My welcome back to the blogosphere has been gratifying. I’ve gotten some lovely comments and also some very sweet PMs. It does feel good to have this special place that’s all my own. Social media sites are fun, but the fun can be fleeting. Your posts on FetLife are popular for a day or two and then quickly forgotten. It’s nothing personal and it’s no one’s fault; it’s just a sign of the times, the way things are now in the age of digital distraction. People at any given moment can be carrying on fifteen conversations at once via texts and so forth and concentration is a lost art. Same thing with Twitter. Getting focus on there is a crap shoot, a matter of timing. Some days you can tweet something completely silly and it explodes into myriad conversations. Other days, you could post, “Hey, that hemorrhoid turned out to be Stage 4 cancer and I have six days to live,” and get crickets.
It seems my post about depression resonated with many. I suppose that could be a direction for me in the future — relating to spankos with depression and how to cope. Because depression is the antithesis of spanking fun, you know. When I’m in play mode, I feel sexy and happy and alive, filled with energy, clever, creative, on top of my game. Depression sucks all that away and leaves a shell that looks somewhat like me. And the damnable contradiction is that when I need attention the most, I feel the least attractive. My outsides are saying “Go away” while my insides cry “Please don’t go away.”
So I look at pictures, old and recent, and remember, “Hey! You are capable of this. Look at that smile. Look at that thrust-out confident butt. That woman is still in there.”
I remember that no matter how unlovable I feel, I must be doing something right. Yesterday, John said to me: “I would take you on your worst day over anyone else on their best day.” Somehow, I brought that to myself. Always there, John is. No matter who else comes and goes. ♥
Don’t watch the news when you’re down. And for God’s sake, don’t listen to music. You never notice how many depressing songs there are until you’re depressed yourself.
Sing it, John.
Or how about, “She aches, just like a woman, but she breaks just like a little girl.”
Yeah, I chose this picture on purpose. It captures my mood… but it also reminds me that I’m still a damn desirable woman, no matter what my screwy head tells me.
Anyway, y’all, I’ve got work to do, and a body to work out. Happy Monday.