Hunger

"Hunger" has been in my life a lot lately. I'm reading "The New Hunger" by Isaac Marion, which is the most obvious way that word can be linked with my current state of being, but there is a much deeper, psychological, spiritual, visceral hunger that I am experiencing.

It is like the thousand hands pulling the dead man through Isaac Marion's dark forest in "The New Hunger." I am a walking vessel of need. I can't tell if this is part of my mental issues, or if this is has been inspired by the awakening of my sexuality and sensuality with the cam modeling. I try to contain it, not look at it too closely, sometimes let it out a little bit and have mad passionate sex with my husband or give the best cam shows of my life, but it is so big, so overwhelming that there are times when I find myself whimpering to myself like a starving person in front of a locked case of food.

At work tonight I could barely read my screen and pay attention to my calls because my thoughts were flipping back and forth between wondering when my husband will feel better and be up for sex, why he always runs out of steam in my favorite position, what my favorite members are doing and when I will see them, will we get to save the house, did I really need to order those insanely high red platform heels (YES!), should I buy more sex toys since so many of my Twitter followers are sex shops.... Each flip stoaked the fire of need and want and desire a little higher in me until I had to run off to the bathroom and just moan for a moment to contain myself.

This isn't "horny." This is something soul deep and insurmountable. This isn't just about sex and orgasms and the joy my playmates give me. This is about security and acceptance and safety and, well, damn it, love.

I hunger for love. LOVE. Real spiritual, sexual, emotional, intellectual, reciprocal, peaceful, passionate, friendly, filling love. Love of the neighbor, the family, the partner, the soul mate(s). I love. I love easily, too easily sometimes. I love harshly and softly, passionately, and with great tenderness. I love friends and family and lovers and pets and plants and the world. I love people I've just met and those I've known for decades. I love people I haven't seen or heard from in years. I love people who have hurt me deeply. I love people who barely know me. I love people who don't love me back. I throw my love out there, and want nothing more than it to come back to me.

I do not love myself.

I want to. I hunger to. I wish I could look at myself with joy and love and humor and acceptance. All of me. Inside and out. But all I do is judge. I forget that I am in the later half of my 30's on a regular basis and am shocked when I see the changes in my face and body. I hate my stomach when I'm sitting down. I am horrified by my upper arms and thighs and ass and neck. I hate that my brain plays tricks on me and makes me misunderstand external and internal stimuli. I fucking HATE that I have had vertigo for almost 6 years and that I might never be totally free of it. I can't understand why I can't get back to painting or drawing on a daily basis and then wonder why my art just doesn't come. I hate the nerve damage in my leg and labia that sometimes feels like ice tearing through the most tender parts of me. I hate that I want what I can't have and that I don't know how to make myself happy.

I truly, deeply, viscerally hate that I am terrified my daughter will be like me.

I want so desperately to love myself, but with all that judgement, there is no room for love. Only the hunger left by its absence.