Ev's kink corner

Sometimes, when I write, I pour my lust into it, my heart, my yearning. It's hard to write erotica when the yearning hurts. Maybe tonight I will find my way, with the help of other kinky authors. We have a munch at Wicked Grounds, the kink cafe which is the heart of San Francisco's BDSM community. I have friends there. Maybe they can help.

Sometimes when I hurt, my instincts cause me to curl up in a little defensive ball. I isolate myself. I seek escapism. I don't lean on my friends, though I still encourage them to lean on me for support. It's old, old wounds. The little voice in the back of my head that I found when I was a child. The one born of trauma. That voice says "you can't count on anyone. No one will help you. No one can save you but you. Don't depend on anyone. They will let you down."

More dangerously, the voice will say, "set aside your own needs. Set aside your own comfort and safety. Set aside your desires. Set aside your emotions. If you let it show, they will run. They will leave you. They will strike you. They will hurt you. Endure, endure, endure. Give, give, give. But don't you set a boundary. Don't you take." That fawn response to trauma, it's creepers and vines are strangling my garden. I cannot flourish. I cannot bloom. Not if I listen to that voice. 

So, instead of curling up in bed at home, I will go to work and then I will go to hang out with my community. I will see if I can write, but even if I can't, I'll see my friends, and I'll talk to them. I'll let myself take up space. I'll let myself talk. I'll let myself ask for support. 

I have to take the advice that I give, after all.