I cast out my net and thought I would find a kinky artistic muse. I keep tossing the net out, but it returns empty. I think I must find the right crystals, incense, and chants to bring her to me. Any suggestions on which of these to choose?
pixabay
When looking for something fails, it cranks up my anxiety. I can't seem to shake it today. My cat and dog tried, but to no avail. When anxiety flares up at this level, and nothing seems to quench it, it generates the stark picture of a lonely life. A comforting embrace would go a long way, but it is missing, and it's something I can not buy.
A wise black woman I knew a half-century ago often counseled me on my way of thinking. Her simple question was so thought-provoking that I have never forgotten her words, "What does what you are thinking (or believing) have to do with that?" Sometimes she paraphrased it to fit a situation. How she became an impromptu counselor, I do not recall.
The situation was when I was in an emotionally dark place, and the information I had available to me was scarce and often inaccurate, so my mind, being so intensely active, filled all the blanks, and as many of you know from my blog, that is not good because I chose to see things in a negative light.
The missing solution then and now is the same: a warm, comforting embrace. Since I communicate most effectively with human touch, offering and receiving, and I am living in what may be the darkest cave of my life. If only I had just one candle offered to me. images pixabay
UPDATE: I found dozens of my paintings in my self-storage unit. My anxiety dropped very well. I will sleep much better tonight. Also, I will go over my new website notes before I build it; the first step will establish it, and the second step later will offer my artwork for sale again.
Since I have been painting artworks sporadically for almost 60 years, I have a collection that could use some administrative work. Van Gogh's sister-in-law did it after his demise. and Hooper's wife during their long marriage. I prefer a woman, as I am kinky, and I still am a heterosexual man. I was introduced to BDSM when I needed a helper when I cared for my wife (not a nurse), the woman who was to provide me with a domestic kinky sub never followed through, and she fooled me out of money. Now it is the time I could use more help, because as I am getting older. I do have things to offer her the potential in return for her service. It is always symbiosis in the real world.
We should be compatible and affectionate to each other, and live a life working together for each other's benefit. I have a house with a manageable mortgage and a paid-off car, food, and utilities.
If I do find the right sub, we would not be lonesome travelers in a messy, unpredictable world any longer.
I visited one of my VA doctors yesterday, and the visit went well. She is my new psychiatrist and isn't as warm as my last one, who was recently forced into retirement. All is status quo, no changes in meds. I asked if there was a pill to alleviate loneliness. She blew it off as if I were an AI robotic human.
Once upon a time, when I was battling deep depression episodes, I asked my counselor, "Can I ever feel like I did as a child once more?"
He then, and another later, wouldn't answer. To be fair, probably no counselor can truly answer that. I had to research the question and find my own answer.
The answer lies in the brain's natural chemistry, and no external material or substance can truly recreate the joy of a child seeing the world for the first time. Tried but gave up. Falling in love was close. Love can produce the right chemistry if we let it, and if we do not spoil it with resistance or by creating obstacles to feeling joy.
"Happy chemicals" are neurotransmitters and hormones—Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin, and Endorphins—that regulate mood, pleasure, and emotional well-being. " AI
In my entire adult life, I have experienced a joy that closely resembled the childhood joy: Three hugs spaced many years apart. Each within a sorrowful period when I was alone and not filled with hope. I do not think that in each case the woman who comforted me knew she had, and it was probably not her intention to create the depth of feeling I experienced - yet I allowed the momentary joy to exist. I am hopeful even now.
Before my wife passed, there were at least five years without intimacy (dementia). I sought a sub to be my FWB, had one briefly, but the overwhelming reality? I came to accept that the scammers were so good at convincing me that I was handsome, interesting, and desirable that I must have fallen into their traps without realizing it. All too often.
Now I don't know what to believe; even the praises that I cared for my wife for eight years out of forty-one seem disingenuous.
If I am such a "good man," why am I alone? Simple answer? People lie.
Back in the 90's, we considered another legal path because a bankruptcy lawyer made a mistake that cost us more money. We met with an older lawyer, and when we were in his office, his young wife and two small children stopped by. He was old enough to be their grandfather. So, what is the distinction between why he had a young wife and why I can't even find a companion in my age group?
It isn't money; it is security for the young woman; this lawyer's ability to provide a decent future for his young family. Yes, it was a practical decision.
I have enough tangible things, still active and still able to offer love, but apparently that is not enough. The one factor that could have helped, in my opinion, was being at least 10 years younger.
And so the curse one of my family members put on me seems destined to be valid: She said, " I hope you die alone with no one around to notice."
ADDENDUM: Yes, I dealt with depression all my life, and in 2022, my doctors finally diagnosed something I knew all along: I AM BIPOLAR. When I was actually able to interact with a psychiatrist, not just a psychologist or GP, I got real meds that work for me. She helped me cope with my wife dying slowly, and now, though I am sad, I can deal with it better between the meds and Cognitive Self-Therapy. Why does my family have a negative view of me? Most likely, the untreated bipolar illness. Too bad it came so late in my life. My late wife also had complex mental issues, and maybe it was the glue that held us together for forty-one years. NO, I AM NOT GIVING UP. I SEE A FLICKERING LIGHT AT THE FAR END OF THE CAVE. I have my interests, my cat and dog, art, and my music that I have reignited.
Maybe one morning I will awaken to find that I have a new woman in my life, and we are both in love. It could be that after sixty years of having a lover, I am now addicted to love. Absolutely not the worst addiction. Loving sex as part of it is superior to being addicted to sex. I defeated several challenges in my life, such as cigarettes and alcoholic beverages, but I never equate my desire for love as purely lust, so I will not wean myself from love.
Good morning, I slept well with over an hour of REM sleep because it turned cold overnight. A week into spring, and I missed the start, but the flowers were not taken by surprise; they bloom around the neighborhood. Last night, winter clawed at my house and chilled it nicely. I have managed to pay the enormous winter heating bills, and since my late wife isn't here, I have little reason to keep the temperature as high as I used to.
Every day holds a promise or a surprise. I am counting on a positive in my life to manifest itself. There isn't a single reason other than a feeling. Maybe I am being too optimistic. I know that romantic visions of Europe persisted during the three years I lived in a village, which heightened my desire to recapture that romance. Alas, I no longer have the financial means to become an expat. Maybe if I win the lottery.
I look in the mirror and wonder if anyone could like that guy. I don't look as old as I am, and I am still self-reliant. My finances have recovered, and I use some of my time with music and art. Still thinking about how much garden I want this year. Still trying to motivate myself to put away and deal with clutter and remnants of the past that are not sentimental.
I still miss having breakfast with a companion, but I wonder who would want a used car like me anyway. I really liked the Shortwave Radio in my old Simca because I listened to BBC news each evening at 18:00 local NJ time (LOL). (Pixabay photo)
Researchers and my doctors concur that I may be the last living Neanderthal. Why?
I endure the cold climates well, I have an urge to draw on walls, and I tend to be depressed. I found it hard to stop drinking alcoholic beverages, give up my hyena, badger, and wolverene pets, and most of all, prefer human females to neanderthal females.
Dear and lovely companion, wherever you are, Good morning. Your smile would brighten a rainy morning if you were here. I am about to make coffee and breakfast. Is there anything special you want? Though the sky is grey and the street wet, crocuses and daffodils are blooming. The Forsythia's yellow buds are more obvious this morning. Maybe this is the day we shall meet. (all pixabay)
