Dear Folks,
I arrived at camp yesterday. Most all of my friends are here again and I am so very happy to see them all. And touch them.
And lick them…
I made a date last night, with a fellow I met my first year; this was our third date. He likes to stick men with needles. As it turns out, I like him to stick me with needles.
Who could think that my body response could become more so. I know, right…? *squeeeeeee*
This was my third date with him in four years, and each time I have had fully divergent reactions throughout, even though much of the process had consistent response from me.
This year involved laughs and giggles, sobbing and tears, and ended with what might truly be the calmest state of being I have ever experienced. Sure, it is possible that last night’s experience is just so fresh and overwhelming that I cannot remember anything close, but it still sits with me now as I type this. I am almost overwhelmingly calm, and still.
Some of you most surely understand what this means for me to say, right…?
The first year, the piercing was part of a demonstration, when the time came to discuss removal, I began to sob uncontrollably… and I went immediately to the moment years ago when I was told I had to remove my metal for the duration of chemotherapy. Heavy stuff in that moment.
This year, I had expressed an interest in including nipples and dick in the territory for poking. The first needle into the nipple, tiny as can be, was beyond anything my mind wanting to process. I sat with it for a few moments, couldn’t understand what it wanted to become, and conceded. I asked for its removal.
An instant later, I was sobbing, full of regret and indecision, and disgrace and rage at myself for needing it to go away. In the moment, I was back to my first year, and simutaneously back at the start of chemo (eight years back!!!) and that silent little bit of imposter’s syndrome that hangs out in the back of my mind got louder and stronger and struggled to reach my surface.
I can say that I still know little to nothing of this calm that sits with me, but I am happy, content and understand fully that I am no imposter, even if that voice is still hidden deep inside.
You see, I have good faith in the notion that imposters do not lay there, laced with needles down their chests, giggling, guffawing and trembling with a raging hard-on as a man strums his fingers along the guitar frets piercing his flesh.
*smooch*
gryphon's hole 