A Letter to All the Girls Like Me, One Year Ago
I know what you’re feeling. I understand how confused you are. And I know that even this - somebody telling you that they know exactly how you feel - is probably upsetting. Especially because it’s somebody like me, right? You don’t want to think that you’re like me. I know it.
And maybe you’re not. But the fact that you’re here - again! - suggests otherwise. I know, you’ve probably read this blog before, and you’ve closed it, angry and upset and disgusted. And you’ve promised yourself you won’t be back, that you’re done with all this kind of thing. You’ve really meant it when you told yourself that.
How long has that lasted, usually? 24 full hours, if you’re lucky?
Trust me, I know how that feels. It’s like there’s a hook in your brain, and the further away you get from all this, the stronger it pulls back. I know how it feels to get yourself off and then cry angry, shameful tears at what you just said or did or looked at or even just thought.
Most of all, I know how it feels to feel your resistance to all that breaking down. To know that you’re weaker than you were a month ago. To know that it’s getting worse.
If you’re like me (and I bet you are, whether you like it or not), that’s the scariest part. You’ve always been strong, capable, able to handle whatever comes. So the fact that you can’t think or fight your way out of this is terrifying. In fact, the scariest part is that the more you think about it, the harder you fight it, the faster you’re sucked back into it.
I’m not going to tell you to stop fighting, or to stop thinking about it. That wouldn’t work. That’s not in your nature.
But I will say this - start trying to accept that maybe all this isn’t so bad. Maybe there’s a reason you fantasize about these things. Maybe there’s a reason you keep coming back to blogs like mine, even though they disgust and infuriate you. Maybe there’s a reason that these days, you can only cum when you’re thinking about stuff like this.
Engage with it. Try and let your guard down, just a little. Just for a moment. Talk to somebody. Reach out to a Dom whose writing or posts really speak to you. Reach out to me, if you want. I’m here to talk, if you need it. You can confess your sick and shameful desires, you can ask questions you’re afraid to ask other people, you can even just yell at me for being disgusting, if you need to.
But engage. Interact. Let it in, a little. That’s how you’ll start to make progress.
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
origamiaround
titsay
yousharknotpass
