“Incel stands for ‘involuntarily celibate’ which basically means “someone who isn’t getting laid because other people are denying them’ with the implication that those people shouldn’t be allowed to refuse. The idea that there should be equal distribution of sexual activity between all people seems very ‘Brave New World’ to me; and not in a good way but setting the entitlement issues aside; the phrase “involuntarily celibate” has great resonance for me. For a while in my life, I was celibate, and not by choice. I was in a long-term relationship with a man I loved very much. He was kind, intelligent, funny, handsome, independent, quirky and a completely fucking awesome cook. He adored me and showed it in many many ways. Except the one I wanted most.
I was feeling pretty terrible, my mind playing tricks and my body protesting against the sudden withdrawal of my head meds, so I went back to bed in the middle of the daytime, fully intended to sleep off the symptoms.
As I snuggled into my pillow-piled nest, I realised I wasn’t sleepy. Perhaps a little solo play session would help me feel better. I explored the idea behind closed eyelids; would it? Contemplating the possibilities of my toy collection, a spark of arousal began to glow – I realised that already I felt less sick, less headachy, less despondent. Worth a try then.
CW: this post describes disturbing feelings and harm-related imagery. Please, if that will distress you, don’t read any further. Always take care of yourselves and each other.
I had a difficult end to my day. Things got away from me. I panicked.
Panic, for me, manifests as anger. In fact, most disturbances to my emotional stability become anger at some point, whether as waypoint or destination. I’ve learned to recognise it for what it, although getting a grip on it still eludes me.
I call it the demon.
(I’m ok now, by the way. Feeling much better)