When physical pain holds emotional pain hostage.

January 10th, 2015

I am uncomfortable with feeling. Feelings which come from sadness, happiness and or even arousal. It does not matter where the sensation derives from I am awkward in experiencing them. When I look at my past I do not recall this unfamiliarity and yet I can not pinpoint the exact moment everything shifted. I have my ideas mind you and although there is no data with facts and statistics I think it is safe to say this peculiar phenomenon started when my body began to hurt.

The last two years have been challenging. My body has had to fight a great deal in order to be healthy and although I am confident I am moving forward strong, I can not deny that my previous ailments have affected my person. My entire person. When we are ill it is not just the flesh that experiences trauma, our psychological health is also affected. Of course in our moments of crisis we rarely consider our feelings, those quiet emotions that tell us when we are sad or lonely or afraid or even happy. We do not have time to focus on the emotional wounds and so we forget about them, leaving them to heal without  attention. Unfortunately our neglect often leads to hardened scars, the ones that still prickle long after the injury has healed.

I can not imagine anyone wanting to ignore how they feel. I think it happens out of necessity. When the body aches, when every bone and muscle and tissue is riddled with constant pain it is nearly impossible to think of anything else. The physical pain does not negate the emotional it is simply that a person can only fight so many battles. A person can only invest x amount of attention to one thing and when a constant acute pain runs rampant through your body I assure you it consumes every waking thought, often even the sleeping ones.

A scientist at heart I dare not assume my lack of emotional connection is a causation of my constant physical pain; however, I will say there is an absolute correlation to the two. Perhaps my withdrawal from feeling is a result from wanting to shield myself from feeling anything more, even if that means moments of joy. This does not mean I do not feel anything. I still laugh, although I admit it is not as often. I also do not cry.  I also refuse to allow myself to experience tears anytime I have felt physical pain and looking back there were times when the pain was overwhelming. When I ached to the point where I thought death would feel better. This does not mean I wanted to die I merely wanted the pain to end. When you hurt, when everyday movements cause you to wince, to hold your side, to gasp in shock it is difficult to want to wake up. It is difficult to want to do anything but we have to. Movement, engaging, participating in the day reminds us, reminds me of how beautiful life is and it is beautiful.

So if I know this, if I understand just how precious life is, why is it that I remain shielded? Have I pushed emotions so far away they simply are out of reach? It isn’t that I do not want to relish in a fit of giggles or even bathe in a shower of tears. I do. All sensations are welcome I just do not know how. Bizarre really. I do not recall ever being taught to feel, it was something I just did. Why then am I unable to do it now? Perhaps, as my body grows stronger I will regain what I have lost. I can certainly hope so.

~cockdoll

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December 20th, 2014

How do I let someone love me when I have lost the love for myself?  How do I welcome the caress of the man I love when I have forgotten how I like to be touched? Forgotten how to touch my own flesh. Forgotten what pleasure feels like. Somewhere at sometime I became a foreigner to my body, awkward in expressing emotion through physical conversations. Something occurred, some moment that left me detached from my heart, from my arousal and although I try desperately to reconnect, I fail. I want nothing more than to fill with life as Masters fingers strum across my neck, down my breasts, between my thighs. I want to crave sex. I ache to desire intimacy. I yearn to feel womanly and feminine and wanton. I long to feel lust. To wake desperate to feed;  to disrupt Master’s sleep with my greedy mouth. I hunger to feel passion. To be consumed with ecstasy. I want to smile as Master kisses my throat, his lips tender, accepting. I do not wish to recoil, my skin feeling as though it is seared when his hands grip me. He has done no wrong. In fact all he has ever done is love me. Through all my battles, insecurities, obstacles and fears he has loved me.  Why then does it hurt to be touched? Why do I wince at the mere thought of being intimate? He has never harmed me. He has never betrayed my trust. He has tried, numerous times, to help me put the pieces of my broken self together and I am so very grateful for him. But I hate myself. I hate my body. I despise my fractured mind; all the irrational thoughts that hold me hostage and I am saddened by my reproductive system, internally and externally. I feel less of a woman as though I have nothing to offer and this knowledge hurts my heart. I am told knowing is half the battle. Why then have I yet to conquer the negativity? I am aware. I have been aware for some time. So now what? What are the tools to fix me? How can I escape this ugly reflection? How can I learn to love? I just want to be whole. I just want to reach for Master’s hand and feel butterflies of joy. I want to give him this. I want to give myself this.

~cockdoll

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