learnt I was admitted because of suicide attempts. I could not relate to anyone. There was someone else with bipolar but he was rather annoying.

I remember being asked if my cousin could sneak in cigarettes. The person asking was so medicated that white foam was on his lips, he smelt like a dispensary and his eyes were barely open. He was a banker, good guy. I wondered how he felt having that drip on his arm every day. I saw a lot of boobs, yeah. Butts too.

Days were very long if I was not drugged enough, if I didn’t have a counseling session or playing badminton. Playing badminton was my favorite thing to do. I was one of the more ‘sober’ ones and finding another sober player was quite tricky. The annoying guy used to play with me mostly. Well I found him annoying cause he thought he could rap.

I remembered how some patients would wait patiently for a visitor to be opened for the gate and try to sneak out as if the guard would not identify them. It was quite hilarious but very relatable. Everyday I would look through the gate when it was being opened and closed and that glimpse of the outside world made me wish to run away. I’m in a fucking mental institution! How did I end up here?!

The kindness of the nurses was so good. That was one place I did not feel judged or questioned about my suicide. How they took care of me after my Electroconvulsion therapy was pleasing. Everyone from the janitor to the cooks were sweet and friendly and were constantly available to listen to how you think you shouldn’t be admitted there. How normal you were.

Do I want to be admitted again? Hell no.