struggle

In some strange way, this loosely argued ramble here is what directly led me to writing my last post.

Act 2 was an easy write because it was about conflict.

A struggle that ended happily. A struggle that made my cum all the more worthwhile. But still a struggle.

(I laugh to call it a wrestle. I get images of T lifting me above his head and doing a Double-Spin WhamBammer or something. Insert some trademarked name for a professional wrestling move there. I don’t actually know any…Promise. )

The clash of our sex in that particular moment was sandwiched between two other completely different episodes. During those two times, it was the harmony, the ease, the lack of conflict that overwhelmed. The just-happy-doing , no-matter-where-they-lead, no-matter-how-they-go, Sex Acts 1 and 3.

Precious times. I felt through them both pervaded with a sense of thankful life-joy. I wanted to sing praises to the Deity who sent such easy little wonders in such unique, unexpected packages my way. Blasphemous girl that I am.

I felt fully aware, actually savoring time as it unfolded. With no real rush, with no real regrets for its ending. How often does that happen?

T got into a bad car accident a couple of days afterwards. He got out unhurt. My gratefulness in my moments with him took on whole meaning when I heard of his scrape with death. Became less of an abstraction and more of a tangible reality.

Still, they are so difficult to write about, this 1 and 3.

I pick at healing scabs constantly, but when my trembling hands are faced with seemingly flawless, inviting warm skin, I balk. If I touch, will it disappear?

And this thought digresses me off into another. That it so much easier to be sad and conflicted, then it is to be happy and at peace.

That we are naturally inclined towards suffering should come as no surprise to me. Then again, maybe I should not generalize, maybe it is just me.

My light, I have tended to, I have pruned and directed and watched warily its growth. My dark, it has never needed any feeding.

You turn off the light to get to dark. You cannot turn off the dark.

And it is that way with everything anyways. Everything must fall. Potential must be lost. Order to disorder, high to low. We may seem to skip and jump back and forth. But eventually we all go from life to death. At least in the confines of this world.

The direction of the waterfall stays the same. Some of us are better at clinging on as compared to others. Some are lucky, born with enough anima to not even feel like they’re clinging. They are not aware, right until the moment when they are swept away. Some culminate energy, gathering strength as they go along. They will leave too, but strong, and knowingly.

Our ability to see the coming of this fall, to see too how deep our darkness goes differs from one to another. We can prefer to be blissfully ignorant. We can play at its edges, daring ourselves close. It may not actually be a choice sometimes.

Me, I stumbled upon it, or maybe it stumbled upon me. IT. In all its dizzying entirety. I was drawn in. It was vertigo.

When I surrendered fully into depression, I felt only an utter weariness of the soul. I had no real reasons. I led a sheltered easy life. I had people who loved me. I was just tired, tired of where I had found myself. Tired of searching for a source to go on. Quite simply, and quite horribly, it was easier to die. This is always the case perhaps. But it becomes a temptation, the only temptation, for the one who cannot look away.

I looked down. It was a mistake. Inevitable or not. Ingrain or not.

I fell in. Like I have been tricked into falling in again as my mind takes this path to write these words down. But nowhere even remotely close to how far I fell then.

Does this all sound morbid?

I love life for its tragicomedy. (As least it is not a commie tragedy hehe. ) I love life for its flip sides that fit, its duality that is not a duality at all.

There is something to what they say. A triumph is only a triumph in the wake of a struggle. And we would not struggle if we did not want to triumph.

And that is why Act 2 was hot, for me at least.

Still my other fight. To find unafraid, living words for the barely veiled joys of my 1s and 3s.