(Trigger warning: suicide and war topic)
February was a disaster month. The first half of it I was battling post-covid depression and weakness in my body, and just when I started climbing out of it, the war started. I wanted to die from that virus. I had so many plans and hopes that crashed. But also so many doubts that just received concrete solid confirmations of the worst. Workwise, I was utterly unhappy. I had a lot of projects, but they all seemed pointless. Stupid games, where the only factor that mattered was money.
I realized that wasting my life in order to just chase money or do something else with it was actually in the range of my control. It had to be something else. But the reality was brutal and dark. The world seemed to be all about money. Or the power that money brings.
How the fuck do other people not freak out about this as much as I do? Why does everyone seem to find it all somehow acceptable? Am I the only crazy one?
The day after the war started, I went on a date. On the way, I thought it was a shitty idea. I was empty. But that date was a blast, I swear I had nothing like this before. It felt like I opened some magical door in my body: all the sensations got an upgrade. Every orgasm was stronger than another and I didn’t feel overstimulated. In fact, I wanted to have the levels of stimulation that my sensitive body was never ready to experience before. I sort of managed to relax into it. I don’t know how many times I came that evening, it would be foolish of me to even attempt to count. And at some point, of course, it stopped..
My legs were shaking for an hour afterwards. The best I could do was a joke that I probably overdosed myself on sex for a few days. But I came home and realized that I was horny again. Another thing I remember thinking, looking in the mirror: I was happy.
Happy, horny, and ashamed of it.
I think I was kinda ashamed of that horniness. Good thing I had my therapist. Together we accepted the positive truth: it felt good. And that was the most important thing. As if my body decided to give a reward for all the stress and sadness it had endured.
So I can almost say I was prescribed to have good sex for mental health reasons. I think it was a very good trick. Almost like it wasn’t my decision, because I wasn’t exactly sure if I deserved happiness. I mean this kind of happiness, especially.
Why not?
I didn’t realize that I was still so attached to Russia and the mentality that it programs into people. That shame of horniness was definitely a gift from my past. I was still trapped in the concept of being “a good girl”.
And good girls are not horny all the time, and they definitely don’t plan their life around sex events.
But are good girls happy?
*The squirt shower story
…happened shortly before the war. Since I wanted to visit more venues that hosted kinky parties, one of my lovers invited me to a club I’d never been to. We planned that date for quite some time, tickets were bought online, and the process of choosing the outfits and discussing other details was one of the pleasant things that month, actually helping me to feel better. Pink hair also wouldn’t have happened without that party plan.
I was sharing this story with my followers on TG, but back then I was still writing mostly in russian. That was the only text I wrote in English that month. I think I didn’t really understand how hard it is to just switch languages. But I’m glad I didn’t understand that back then, it didn’t stop me from taking the small steps forward. It is worth the struggle.
