Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I’ve been a lot more fragile than usual, lately.

I always have a tendency towards depression, but for the past few months it’s been a pretty constant weight on my back.

A major side effects of this has been that my libido has been pretty much non-existent.

That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t been writing much in this blog. If I’m not feeling like sex, I have a lot of trouble writing about it. I’ve had a bunch of amazing scenes and amazing sex that I just haven’t been able to bring myself to write about. I start and then somehow can’t seem to make it through.

It’s giving a really disjointed picture of my current existence.

I realize that may sound confusing. How can a person with no libido be having amazing sex? In part, it comes down to a conversation I had with She Who I Would Be Dating If We Could Get Around The Impassable Obstacles a few years ago. She has a really high libido, but only when she has a partner to exercise it on. If she has a partner to have sex with, she wants them all the time. When she doesn’t? Sex is almost never on her mind.

In contrast, I normally just have a pretty high libido. When I’m not depressed, I tend to think about sex a lot, want sex a lot, and masturbate a lot - whether or not I have someone to focus my energies on. For me, having a low libido means that it all goes away. I don’t particularly want sex, I don’t have any interest in writing about it, and I won’t make any effort to get it. In fact, I will give up opportunities for sex that I would normally fling myself upon bodily, because I can’t bring myself to care.

Still, even when I’m depressed the act of being wanted usually makes me want. Even if I’m in the sort of mood where I mostly want to hide in a corner and hate myself, someone who I care about actively wanting at me will usually get me in the mood.

I’m just unlikely to be inspired to pounce on my own.

Depression is the destroyer of inspiration, at least for me. It makes it hard to do anything that requires leaving the house… which includes having sex. (I can’t get that delivered. Thai food? Yes. Books? Yes. Dog grooming? Yes. Sex? Not so much.) Right now, the only thing in my life that I have consistently able to motivate my self to get on the move for is, oddly enough, aerial acrobatics. It is, apparently, the good drugs.

I was thinking about why that is today, and a lot of it, I think, is similar to why I can manage to write about submission when I can’t stay in my head long enough to write about anything else. Aerial acrobatics requires total focus and concentration. I literally can not afford to think about anything other than what I am doing at any given moment - how my body is positioned, where my weight lies, the direction I am moving. It is highly effective at getting me out of my head. I can’t be depressed when I’m upside down, because I don’t have the attention to spare. Between the physical pain and effort, and the concentration, it is an incredibly effective mood altering drug. While I’m doing it, I can’t do anything else.

Similarly, submitting gets me either out of my head or so deep into my head that my mood really isn’t an issue. If I can get to enough of that place when I’m writing, I can usually say there long enough to finish my thoughts. For everything else, I can stay in the moment as long as my partner wants me there, but once I’m home and in front of the computer it’s hard to not get distracted by worries, depression, and doubt… or lost in pensive wondering about emotion and motivation. It doesn’t mean I had any less fun, or that I’m any less attached, just that it’s harder to stay in the place that allows me to connect words to story.

Right now, writing is hard. It’s hard when I do it for work, and it’s hard when I do it for pleasure - mine or somebody else’s. Sex is also hard, when pleasure is alternately something I seek and would be happy to just give away.

This too shall pass. Until it does, however, I shall continue building strength in my body with the knowledge that the solidity will eventually confer to my mind. And I will write, when I can, and hope that doing so does not cause pain.