My fists clenched
My skin began to crawl.
My face scrunched so tightly I could have cut off my own circulation.
I felt a familiar heat boil deep in my tissues.
Stop making me do things I don't want to do.
Stop squeezing me into a box
Stop making me perfect.
Stop trying to do it right.
Stop trying to control to relax.
My body essentially screamed at me in the middle of sex.
Overwhelmed by my extreme agitation, I had to stop.
I was trying to relax.
Trying to open.
Trying to receive.
Trying to play.
But in the efforting, I began controling.
breathe the right way.
I began doing the thing I was wanting to get away from.
everything open, natural, playful, and relaxed disappeared.
There is no "trying"
You either do or you don't.
So as I laid there, frustrated and confused, I wondered why it has to be so hard for me to just relax.
There are a few pieces here.
Part of me likes the stuggle. Like to make things difficult. Likes to have something to overcome. (Hello ego)
Control is safe.
Control means I don't have to share all of me.
Control means I can play a part and do it well.
(Hello more ego)
There isn't a happy ending here.
This is only the beginning of the story.
This is one of the many threads floating up to the surface now.
It's connected to something bigger that is slowly unfolding.