No, I don't have a gun

I have lost my mojo. I haven't felt horny for about two weeks now. When I touch myself, nothing happens. Those of you who are aware that I don't know anyone within two hundred miles that I want to have sex with might see this as a good thing, but it really, really isn't. I need that constant exquisite torment of frustration to get anything done, most especially anything creative, from amusing people on bulletin boards through writing stories, right up to the vaster than empires and more slow reconstruction-in-progress that is my life.

I've had some small success trying to force it back to life with playfulness in the Lounge, but my heart (and more importantly, points south) really hasn't been in it. I'm unhappy, pissed off with myself and depressed. (And I am taking my Seroxat religiously, so that isn't a factor). I've also been eating shitloads of chocolate - I had three chunky Kitkats yesterday - which, like an addictive drug, is sort of soothing at the time but only adds fuel to the extra weight and the black, wet cloud of steaming, stinking self-loathing that I'm not having any success at getting rid of.

And this is starting to stray into self-pity territory, and I will not, not, NOT allow myself to go there. I'm writing this partly to explain why I've been more silent than usual lately, and partly to cattleprod myself into getting off my fat arse and fucking doing something about it.

I will get it back. Fuck this for a game of soldiers.

I already feel - not better, but more alive - for writing this. Yah!!!

No, I don't have a gun

I have lost my mojo. I haven't felt horny for about two weeks now. When I touch myself, nothing happens. Those of you who are aware that I don't know anyone within two hundred miles that I want to have sex with might see this as a good thing, but it really, really isn't. I need that constant exquisite torment of frustration to get anything done, most especially anything creative, from amusing people on bulletin boards through writing stories, right up to the vaster than empires and more slow reconstruction-in-progress that is my life.

I've had some small success trying to force it back to life with playfulness in the Lounge, but my heart (and more importantly, points south) really hasn't been in it. I'm unhappy, pissed off with myself and depressed. (And I am taking my Seroxat religiously, so that isn't a factor). I've also been eating shitloads of chocolate - I had three chunky Kitkats yesterday - which, like an addictive drug, is sort of soothing at the time but only adds fuel to the extra weight and the black, wet cloud of steaming, stinking self-loathing that I'm not having any success at getting rid of.

And this is starting to stray into self-pity territory, and I will not, not, NOT allow myself to go there. I'm writing this partly to explain why I've been more silent than usual lately, and partly to cattleprod myself into getting off my fat arse and fucking doing something about it.

I will get it back. Fuck this for a game of soldiers.

I already feel - not better, but more alive - for writing this. Yah!!!