Mouth Fucking Causes Nirvana

Muddled messages from inner space eek out in intellectual visions jam fucking packed with emotion. Shit. I see this little girl up against the wall getting mouth fucked. I’m not even going to sugar coat it. Mouth fucked. Then, back on earth, my back hurts. Then my head. I try to figure out if it’s a fairy tale. But my therapist, he says to maybe just leave the “why” hanging. But to know if it’s a fairy tale or not, is that a “why?” I want to know if something like that happened to me. But maybe I’ll never know. But that’s not good enough. I want to fucking know what happened. It really freaks me out the stuff I see in my head. There’s stuff I know, like the rape when I was 18, but I was dissociative well before then. Big split as a baby – 2? 3? 4? When stressed beyond capacity I go to a place where I can’t really talk, but I think. The stuff I think is basic, like “this soft,” or “make myself small.” I'm not thinking in words, more like pictures and senses and the action. No words. When I’m that way, I feel….I can put words to the feelings in retrospect but not when I’m there. I identify fear. I identify terror. I identify despair, hopelessness, and being alone forever and ever and ever. I experience giving up in that place, a surrender that is complete and not of my own free will. A surrender that brings me to a place of no suffering. You know, we humans are supposed to have free will, but there comes a point as a little one when complete surrender to terror is mandatory, because there is no way out. That suffocates me. It fills my mouth and throat and chokes me. It makes me pee my pants. And when I look back on it, makes me feel aroused. Kinda. Not normal arousal….more like an uncomfortable stimulation in my privates coupled with a sick feeling in my chest and my throat closes up. Right now, my back hurts and I feel panic. Panic and arousal. That doesn’t make a lick of fucking sense to me. Sometimes I look back on the birth of Sarah. I’m 12, and cannot integrate the deep shame and depression I feel with who I act like. You know, it’s not like I could label the feelings shame and depression back then. No. I hated myself. I loathed who I was. I made myself sick. I did everything I could to portray a different person to everyone else. That’s how Sarah was born. Grown up at 12, hateful, angry. The anger protected me, I see now, from the self-hatred. I was 12, and didn’t know what to do with the hate. So I gave it to her, she turned it on Amanda inside and everyone else. What about all those years between 2 and 12? Barren? No...I was such an outgoing child. Adults liked me. I was full of energy and wit, full of ideas and desires. I read. I read everything I could get my hands on. I performed at school. I performed at church. I spent every waking hour in a book or watching the adults watch me, deciphering their reactions, so that I could manufacture the best performance. When I could. Sometimes I holed up in the closet, playing with marbles. I played with Barbie dolls too, acting out the dreams in my head. Acting and performing for myself. Working it out. Playing. Playing. Imagining. Children imagine stuff a lot, right? So that’s normal. And I had friends. We imagined stuff all the time, and acted it out. I like playing with Kim and Sherry and Bella. I like pretending with them. I liked them because they knew how to play with me. And every night I put my self to sleep by touching myself. Every night. Couldn’t stop. Deeply ashamed. Which, as an adult, makes me wonder if I’m a born sicko. Born fucked up. Born with no self. Or something happened, something ike ‘trauma.’ Only I don’t know what it is. If I don’t know what it is, then that means maybe it didn’t happen and that means yes, I’m a born Fuck Up Psycho Twisted Yuck. If I’m a Yuck, then yes, I should just go ahead and drink until I blow my head off. Because if I’m a Yuck, then I can never trust myself. And if I might act out the fantasies in my brain then I’m better off dead as is the rest of the planet. Oh, and then, the 3rd major break – took on the Rae name and persona. I renamed myself. I was drinking a lot. Rae drank a lot. Rae got treatment. Rae goes to AA meetings. Rae teaches. Where is the "core self" Amanda in all this? Still very ashamed, I can tell you that much. Still hating herself. Still a little baby. Still terrified. Still hoping to make herself small. Getting fucked in the mouth in a corner, that’s where. Only, I think I’m fucking myself. That’s why I hate myself so much. Sure ain’t no on else fucking my mouth. No one else makes me do anything I don’t want to do. So I fuck my mouth. I choke my throat. I press against my chest and have to pee. Always, that fucking having to pee. I can’t hold the pee. Surrender. Surrender to terror. It’s awful, empty, and zen beautiful, this sense of surrender. In his book Essence of the Heart Sutra, His Holiness the Dalai Lama defined Nirvana as the "state beyond sorrows," or a "state of freedom from cyclic existence."A child can reach nirvana. I know I reached Nirvana, but only when I was two and getting fucked in the mouth.

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