The Creatures

Most of us are asexual. It gets confusing. Lydia is the only one who really ever fronts when we do have sex regularly. When they come out we feel completely different. Far away in the inner world and underwater. Sounds and sensations muffled. Completely different interests, ways of speaking, and thoughts. Afterwards hours later often a layer of disgust crawls up our skin and our throat. The idea that someone touched us like that is deeply uncomfortable

Lydia has fun. A moment to feel free. In touch with sensations they so rarely experience these days. Their hypersexuality muffled by the trauma Lydia dealt at the hands of our ex fades away for a moment. They want someone else to touch us. Maybe erase old handprints from others. We don't want to add any new hand prints we've collected voluntarily or involuntarily (more often then not)

More of us were able to be present with our last ex. They understood the pain of assault. They were patient. They only wanted intimacy on occasion which was fine. Sometimes it felt emotional knowing it was the first real relationship we've had that didn't include assault. Sometimes the absence of pain reminds you of the pain that shouldn't have ever occurred. Even though it ended between us we are greatful we could share intimate moments with them. To see that pleasure was possible.

Our abusive ex said they fell in love with Lydia. Lydia was host back then long ago. They struggled to love the rest of us as Lydia faded more into the distance. I guess it was hard to tolerate more of the asexual versions of us. But our ex hurt Lydia and the resentments grew.

For the first time in nearly a year we decided to experiment a little. Went to a kink event. We like the idea that other people were around to make sure we consented. Being alone with anyone in that way was unnerving. A pleasant conversation led to going upstairs. Kissing led to impact play. Slightly further and then that was too much. We stopped. The person said "that was fun even if we didn't go further". Lydias heart dropped. The intimacy that took so much bravery for us was viewed as lesser then. "Even if".

Why is it so hard to find a sexual or kink partner who will view what we can tolerate and enjoy enough? Why is there an end goal expected? Kissing is enough. Kink is enough. Sex isn't necessary to share an intimate moment. We want to stop before overstimulation, flashbacks, switches in parts, or apathy/boredom hits. Sometimes we just want kink nothing else. Being asexual for us is kink with no desire for sex sometimes. Our last ex understood. That wasn't meant to be regardless.

Hello! I noticed a lack of community spaces on tumblr to post about trauma, difficult experiences, and dark subject matter. I decided to create my own! The purpose is to allow space for vunerability, honesty, and acceptance. Writing about dark subject matter is an art and deserves to be treated as such!

Please note this space could be potentially triggering. Everyone who joins is expected to use trigger warning tags.

tumblr.com/join/AXtolqZ2

So many fill in the blanks with no nouns or adjectives

Fuck, sleep, walk, drink, cry, cut, sleep, fuck

He never let me turn off the light.

It always had to stay on the whole night.

Not a second of peaceful sleep.

We met at the pysch ward when I was 18. He was 35

Im grasping for straws knowing how we could have started talking in the first place. What could we possibly have had in common?

I barely remember him but I remember his smell. Thinking about it for too long churns my stomach and makes me dizzy.

I remember his sweet dog that comforted me while I cried. She was an angel. Animals always have held me when no human being could.

The only bathroom in his entire house was through his brothers room. I did not trust this man or his disgusting bathroom.

The layers of garbage decaying on the ground. The broken lock. Knowing at any moment anyone could come in. Having to crawl over his drunken friends on the ground to enter.

I started resorting to holding my pee until I left in the morning. Walking through the snow to the nearest gas station. I would be exhausted after the gross things he made me do. I never wanted him like that. I just wanted one less night alone.

I wanted an out away from the deep seated loneliness that filled my body and my mind. A ghost that followed with me but had no meaning reason or memory. Just a never ending wind whistling moaning. I couldn’t ever place the source of the ache. When I began to remember a seething head ache would spread until I was rearranged and elsewhere.

The pain intensified. It hurt the longer I held it. I didn’t trust myself to be alone in my dorm. It sickened me sitting with myself. After I cut him off I slept for a week straight ignoring the pain. I walked through a blizzard. No money,no ride, no friends.

The doctors wondered how I had waited so long to get medication and how much pain I must be in. I think I was just so used to sleeping the pain away. The bodily things you ignore from depression can feel so gross to talk about. People from the outside never seem to understand why you cant eat,shower,brush your teeth, go to the doctor, do any of the basics to take care of yourself. It didnt matter when I didnt think I had much of any time left.

I had my suspicions before then they might sleep together. I walked with him to class and he asked me how long her and i had known one another.I said she was my girlfriend for five years (on and off)and he seemed so lost and confused. Like the concept of lesbians just didn’t exist to him. I guess I didnt exist to her either. Why did she beg me to come back? Why did she break up with me over and over again only for me to crawl back? No matter who she was with. When I finally moved on she couldnt believe I was done. Why should I keep fighting to be your back up plan my dear ? You were the one who left again.

Dear Datura

Another night without sleep.I nearly began to drift away until I reached for you and realized you werent there.I tried to gently untangle your knotted and unruly hair through my fingertips . I breathed in the musky smell of the herbs you used to burn. They still linger on your faded patchwork quilt that’s rough and tattered edges ive yet to repair. You never told me who made it for you. You came into our town that winter wrapped inside of it as your cloak. Every morning the sun still rises. The night you died I expected it to stop.

I couldn’t imagine light ever touching my skin again. I was the one to find your body that morning. I came to the same spot after nightfall. Surrounded by falling leaves I buried my face into the moist ground. Still wet from the storm that pelted down on your corpse as you waited to be found. I planned to lie there forever and decompose into the very soil your blood had became one with. I clawed at mother and Sweet Pea and screamed out cruel words attempting to slice into their hearts. In the end Cedar led me out of the forest. Stumbling over the wild woods as my sobs made it almost impossible to breathe.

Why do I continue to walk this earth if you are not here? How have two years managed to pass? Do you tire of me writing the same words to you? Are you waiting for me or are you busy attending to the secrets you never shared with me even up to the end?

under the living room furniture that I rarely sweep up

often I choke on the dust

But my mother is the shadows in my closet