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Showing posts from October, 2017

Going Dark

Every now and then it becomes a necessity; there is a need to step away.  The blogging/twitter community is a wonderfully supportive group, but sometimes space is needed. It’s not that unusual for me to shut myself off from the world periodically. My mood, and indeed my general personality, tend to mean that I prefer/require a degree of solitude. Depression itself can be a very solitary condition. It has a tendency to focus thoughts, feelings and emotions in on sufferer’s sense of self. It leads us to withdraw, to shut ourselves off, to distance ourselves from those who care for us because we feel we are a burden, that our own pain brings those around us down. When the black cloud descends, it is difficult to see beyond it. It seems impossible that anyone would want to have anything to do with us, let alone love/care for us; especially as we feel incapable of doing these things for ourselves. It can, and does, put a strain on friendships and relationships. So once again

Word for Wednesday - Dispassionate

Dispassionate /dɪsˈpæʃənɪt/ noun devoid of or uninfluenced by emotion or prejudice; objective; impartial My daily job is one that requires me to be objective and impartial. I go to great lengths not to prejudge and to weigh up the evidence in front of me before I make a decision. On Saturdays, on the rugby field, I have to make those decisions instantly and without hesitation, applying the laws of the game fairly and consistently. It is also true that I am not particularly given to, or indeed comfortable with, public displays of emotion. I have a tendency to have a very fixed demeanour in the company of others. However, for this post, I am concentrating on the “ devoid of or uninfluenced by emotion ” part. As is the case with so many of us who struggle with mental illness, I tend to wear a mask in my day-to-day dealing with my fellow humans. It is a mask that I tend to keep very firmly fixed in place. To the outside world, it does perhaps seem that I am without e

Talking Dirty

TRIGGER WARNING: This post will probably make me sound like a massive bellend/pious twat.   Filthy… Dirty… Illicit… Sinful… Wicked… Bad… All words that are frequently used to describe aspects of sex. Also words that are used in the names of some of my favourite blogs and blogging memes; blogs and memes that promote body/image/sex positivity. Yet, despite all the good things about these, I have one niggling problem them; the names. Now, I  must emphasise that I am not having a go at the bloggers and writers involved. The problem isn’t with their blogs, or what they write, or the photos they post. After all, I participate in these memes, posting both my writing and photos. My problem is with the language. Not the language used by my fellow bloggers/writers you understand, just the language that has grown up around sex itself. Now, when it comes to writing about sex, I am as “guilty” as everyone else; I describe it as dirty/filthy/naughty/etc. The problem is, the n

Utter bollocks

I came across this recently. Apparently it’s a fairly common meme with numerous variations on the same theme.  Thing is, bollocks like this really pisses me off; not least of all because it is precisely that: utter bollocks. Let me explain… I’ve given flowers. They are a gesture. Sometimes they are a “thank you”, sometimes they are a “sorry”; mostly they mark a specific occasion like a birthday, a wedding, a funeral, that sort of thing.  I have never given flowers in the expectation of, or in thanks for sex. Now, some of you who give blow-jobs may, on occasion, give them as a “thank you” or a “sorry”; if that’s your thing, that’s cool. Whatever works is fine. To me, however, flowers are flowers and blow-jobs are blow-jobs. If you want to give me flowers, fine; if you want to give me a blow-job, even better. Actually, given that I have an insufferably low pollen tolerance threshold, if you were inclined to give me flowers, I’d rather you saved your money or gave me a

No Strings?

Is it possible to have a long-term “no-strings” sexual relationship? At a first glance, the question above seems like a fairly straightforward one. Looking at it more closely, it is a bit less so. To start with, what is actually meant by “no-strings”? The chances are, if you are reading this, you have engaged in some sort of casual sexual activity at some point in your life; by which I mean sex that didn’t really mean much, but that was probably enjoyable enough because it was sex. Now, in my opinion, casual sex can absolutely be, “no-strings” attached. You see someone, you fancy them, they fancy you, you fuck them, you both walk away – no questions asked, no expectation of commitment; simply, if you are fortunate, a mutually sexually gratifying experience. If the experience was particularly enjoyable/satisfying, you might even choose to repeat it, but ultimately that’s as far as it goes. The contradiction at the heart of the above question is “no-strings” and “relations

Word for Wednesday - Dissociation

Dissociation /dɪˌsəʊsɪˈeɪʃən; -ʃɪ-/ adjective the act of dissociating or the state of being dissociated It’s one of those strange feelings that, I suspect, many of us who suffer from depression and other forms of mental illness experience. It is an odd feeling of being separated from one’s self. It’s as though there is an actual gap between our spirit and our physical selves; a feeling that we don’t fully fill our physical bodies. It’s an oddly disconnected feeling; that somewhere between my skin and my soul there is a black void of nothingness. It’s as if I am lost within a hollowed out shell of my own being. It is a form of detachment. Not of detachment from the outside world, which is all too common an experience, but a detachment of spirit and body, where the former retreats into the darkest recesses of the latter to hide away and lick its wounds. KW

In The Mind

To me, the question as to which is the most important sexual organ is, if you’ll pardon the mixed oxymoron, a no-brainer.  It is the mind that interprets the stimuli received by our senses, it is the mind that generates desire. It is our mind that creates the eroticism of words and images, and it is our mind that dictates our responses. Different parts of my body are assigned different tasks; my lips are assigned the task of kissing you, my tongue gets then task of licking you, my fingers get the job of caressing you and my cock gets given responsibility for fucking you. It is, however, my mind that is control of each action; orchestrating and coordinating the sensual whole. I will admit that I used to use contact/hook-up sites (Twitter isn’t really one of those, now, is it?). The biggest and most common complaint from women using these sites was about the lack of originality/imagination shown by the male users. All too often, it seems, “communication” from us men was a picture of


Beauty, they say, is only skin deep. Sexy, on the other hand, goes right to the core. So what do we mean by sexy? Is it appearance, is it an attitude, or is it just some unfathomable quality that you see in someone? Humans are a visual species, so it is impossible, I think, to completely divorce sexiness with physical attractiveness, but in my opinion, the two are not inextricably linked. While everyone has their own “standards” of what they find attractive in another person, simply finding them attractive does not necessarily mean that you also find them sexy. Sexy is something more than just the physical. It may be an attitude, but what attitude? Many people say they find confidence sexy; I’m one of them. At the same time, however, I would also say that I find a sexiness in vulnerability too. I think much depends on the person; it also depends on the circumstances, and the situation. In a club, the way someone moves when the dance may make them sexier than the other m

Word for Wednesday - Insular

Insular /ˈɪnsjʊlə/ adjective of, relating to, or resembling an island remote, detached, or aloof isolated or separated The English poet, John Donne, famously wrote in 1624: No man is an iland The modern version of this is, of course: “no man is an island”. Now, this may be true, but for those of us who battle mental illness, the feelings of being remote, detached, isolated or separated from the rest of the world are all too frequent. All to often it is easier to simply draw ourselves away, shut ourselves off from the world rather than to explain why we are the way we are and feel the way we do. Even the most well intentioned enquiries as to our well-being can cause a rush of anxiousness that makes us retreat. Sometimes we do it because we cannot cope with the outside world. Sometimes we do it because we believe it’s better not to inflict ourselves upon others, especially those we love and care for the most. We become reclusive, shunning contact from friends

Nowhere To Hide

I am completely open about my illness. It is a part of me and, much as I would rather it were otherwise, it has played a major part in making me the person I am. It is such an ingrained part of me that I cannot even begin to imagine what life without it would be like. It never lets me forget. Even in those periods where I have the illusion of having it under some sort of control, when I am free from the worst symptoms, it is always there, lurking in the background, reminding me that it can return, without any warning at a time of its choosing. Life is a daily battle. It’s a battle where the only “victory” to be had is to stave off total surrender and defeat. I know it’s a battle I can never win; the very best I can hope for is some soul-sapping rear-guard action – retreat, regroup, then retreat again. It is tiring. Not just a physical tiredness, but an emotional tiredness, a spiritual tiredness; a tiredness that burrows its way into your very core. There is no escape, nowhere