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Sometimes I'm also horny and wish my desires were met.
I'm sexually frustrated and I'm dating men, adding to it.
I can't hook up with the woman I really want because she has excuses.
Being single is frustrating but I don't know what it's like to be connected with a partner.
Do I have to lay down my history for them to judge me?
What if I hook up with another sexual abuse survivor and we aggravate each other's triggers?
I'm so scared of dating and falling in love.
I haven't done much to start living away from home and being independent financially.
I may live at home for several more years.
I want to be more positive about myself.
When I focus on my acting career, I feel more positive, but it's everything else I feel hopeless and depressed about.
I hate when ex-vegetarians treat me like crap just because they don't have to put up with it anymore; they're like ex-smokers or born-again christians.
I know my mom feels it's my fault for being raped. She thinks I'm a push-over for letting it happen.
I'm preventing myself from expressing my anger publically about the rape and the betrayal of friends who believe in stereotypes and myths about it.
I'm outraged and disgusted with people's thinking and eroticization of it.
I've put off writing about it, thinking I have to have an exact idea of how it should go but that's blocking myself.
I worry and get anxious about the outcome, but I'll write from my point of view as I've written here, but on paper, in a notebook.
Right now, I'm listening to Jamiroquai's "Synkronized" album, which has "Canned Heat" that's played in the dance sequence in "Napolean Dymanite". I'm not sure what I think of that movie, but it's interestingly quirky.
I want my Diaryland account to expire; I worry that people I don't know or who know me are reading it and the paranoia is getting to me. Plus, I think it's lost its steam with former account holders. I'll see. Maybe I'll jus write differently, not fiction though.
I'm glad my cellphone is being repaired and that I'm using my old one. I miss my cameraphone but this old phone I missed in a way. It has no camera, but the ringtones I couldn't transfer to the new one I missed. I have Ed the Sock saying, "Answer the phone, you idiot!" and 50 cent's "Candyshop", plus a whole bunch of others.
I can't believe I loved my cellphone, but then again, I can believe it would disappoint me, as most things I love do.
I hate and love sex.
I hate the triggers that are nestled in my vagina, yet the euphoria from being connected with another person feels like an escape. Mostly, the triggers are attached to emotions and tension. When I relax, they're weakened. The trauma lives in the muscles, so the tighter they are, the more they're itching to squeeze out, but when I relax, they're laying about and weak to do anything.
Sound stupid? Well, I find when I'm trapped in a traumatic thought process, I'm tense and I'm clenched, especially my asshole and my pussy, but the tension is me trying to keep harm out. Once I realize that that's fear, I relax and the trauma escapes. It's my theory and I'm sticking to it.
Yesterday, the thoughts were stuck in my head but the day before, or the day before that, I felt like the trauma was gone.
Men bring it on but lesbianism does too: I got raped from the guy who saw me with a woman and I felt that triggered him to act.
I really want sex with a woman.
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