I sat down after wanking just before writing this, and had an interesting thought of the correlation between some of my dreams for more than a year now, the thoughts I'm jerking off about, and the current situation I find myself in.
Lately I've been feeling very "grabby" in my macro imagination. Snatching up tiny people and doing with them as my fox self would please is definitely not a normal thing to get horny over. I've long since abandoned trying to reason with my arousals as there was seemingly no practical reason to my macro kink. It was subtle enough to not attract attention, and it's the main thing that really does it for me, so whatever.
The few times I was asked about it, I always said that it very much didn't make sense, and if anything it was a power fantasy most likely. The idea of cities being leveled for your pleasure and literally holding worlds at the mercy of your fingertips (or other tips) was quite a favorable position to be in, despite the scientific impossibility of such things ever being even remotely possible.
Now, compare that to my current life for the past few years. I've mentioned it to many people and in many postings on my social media pages, but I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or IBS for short. For those not familiar, it is basically a catch-all term for "We don't know what's wrong with you." It has been my bane throughout the 2010's, reaching its climax in "The Year of the Toilet" of 2016, where I literally spent dawn until dusk on the toilet as my innards nearly spasmed out with all the feces I had and then some. It often felt as if my very intestines would plop right into the toilet bowl below me. Despite seeing many doctors, and having two colonoscopies, every time I was told that physically I was normal with no sign of cancer or any other notable issue. It was perplexing, but every time I got sent off with a vague term like, "We'll watch to see what happens," and not hearing from them again.
It was suggested to me to see a therapist or a psychiatrist, as the theories came up within my family that it was anxiety, but I resisted those for a while. I was afraid to end up with the medicine case I have now, because who wants to take six or more different pills at such a young age, especially when those pills often contained side effects that would harm the body later down the road? No, that wouldn't do. But year after year, I started acknowledging that my stress could not be handled on my own, and eventually admitted that I was a fool for resisting so hard.
I'm currently on a diet as well as a detox spray on top of my other medications in addition to seeing a therapist regularly. There were many gripes I had before about taking some measures that still hold true to today’s reality. Sometimes I heard nothing but the doctors explaining to me the same problem I had just explain minutes ago word for word, while being offered no solution. That kind of behavior still irks me to no end whenever I receive it. My diet, while helpful, leaves me often borderline starving. That of course means that when I went from a healthy weight to being underweight in 2016. I was never able to recover from that and thus currently am a twig as I am not allowed to eat anything with proper mass. This does not allow me to regain a proper Body Mass Index for my height. My IBS, while its effects have been reduced, still often hinders me from going too far from a bathroom. Some days I manage to fight off the urge to turn around in the vehicle and head right back home, but many a time I've not been able to hold out against the pain, gas, and urge to hit that familiar porcelain throne. Thus I've abandoned the idea of getting a real job outside the house long ago, or continuing any education (I need a physical classroom to focus well). That leaves me at home for days on days, doing nothing but staring at my PC screen while praying that someone buys a Blender model I've made, as freelance 3d artist is the only thing I can do with my inability to hold a consistent schedule.
So many doors have closed on my life, and I have had little control over it. Thus I've started to understand how that can fuel my fantasies. The wanting to have things work out for me versus the reality that I'm at the mercy of my own body with minimal ways of keeping my bowels and sub-conscious under control.
In my dreams, I often see my fears or desires come forth. In sleep, I have lived many scenarios from finally getting that pet fox I've wanted, to seeing flood waters rise with no way to get across, or other scenarios that I'd rather not speak of publically. Wants and desires clash with fear and pain. Always it ends in me waking up and realizing where I really am.
Quarantine for Covid-19 had little effect on me. I'd been a prisoner of my own room for so long that being told I couldn't go places hardly had an impact. During my time in my room, I have had much maturing happen to me. I would consider myself a man of faith, despite my behavior online understandingly leading some to see me as otherwise. Through it and the sheer desire to move on from my current condition I have tried again and again to break out of the rut my life is in. Sometimes I find success, while much of it rebounds in my face, knocking me back two steps rearward of where I began. However, I've gradually been able to put my feelings into words that I previously could not find a way to express, as well as confess more openly my life and actions to all. Hence I do not bother separating accounts online. I let the broken parts of me be seen along with the better parts. Each may then think as he wills; I've stopped caring about the perspective with which any singular individual perceives me. I only lay out my being, so that understanding of my mental state may be seen to all.
I am not the worst off, and I do not wish to be a victim only looking for the pity of others. I instead wish to explain the absence of my presence or of my content, as I feel sometimes I do well and work hard, and at others I don't even feel the ability to be.
But through all of this, the jerking off pretending I'm some cute, fluffy giant toying with a tiny world as I see fit, the struggles of not being able to comfortably go out to enjoy a good treat outside my room, the internal disappointment of telling my parents once again that nothing sold online so I could not start to carve my own career, and so much more I heavily depended on my own actions. The truth is, there is little power one person can hold. Even the great people of history, whose names are remembered generations after their deaths, did not reach their heights only on their own power. Everyone needs help, which comes from many places.
But how much more easily it is to accept the help you need when you acknowledge that you cannot do it on your own. No one changes unless they want to, and no one wants to if they think they are completely capable already. Learning to let go is a long process. Learning to trust takes years. Learning to accept that not everything will go the way you dreamed of takes dirt being kicked in your face again and again. But once all that is done; being humble enough to say, "Now I am ready to be helped," is far more liberating than it would seem. There is much weight taken off your shoulders once you stop beating yourself up for what you couldn't control to begin with. It is when you are able to tell what is within your power and what is not, you are far more effective in using your time, because you see what matters and what will not change regardless of effort.
I am no perfect champion of this. I still falter again and again. However, last week I wondered about my boredom after jacking off. Yes, on one hand there's the more obvious moral citings that you hear all the time, but I'm starting to see that beyond simply that; the more I learn to finally let go of the steering wheel from my clenched grip, the more I can see that there is no need to hold total control.
My sexual activity will likely go on for a while yet, especially during the frequent times of high anxiety, but the beginning of this understanding has left an impression on me. It's then that I recall something I told my therapist a few months ago...
There is a vast distance between simply "knowing" something and truly understanding it.
