They say that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Many people would resort to madness to lift their spirits up just to keep moving and in my case, I have my own flotilla of coping mechanism to restore what is being lost to me. You see, these past few weeks had been rough. The blog can attest to that. On one side, the issues at the homefront gnawed at my defenses. The turbulence was getting unbearable that I had to resort on outside help to pull me out of the mud. To lean on someone was my weapon of choice and so were the strings of male affairs I wrote here on the blog. My hopes ran high with their reaffirmation of shared intimate feelings. But somewhere along, things did not turn out the way I wish them to be. These affairs faded like embers and there were no means to bring them back. I was dumped twice for one reason or another and the rejection cut deep on my ego.
As my order falls one after another, my inner demons begin to re-assert themselves. The savagery of my survival instincts dictate that I should shut my doors tight on friends and allow myself to fall towards the abyss. It happened before and I feel it happening again. My hope is to emerge on the other side of the black hole in one piece. But to achieve such state of confidence, first is I have to feel good about myself.
I chose reckless abandon to achieve my goal and what better way to start the fire by recognizing my carnal repressions. I knew from the very start that my pictures were my greatest disadvantage. It leaves no good impression on people no thanks to my perpetual habit of frowning in front of the lenses. People tend to get intimidated by my frigid and distant attitude that it takes time for me to establish personal rapport. Unless one catches me lowering my defenses, it gets pretty difficult to open me from within.
There are two states where I easily approach strangers. One is during the brief state of ecstasy offered by loud beats and sudden laser flashes offered by dance clubs, the second is by baring my skin in the dark corridors of the bathhouses. My last incarnation at Club Bath proved so disastrous that I vowed never to return. Imagine a place where one could freely choose who to make out and copulate with. The sheer feeling of imposing your standards on others was breathtaking but it leaves you hollow afterward. The inhumanity of rejecting others was too much that I decided to cease returning after my third visit.
I stayed sober for more than a year.
Yesterday was a different story. I was pissed off at everything. I hissed at those who showed concern at my condition, while leaving careless remarks that hurt others. I made fun at people not knowing that I was becoming mean, and when it finally hit me, I snapped. I told myself that perhaps I needed a boost just to feel again. Maybe I can undo the damage by receiving affection even if I get it through artificial means.
And so at half past eight in the evening, I decided to hold back my established protocols and let instincts creep in. Armed with knowledge acquired from Discreet Manila, I sounded the ceremonial drums and lighted the sticks of incense.
"We will perform a different kind of exorcism tonight," Kitsune told me.
"You will return to the bath house scene again."
As my order falls one after another, my inner demons begin to re-assert themselves. The savagery of my survival instincts dictate that I should shut my doors tight on friends and allow myself to fall towards the abyss. It happened before and I feel it happening again. My hope is to emerge on the other side of the black hole in one piece. But to achieve such state of confidence, first is I have to feel good about myself.
I chose reckless abandon to achieve my goal and what better way to start the fire by recognizing my carnal repressions. I knew from the very start that my pictures were my greatest disadvantage. It leaves no good impression on people no thanks to my perpetual habit of frowning in front of the lenses. People tend to get intimidated by my frigid and distant attitude that it takes time for me to establish personal rapport. Unless one catches me lowering my defenses, it gets pretty difficult to open me from within.
There are two states where I easily approach strangers. One is during the brief state of ecstasy offered by loud beats and sudden laser flashes offered by dance clubs, the second is by baring my skin in the dark corridors of the bathhouses. My last incarnation at Club Bath proved so disastrous that I vowed never to return. Imagine a place where one could freely choose who to make out and copulate with. The sheer feeling of imposing your standards on others was breathtaking but it leaves you hollow afterward. The inhumanity of rejecting others was too much that I decided to cease returning after my third visit.
I stayed sober for more than a year.
Yesterday was a different story. I was pissed off at everything. I hissed at those who showed concern at my condition, while leaving careless remarks that hurt others. I made fun at people not knowing that I was becoming mean, and when it finally hit me, I snapped. I told myself that perhaps I needed a boost just to feel again. Maybe I can undo the damage by receiving affection even if I get it through artificial means.
And so at half past eight in the evening, I decided to hold back my established protocols and let instincts creep in. Armed with knowledge acquired from Discreet Manila, I sounded the ceremonial drums and lighted the sticks of incense.
"We will perform a different kind of exorcism tonight," Kitsune told me.
"You will return to the bath house scene again."
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-tobecontinued-
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