Diary of a Kinky Librarian

The past two days I’ve mostly felt sane although tonight I’m feeling a bit depressed and agitated. I see my psychiatrist early tomorrow morning. While feeling normal for the past day, I’ve wondered if maybe I had made a big deal out of nothing. But in fact I hadn’t made a big deal out of it, I just mentioned this insanity to my therapist and she got very worried. It’s in my nature to feel bad about people worrying about me. After all, I’m not used to my own mother worrying much about me, so I’m used to just flying below the radar and suffering alone. I did tell Davey about all this the other night and he’s been expressing concern. And while it’s comforting to know that someone cares (and my therapist and shrink both called when it seemed like I hadn’t gotten back to the shrink, but in fact I had spoken to his receptionist about making an appointment) I hate people worrying about me. I think it might stem from some feeling of not being worth worrying about. Or some self-conscious response to feeling like a bug under a microscope. Yeah I think self-consciousness is the reason. I expect that people are now watching me, waiting for signs of craziness. And I’m afraid I might show them. I guess that deep down I don’t hate people worrying about me, I just hate the feeling of self-consciousness that goes along with it.

I’m tired of feeling like a broken human being. I’ve felt like this for so long. And just when I feel like I’ve gained some normalcy the depression comes back and I’m back where I started.

–
I’ve been contemplating why I slept with the Irishman this week. After all, I don’t feel like I’m getting much out of it since all he ever talks about is sex and that’s clearly all he’s after. But I realized that I get a sense of power over having a man want me as much as he wanted me on Monday. There’s some level of control being this object of desire and this sense of worth that comes from it. It’s fucked up for sure, but I felt powerful after fucking him. I felt like his orgasm was in my hands, had I not decided to play along he would have gone unsatisfied. And I like that feeling of power.

I’d much rather be friends with someone I fuck, but for now I think I’m going this route with the Irishman because it feels good to be sexual for a change and to make a decision about my sexuality (when it feels like the assault made my decisions for me for the past two years). I don’t feel entirely good about it, but I suppose I am getting something out of it - a sense of power, however fleeting.