I have never felt as if I were going crazy. I think going crazy implies some of kind of descent into the madness, and that isn't accurate.

I feel as if my childhood is, as of the last few years, a mist around me. A mist that hangs in the air around me and follows me. I breathe it in and it's like paint fumes, it may not be harmful for quite some time, but eventually your having breathed this in for so long starts to affect your breathing, your thinking. It doesn't drive you crazy, it's more like the mist is crazy, and crazy a tangible, visible thing that is seeping into you.

I feel like I have to talk about it. I feel I absolutely must, that not talking about it is tantamount to lying to my friends about who I am. I want to talk, and I can talk. I can talk to any of a small gaggle of people about any aspect of my having been abused, and though I appreciate it and would rather talk than not, it isn't helping. It makes me feel better to say it than not, but it still isn't helping and it just frustrates me. Sometimes I get so depressed or so absolutely furious about what happened that I can't put it into words, so I just end up repeating myself, trying to tell exactly how negatively I feel about it, and because the words never quite pinpoint the feeling, it just makes me feel worse. It makes me feel worse and it builds and builds and builds until it comes out in this explosion where I don't do anything but cry for days.

And then I hurt myself. Hurting myself shocks me back into normalcy. I sit and cry for hours and then if I hurt myself, I come back and I'm okay again. I don't want to hear that there's nothing wrong with crying. There isn't anything wrong with crying, but eventually you have to get the fuck off your ass and get shit done. I've got classes to go to, meetings to attend. I have senate meetings and full time classes and a damn job. I have things to do, so just like anybody else, I can't sit around and cry for four and a half days. And when I cut, I immediately feel well enough to get up and go. Within ten minutes I'm ready and feel like "Okay, yes that sucks and yes we're suffering, but now it's time to get work done." Hurting myself makes that mist go away for awhile, and I can breathe normally. Sometimes for months I go without a flashback or without waking up in the middle of the night crying.

And I guess it's any extreme feeling that could do that. Because when I'm crying and hurt and upset, the cutting makes me get up and go again because it forces a feeling. It's so extreme a feeling that it snaps me out of whatever I feel right then. Not a distraction, though, it's just...I guess it reminds me that there are other feelings I could have. That this isn't the end of the world, there are other ways to feel. Not necessarily along the lines of "It could be worse," but just that it can be different. And not even a reminder really, because when these things happen, I know it can be different, but...there's a difference between knowing you can be happy and actually being happy. Knowing you're capable of loving and actually loving. So on and so forth. So I know it, but actually feeling something different makes it stop.

I suppose then that it could be any solid feeling. Hurting myself only does one thing, it's pain. Simply pain. It's nothing profound and complex, it's simple. It's nothing you have to be a certain age to understand, as everyone, from every age and group, knows what pain is. Pain is universal. Everyone knows what pain feels like, whether they enjoy it or are physically hurt by the littlest thing, it's a simple feeling. And it's immediate. I guess anything though, could make me come out that easy. It's just that it's so easy to know how to hurt. Everyone knows something that could inflict pain on nearly every individual on the planet. Few people know how to make absolutely anybody laugh. So I guess it's possible that humor could help too, if I could find anything particularly funny when I'm like that. But hurting myself brings it to an immediate, and real, head.

I imagine that now is as good a time as any for explanation. As of the last few days, I can't have orgasms. It's not some physical block that's keeping me from it, I'm just terrified. Sex in and of itself, and sexual actions, do not scare me. But in the moments before when I might normally be having an orgasm, I'm scared, and I can't. Maybe it's viewed by others as being petty to note this loss above others in the area of things that have been impacted by my having been abused, but I can't help but feel extreme loss. Becoming your own cock block is the most bothersome thing you can do to yourself, I think. I want to have normal sex. I want to have sex that I don't have to be talked through. I don't need to be talked into it, that's not the problem. I don't want to be talked into having an orgasm. What could have come so easy (no pun intended,) a few months ago, even two weeks ago, takes a great deal of mental work on my part. Are there such things as orgasm coaches?

This kind of thing makes me hate my newly-nonvirginal friends. There's this big to-do made about it when any virgin is no longer because it's as if all their work has finally paid off. I don't want some big party thrown in my honor, but at the same time... Chris and I talked once about this, as well as Nicole and I, about how it's really no big deal if I'm excited about having gotten laid because it happens so damnedably often. But certain sexual things are an accomplishment for me, and it's hard work. I don't want some parade or something, but a "good for you," I think is in order because sex can easily become this very scary ordeal for me.

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