This happens, periodically. I know it sounds peculiar, but I find it very healthy. And I really enjoy it.
I think it's a brain chemistry thing. But don't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?
I literally have all the hormonal, sensory and emotional effects of falling in love.
It's thrilling and very nurturing.
It tends to happen AFTER a major crisis. The phases of crisis are:
Dread, as I intuitively anticipate the ax falling. This phase is generally characterized by my withdrawl from whatever I perceive to be the threat. I get smaller, quieter and angrier. I become an invisible ball of resentment and hypersensitivity.
This is either followed by resolution, in which I have anticipated the cause of potential crisis, and have solved it, or the explosion.
If there's an explosion, as characterized by yesterday's fiasco, I tend to fall into shame, grief and stifled rage.
It has to do with being powerless to heal the damage. That's where I went with wanting to give up.
Impotent rage is my worst thing.
And the impotence, the inability to do anything constructive to repair any damage and get beyond it, turns quickly into unexpressed anger.
And unexpressed anger turns on me. I blame myself. I hate myself for being inept, stupid, ugly....
Anger turned inward is depression. All that rage, focused on me as the cause, leaves me empty. It kills my motivation and I fall into "what's the use?"
I'm overwhelmed by existential grief at that point. And it's life threatening; I can't do a damn thing to defend myself, if I feel myself unworthy of care.
This is the most dangerous phase of crisis. It's self destructive and has nearly killed me, on several occasions. It makes me bitter.
I've suffered in depression, in past crises, for months.
Well, I was determined, somehow, not to indulge that Dark Side this time, and have passed through the "seduction" of depression. It'll come back, of course: tempting me to die.
But I'll be too busy, studying broadcasting, setting up my recording studio, researching jobs, etc. to indulge it.
Well, when I can move out of depression, my brain chemistry kicks in.
That's what's happening now. I'm flooded with that oxy...whatever it's called: the urge to love. It's a brain chemical, released in childbirth and orgasm. It's all tingly and rich and full of longing for fulfillment. It's absolutely delicious.
My dopamine levels must be through the roof: I know I'm in physical pain, for instance, but don't mind a bit. I'm not overworking myself, because the pleasure I feel is so wonderful, I don't want to do anything to reduce it.
I'm remembering who I am, what I've done, who I've loved, etc. And it adds to the pleasure.
I'm literally loving myself back to health.
It happens automatically now. Over the years, I've learned how to nurture and encourage it in times of crisis.
I always wondered, in films, why people have sex when they're about to die. Like in "On The Beach."
It made no sense, biologically: what is the use of reproductive impulses, in the face of clear and impending doom? I mean, microorganisms, I can understand: they replicate so quickly, offspring might actually survive.
But humans gestate in nine months! If you can SEE the mushroom cloud, you probably won't have time to replicate! LOL
But this flooding of brain chemicals and hormones is the quintessential stuff of Life, itself. It is Life's motivation for itself. It's probably what people mean by Divine Grace.
It feels like a gift from beyond the self. If we weren't so disconnected, brain from body, we'd probably recognize it as coming from inside us. But our bodies are so alien from us, we think it's coming from Beyond.
It is heavenly, I'll tell you that.
I'm remembering all the reasons why I deserve to thrive. And they are precious.
This will pass.
Trying to cling to it is dangerous. I can become cocky, trying to prolong the feeling. I can think I'm better than the bastards around me and really mess myself up.
So, it's a good thing I'm home, alone.
Being around others in this state is awkward, anyway. When one has impulses to be sensual, innocent targets for displacing those feelings could get big surprises! LOL
I get pretty huggy, mushy and flirty, when I'm like this.
I have to remember most people see me as a fat, funny looking toad, and not as a sexual, sensual woman.
I could embarrass myself, or someone else, is what I'm saying.
Men's asses look squeezable, as do women's breasts, for instance. And I'm very capable, since I'm a good writer, of imagining detailed fantasies with particular people.
These fanatasies become part of my memory permanently.
Therefore, when I've passed out of this phase of lymarence...is that how it's spelled?...and am back to my less-acute self, I'll meet one of the objects of my fantasies, remember what I wanted to do with them, and will become tongue tied, convinced they can see my memories in my eyes. I won't be able to look at them! I'm just glad I don't blush much.
So, I'm enjoying this in complete solitude. I'm letting it remain unrequited, so to speak. The longer I can resist the impulse to release the sexual frustration, the longer I stay in this state.
It's time to let it go when I feel myself manipulating it, to try to sustain it. It only lasts so long: days, weeks, hours. I never know; it's rather dependent on external circumstances.
But I should be good 'til Sunday and Food Not Bombs.
When I was young, and stupid, I mixed mind altering chemicals with this sensation, found a willing partner, and got myself into all kinds of trouble.
It's an incest survivor thing.
But I've learned my sexuality is a holy and sacred thing. I protect it from mishandling by idiots now. I cast not my pearl before swine, so to speak.
It's very joyful, creative and twinkly.
And I'm lavishing it all on myself. I need it more than anybody else right now, anyway.
Yes, I have objects of my affection. But the word, "object," is something I take very seriously these days. People are NOT objects. To treat them as such is the penultimate selfishness. I would never act out my need on someone else I can't even see with respect.
But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy my fantasies.
In fact, I've learned that my secret memories can actually help me build friendships and alliances.
After all, I've "seen" them naked, so to speak. I can't be afraid of someone I've loved in my mind.
So, I'm having fun, playing with this lovely feeling. It's like spring: bright, colorful and full of promise.
It's better than chocolate. It's even better than sex.
And it's all mine!
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