I slunk off in the hallways of that sex site. The one where it all began for me. It’s like some kind of fucked up pilgrimage that I make. To peruse where I started my first blog. It was over 15 years ago but it seems like a lifetime away. A good number of people watched my blog. I think it’s easy to get people to read when you are writing vignettes about sliding your wet fingers between your legs while driving your car in broad daylight. No real talent there.
My past trauma created a deep brokenness in me, a need for attention and validation. Those watchers on that blog were fulfilling the attention I was seeking. I paid a hefty price for it all. Writing those posts made me felt dirty. Dirty, denigrated, and ashamed. Shame, such an fundamental part of my childhood was very familiar to me. A psychologist had once told me, “Often in the absence of genuine love and validation we seek out what we are used to and what’s familiar. “
My then therapist warned me it was further traumatizing me to stay on the site. He suggested that I start blogging elsewhere. I desperately yearned for my integrity. So I left that underground BDSM community in search of self-respect, healing, and legitimacy.
Why do I revisit that site? I’m not entirely sure. Am I looking into a rear view mirror at the life I left behind? Is there something about that lifestyle that I miss? Do I feel like I will never cut it as a writer anywhere else?
These are questions I’ll explore at my next session with Elle. Shrink Trouble Oh wait, she doesn’t know about any of this. Lol. Yup, another thing I sorta left out.
It’s as if a bomb exploded while I was living that lifestyle and now I have shrapnel embedded in me from the blast. I wonder if I can ever take all the pieces out?
I wonder if I will ever want to?