Writers Block

I have Writers Block.

Two years to the month, I’ve been part of the blogging community. I’ve played along with the memes and prompts, offered my opinions and visited events. But my time is at an end.

The truth is, I stopped enjoying it. Something that’s been my hobby for years, my escapism and my sanity, became an anchor to weigh me down. It became a chore. It became a source of stress and another route of worry to me. When I opened a window into my mind, I was naive if I thought viciousness wouldn’t take aim.

So, for the first time in my life, I was no longer able to craft tales or pen articles. The stories dried up, the will to type anything non-existant. How can you be an author, if you don’t write? How can you be a blogger, if you don’t post?

And thus, I drifted. Hoping that the lure of what used to make me happy would return.

It hasn’t.

Which means, my time is over. My last event is approaching where I can say my goodbyes, not wanting to return.

I hoped the mass deactivation of my online profiles would help. Feel reborn and reawakened. It hasn’t.

I feel more empty and frustrated than ever. I still want to write, I still want very much to do something and feel the words tumble from my creativity. I just don’t have the will.

And that hurts so much.

Writers Block, you might say.

Please don’t do that.

Please don’t do that.

Last night you tried to kiss me goodnight.

I turned my head politely so that I would kiss your cheek, but your open lips still landed on the corner of mine. Your saliva on my skin.

I did not want it.

When you said ‘oh, no tongues then, maybe one day, if I work on you a little more’, I giggled nervously, and instead of saying ‘No. I do not want it’, I said ‘Maybe’.

I don’t mean maybe.  You should know that I don’t mean maybe, because months ago I told you that I had nothing other to offer you than friendship.  That I didn’t want anything else.

I said ‘maybe’ because even as my heart was sinking, even as I wanted to shout ‘No! I told you No!’,I felt that I should be polite.

I said ‘maybe’ because, the last time a man came onto me and I lost his friendship because of it, and I told my husband about it, my husband said to me ‘You’ve done this twice, now’.

Me.  I did it.  I lead these men on because there are naked photos of me online. Because I write erotica. Because I want to talk about my sexuality.

And this must mean that I’m available.

Mustn’t it?

I’m not available.  I told you I wasn’t available. I wanted a friend. I told you I wanted just a friend.

No, not ‘just’ a friend.  A friend.

Someone to talk to. Someone to share myself with.  A friend isn’t ‘less than’. A friend is whole. A friend is special.

A friend is something I get and then I lose, because apparently my friendship isn’t good enough unless it comes with an offer of my cunt.

I’m so tired.

I’m so disappointed.

I don’t want to lose another friend because I don’t want to sleep with them.

I don’t want to have to have this conversation with you.

And I hate that part of me still feels that it’s my fault. I hate that most people will say it’s my fault.

Because there are naked pictures of me online.

Because I write erotica.

Because I want to talk about my sexuality.

I just don’t want to have sex with you.

Can that not be OK?

 

The Bargain

The Bargain

This is your last chance.

You have this moment to change your mind because once this decision has been made there is no going back.

Do you accept that from this moment you belong to me? That you freely give yourself over to my control from this moment forward?

All you need do is fall to your knees and say yes.

One simple word and you are mine.

I promise to use you as you need, to hurt you as you desire and to keep you safe and together we will find the depths of our depravity.

So what’s it going to be?

Sexless marriage for years seems like an eternity

Sexless marriage seems like an eternity

Molly, love your blog, even more your sexy arse. Anyway my dilemma is no sex for 2 years now, I’m incredibly depressed and frustrated. I find my wife’s body incredibly horny. What do I do?

Love letters

I still read all the love letters we sent.

I re live the day I realised I was in love with you.

I imagine what you’re doing now and if you are happy, or just pretending.

 

I was the best version of me I could ever be, when I was with you.

You will never know all of the ways you nurtured me.

Everything is normal again.

Life sometimes feels plain.

 

 

I might have direction if I was even on a path.

I know I am extraordinary, if I could only find that on my own.

 

You saw the best in me, and loved the worst of me.

I imagine meeting again. Except I will have more lines on my face and my body will have changed.

And you will still see the girl you met and fall in love again.

I am not lying now

I am not lying now

It’s no heavy weight; no screaming pain or daily tears. It isn’t the agony of fear or anger or even upset. It’s a slow sinking; being swallowed by quicksand, disappearing.

My head is already well below eyesight and I know I’m being overlooked. No act of unkindness, just the silence of seeing so many eyes not seeing.

There’s numbness creeping up limbs, and clasping cunt, and lungs, and heart, and soon, before anyone knows it… consumed.

And there is so much in the whimpering romanticism of sadness into which teeth can be sunk.

Like decay creeping through dearhearts, watching them fall as they shrivel and there is nothing left behind but ashes. It is all stopped as they unwind; rewind– unwind.

• • • • •

When I count the events of my unravelling, it is no surprise really. No great mystery as to where she went, and why what is left is so much less.

And perhaps you’ll barely notice me leave. Perhaps you can look down at my swallowed body and imagine I am still present, shoulder-to-shoulder with you. Or better still, perhaps I will pretend for you. Meet your expectation and fulfil my role.

“…though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”

Which is only so much gothic delight. To quote a serial killer and imagine it’s profound. That’s the hope, no? To exist in a way in which no one can touch. To be individual. The only one. Fame and fortune, or tragic hero, everyone dreams in some way of being unique.

But I do mean it; truly. When you say you understand, and I respond: “I hope you never know how this feels.”

I am not lying now.

I am who I am

I am who I am

I’m not slim, I don’t have amazing legs, I don’t have long silky locks, I don’t have a perfect pair of perky boobs.  But do you know what?  I have me, I have my children, I have my health and I have lived my life to the full.

I do not judge others and I know it is naive to think others shouldn’t judge me but they do.

They don’t see the emotional scars that I bare from an abusive marriage.  They don’t see the pain I went through, to who I am today.  They don’t see my scars from operations and they sure as hell don’t see me, for who I truly am.  But that’s OK, I know what I endured to get here today.  I have those memories of bad times, locked safely away in my mind, for the good ones to over run them.

I always cuddle my two boys at night, close my eyes and feel the love that radiates all around us.  My children will never know what I had been put through and they never will.  I will shade them from harm and give them a life full of laughter and love.

But for that one person, who looks at me and judges me, as a BBW and has no clue, as to who I am….Shame on you!

Today, I stand tall, I stand proud and I will always remember that I am alive and will never waste another minute on those who pull you down.

I’ve had enough

I’ve had enough

Before I go ahead with this post I would like to emphatically state that I am *not* suicidal and that I have absolutely no plans or intention to commit suicide. 

I just. I’m tired of living. I feel hopeless. Most days are okay but it only takes a small thing to send me spiraling down into an awful black hole where I want to hide and rot away where nobody can see me.

I hate my life and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I’ve changed all the things I can change. I left the husband who made me miserable. I’ve taken steps to deal with my debt and that’s moving in the right direction. I’ve become a student again after over 10 years out of school, doing the degree I should have done years ago.  I have some wonderful friends both here in my everyday life, and the ones I’ve never met in person (though who have been utter rocks to me). I have all of this good stuff happening and yet I feel so completely hopeless and pointless.

I’m a single mum with no money and I feel like I’m going to be on my own for the rest of my life. Stuck in my small town with no hope of escape for however long it takes for my kids to grow up and not need me to stay here any more.  The person I love doesn’t want me.  I can’t talk to anybody about any of it because they’re all sick of hearing it – I’m sick of hearing it come out of my mouth. I need to get away. I need to run away as fast as I can but I cant.

As I say I would never take my own life. I’m not at a place where I can’t see any other option. But right now, today, at this moment, I have never wanted to cease to exist more in my entire life.

I want to jump on a train,  away from this mess and from everything and just start again. I don’t want a family, I don’t want the responsibility. I love my children dearly but that absolutely unconditional and powerful love for them is my burden. They will always come first and I will love them forever but they deserved better. They deserved to be born to a family who really really wants that life. I look at their sweet, beautiful faces and I want to tell them how sorry I am that I’m not the parent they deserved.

I hate my life. I hate it. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Absolutely nothing. The doctor gave me antidepressants which I haven’t yet started to take – the good days are sometimes frequent but it only takes one little thing to set me back. I’ve taken them before. I don’t know why I’m so reluctant this time.

I generally can’t abide these kind of posts. But I understand so much more now why they are necessary. I feel so alone and there is nobody I can talk to. I’m sorry. I just had to put this somewhere where I could be heard without burdening anybody.

Truth or Lies

I am a lesbian. I have been in a relationship with another woman for 5 years now. I love her. She makes me laugh, we have so much fun together. She is my soul mate. I can imagine us growing old together, sitting in our rocking chairs and giggling over our shared memories.

I asked her to marry me.

She said yes!

It sounds perfect and simple but it is not because we can’t get married as she is already married to my brother. I asked her if she intends to stay married to him forever and she said that is what she agreed to, she says she loves us both, that she wants us both.

She told my brother that she is attracted to women. He reacted with interest and after a while is now open to the idea of her having a girlfriend but he doesn’t know that that girlfriend is his sister.

She wants to tell him soon but I am scared now that he will react badly and that she will give me up for him. I want her to have everything that she wants. I want to be what she wants but what if he makes her pick and she picks him. I think I can share, in fact I know I can share, I have done it for 5 years now, but what I can’t do is lose her. My fear is stopping her from telling the truth but if she does tell the truth then all the lies will be exposed. He will finally know that I slept with his wife, again and again, behind his back. She is convinced we can avoid that happening but I am not so sure. I think he will know and I think he will hate us both and everything will be ruined forever.

I don’t know what to do. Should I take the risk in the hope of getting what I want or should I tell her no and settle for only having lies with her.

Baby Secrets

Today you came home from the shop with a tiny white baby-grow. The label said ‘new born’. Together we admired the size, wondering about the new life that will soon be wearing it. You reached out to me, as you do every evening now, and caressed by ever expanding stomach asking how bump junior has been today. You are so happy at the thought of becoming a Father. I add the little clothes to the ever growing pile of stuff you keep buying for your child. You happiness is infectious. We are happy.

But I am scared

I am scared that when this child is born you will take one look at it and know that it is not yours. That the truth of my mistake will finally be revealed.

Sometimes I wake at night, sobbing and scared and you hold me tight and tell me that it is all going to fine. There is nothing to be scared of, women have babies all the time and you are right they do, and if history is anything to go by they have babies that are not their husbands but in my dreams… or are they nightmares?…. the baby is born with his face, smiling and handsome but unmistakably him and not you and the moment you see it you know the truth and all this happiness is instantly gone, and then I wake up and you hold me and everything is briefly OK again.

The worst thing is I just don’t know. The baby might be yours or it might be Jonathan’s. You don’t know him and he doesn’t know you. He doesn’t even know that I am pregnant. Like me he returned to his life after the conference. I guess I could track him down if I wanted to, I remember his surname and the company stand he was working on but I don’t want to. I want this baby to our baby but I am scared that when it is born it will be so obvious that it is not that everything will be ruined.

I love you. I love us. I want this baby to be your baby. You believe this baby is your baby. All we have to do is wait and see if this baby plays along with our dreams or destroys them completely.

 

 

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