bitterdiva

Through my eyes

the world is different from anyone else. I don't get the first hand view of my physical feature, I do not reside in the places that others do. I live in my room, in my world, and I see you as you see myself. The thought is odd, but it's one that often has to be acknowledged.

Sometimes we get a first hand view of ourselves looking at a mirror. Standing in the bathroom listening to the water fill the toilet, looking back on ourselves unobjectedly. Have you ever just stood there staring into the mirror for a period of time and becoming so comfortable with the features you see? How thick your brows are, how your irises and pupils combine into a hue that is not a distinct feature of either the color of your iris or of your pupil. Have you watched the light and the shadows dance on your face, cutting them into separate halves that almost look completely unlike the other side.

I stood there in the bathroom, the white of the walls enveloping my body as the backdrop dances an edge around me. The darkness of my hair, my eyes, and my clothing contrasting with the purity of the white walls and the light. A surrealist view of one's physical being being thrust into the mental image of yourself conflicting with how you look in your minds eye. I often have a morbid disfigured view of myself and of my physical stature.

Often in relationships we become aware of our being, of our physical senses being stimulated and attention being brought to your unique aspects. How soft your lips are, how beautiful the color of your eyes, how soft your hair is, how silky your skin feels, how your distinct aroma entices your partner. And as you become selfaware you start to enjoy yourself for who you really are. When your partner is not there, do you often fantasize about them, pleasuring yourself as if they were pleasuring you. Your hands moving directly to the areas of your body that you found most erotic, maybe by chance of your own when you came of age, or through the experimentation of each other's bodies.

Masterbatory acts can be self gratifying, but what happens when your mental image of yourself is completely destroyed and your fantasies evaporate with the dissolution of relationships, or when you no longer feel self-worth? Does one cave into the self-depreciating prophecy that they are not good enough to feel excitement, to feel loved, or even attractive?

Problems such as these, on a personal level, often contribute to the toxicity of my sexual drive. Lacking self worth why would one reach down to the own genitalia and bring back the thoughts of relationships gone bad that burn your heart just as powerful as the same day it ocurred in the past. These are often the burdens of my troubled mind.

11:16 PM

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