My experience with PSSD - essay - may you feel less alone in your suffering

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healingspell
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My experience with PSSD - essay - may you feel less alone in your suffering

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I wrote this. It doesn't provide any answers but maybe it'll help others feel less alone within this laughably cruel experience we're caught in.
The space I fill most days consists of an empty, FOMO-filled horror. Most of the time, I go through the day, begging Spirit, God, my guides or whoever would listen to give me back what I’d lost. My world loops around in on itself as I am reminded by the most mundane of circumstances that I don’t have access to the full spectrum of beauty most humans can experience. That while, once long ago, I was able to experience that beauty, no memory could replace the physical pleasures that sexual expression brings to an individual. Sex is a means of connection to others, certainly, and yet it’s also a means of connecting to an intensely sweet, solitary plane of textures and sensual wonders that colors the rest of the universe with its honey. Access to the pure ecstasy of existence, with the reminder always within reach of you.

True gratitude has become yet another example of the abandonment I surely merit. True thankfulness left me along with a long list of others even before I got stuck in this Cave of sensory deprivation. Because look: even the most vile, morally shattered people are capable of dipping their bodies into this world of satisfaction. Each time I think about the area below my waist, each time someone talks about having a mind-blowing sexual experience, even each time I urinate: all leads me to the compassionless void I have been relegated to live in by circumstances much beyond my abilities to perceive. Where I used to feel so much gratitude, pleasure, comfort, satisfaction, and so many more beautiful things, now I only see the Shadows. That's why sincere, deep gratitude is simply out of my reach. In its place is nothing, or it’s the forced reminders by the world or myself to express thanks for even the most minor of circumstances-- circumstances I feel helplessly battered by. My own or others' insistence on gratitude doesn’t have the same effect it might on most, since I simply cannot generate or take in the full expression of such an emotion anymore.

I play the butt of a sick joke that the universe plays on me each and every time I’m reminded of what I’m missing.

Like the joke of being overcome with fear of being castrated or paralyzed and to have no sexual pleasure which came just weeks before such a thing actually happened. Psychic knowings that are only helpful for others, or which I misconstrue as irrational fears. Only to realize too late that they were warnings.

Even that, however, takes place within a callous vacuum that has inhaled all of the joy I should have known as a young person. Beyond just the experience of a solitary act lies the more subtle cues that I have been abandoned yet again. Not by a person this time, no, but by the totality of this universe.

Most people cannot imagine lacking the sensations I lack. Their bodies simply do not allow for this perception to take place. And so even if I could share this intimate reality with others, they would not see that the mass and volume of your body’s pelvis contains the key to the most universal of comforts beyond the realm of sexuality. Without the support of these sensations, the nervous system buckles. Instead of feeling all the contentment, joy and pleasure that the universe offers even in the most platonic or “innocent” of happenings, the warmth and comfort has been sapped from the inside. Even in pain, the level of emotion never expands beyond a certain point, except to make room for those blisteringly cold renewed acknowledgements of my own despair that crash through me in successive, relentless waves throughout my day.

Before the numbness in this Cave, I realized the sensations of sex are simply the excitingly intensified feelings of coziness that your body knew long before you were awakened to your sexuality. Sexual pleasure seemed like a new, magical world when you found it as a youngster. Yet the sensations still weren’t completely alien to you. Otherwise, perhaps, instead of enjoyment people would find themselves in panic. You love it because it's an intense wave of familiar sensations arranged in a ecstatic patterns.

That’s all to say that most basic of sensations of comfort in my body are numbed.

Lack of individual pleasures aside, sexuality offers us a profound way to connect intimately to another person. The deep sensations of connection in friendship or romantic connections have devolved into shadow puppets. The universe offered me the most twisted of ironies only months after the sensations disappeared by placing me in a philosophy primer course where I would read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave without my slightest nod to the fact it already described my universe, and certainly not that it would continue to become more and more on-point in terms of what I could truly experience in life. I simply cannot fathom how much truth would be in that boring, ancient text. Now my insides live within one plane of a singular Cave shadow , yet my memories include a vague sense of what the “people” (experiences) projecting those shadows could be like.

Even when I should have felt most proud for my accomplishments, and when my traumas were primed to slide away from their control over me, all I could perceive were the basic survival instinct keeping me alive. Instead of a toss of joy and sadness, anxiety and serenity, or fear and love, a film of blindness had grown over my eyes and my whole body as I stared out desperately into my Cave world. I sit amidst a reality in Eden, but only a dark void of this Cave appears around me.

And so here I sit, writing into the void again. Asking the universe to help me. To help me learn the lessons I need to learn now, so I don’t continue in blindness to all that the universe truly hands to me. The only light my eyes see seem like an illusion found in the furthest reaches of this cavern which has been stretched into near infinity throughout the 14 years as my body became more and more numb.

The ignorance and blissfulness of those around me –those who couldn’t even begin to realize how lucky they are to possess the fullness of this physical body-- only stirs burning envy in me for what they have. Much of the sensation I do feel these days come from my blood boiling at their lack of insight into what their natural, unquestioned full-body awareness brings even to the most untrained of mind.

Despite society’s perfect understanding that sexuality plays an important role in their lives, the people still decide to label impotence, especially in a man, as something to be ridiculed and used the basis of many of our most serious of verbal insults. Here I am, already ripped apart by what has been taken from me, only to be spit on by everyone – intentionally or not. For they feel what I cannot, and I long for knowing that feeling again. Even the word impotence itself speaks to a lack of worldly power, and in so naming it I cannot argue.

Here I am, in a world already so devoid of pleasant sensation and emotion, unable to communicate my true pain to the world. Where attempts at communicating this have led to people laughing at my suffering or worse. In this world where not even my closest would or even could understand. Where if I tried to make them understand, it would fail and, at best, summon their pity. Here I am in this world where from one moment to another, my realization of being trapped like this takes over me. Trapped and left alone in where the occasional lover comes to visit. And where even when he does, his pleasure only serves as a tiny temporary relief. I seek this release and the sight of him enjoying being in his manhood. Yet, it becomes all the more a declaration of what I lack. What should be extremely stimulating and erotic to me brings about a renewed realization within myself of what they have that I do not. They can never understand, and at the moment, I can’t begin to understand breadth of vividness their world offers them either.

So not only do I not enjoy the most basic means of human pleasure, nor do I have the keys to what human connection means most profoundly. I have love for my friends and family and the occasional lovers, but even that love exists in the edge of that Platonian shadow. All the emotions of connection are barely recognizable to what they were before.

I went from a universe of extreme pain and ridicule as an obviously gay child in a homophobic world, traumatized and re-traumatized on a daily basis for my sexuality and my neuroses stemming from that the treatment I received for it, to this. I went from where I experienced intense, excruciating feelings of grief everyday if only to have the relief of knowing my body was whole, to a world where I might’ve had the opportunity to heal those past wounds, but which led me into a corner of no retreat. A corner in which no one lives but the shadows of those around me and the putrid remains of the dreams of the happy, love-infused life I envisioned for myself.

That thing. That carcass. The death… It forever stares at me coldly, gloating. Filling me with horror and rage and terrible sadness. But never the equivalent of joy or pleasure.

So I scream into the void. Pleading for the arms of clemency. I beg whoever or whatever is listening to restore my sensations, and even I write this in hopes that putting my feelings out externally might convince some spirit to take pity on me and bring me healing. And I beg that if such possibility doesn’t exist, to end my miserable time on this Earth. Perhaps to birth me into a new existence where my body could be equipped to sense all the hills, valleys, grasses, rocks and silk of sensation that the nervous system is supposed to capable of traveling through. The fear that, if in some past life I committed some terrible acts whose consequences mandated my present anguish, prevents me from fulfilling this morbid request myself. Re-living all of this torment is too high a price to potentially pay for choosing to end this vacuous “life.” Indeed, the usage of word “life” almost seems gratuitous.

I scream in private, knowing no one can ever understand nor could they realistically be expected to react compassionately. I learned that lesson early, when I told someone I thought of as a friend of my situation and she responded with a laugh that rang with not only unsympathetic mocking but also of superiority. She both knew what I was missing and simultaneously didn’t give a fuck about it. Even before then, I was conscious of how people might react and ever since then, the echo of that laugh shutters through me, a vile, burning ember of remembrance.

The universe does not spare my muscles and respiratory system. So the pleasure of music, which admittedly is probably the most intense I can still experience, is not available for me to participate in fully with my voice. The tension and numbness in my body do not allow for the full use of my diaphragm and prevent me from even carrying a tune, something I had desired my whole life even before my emergence in that little corner of the Shadow on the Cave wall.

While I try to give thanks for my ability to hear music, I cannot escape the conclusion that I am lacking something essential since I cannot take part in the creation of such beauty of sound. In my mind where once I heard symphonies ready to be composed, I now have the imprisoned creative desire imploring in its requests just to be released from this prison of deprivation.

In sexual sensation, I remember the textures to be so rich, vibrant, warm and profound. Like the skin of my penis was being massaged by the hands of an angel of the Divine. I remember the grin of satisfaction on my face as I sensed the delight between my legs and I remember my deep appreciation for it. Warmth and excitement and unspeakable pleasures rumbled through my whole body. I remember feeling as if through my penis, I could feel the true divine nature of All. Through my dick, I could visit Eden. Outside of the acts themselves, the phallus hung heavily throughout the day, always within frame of perception, giving me an omnipresent confidence and ease that can only originate via the sexual organs but which few likely recognize. I hold back tears and screams as I remember the always-on awareness of fullness, solidness and density that I could only associate to my penis and the feelings of my being a man that it gave me. That feeling of raw masculine power constantly reminding me that everything would be OK no matter what I stumbled into disappeared in an instant on an ordinary day in 2009 when I arrived this darkness. Even efore my arrival in this Cave, I had always been gipped with deep and almost constant bouts of depression. I took so for granted that simple yet powerful sensation that was with me no matter how bad things got. It sounds so ridiculous to say, but it truly was the source of so much more than I can express in words.

Why does the universe allow me to sense coming events, hidden emotions, and other “impossible” things, but yet deprives me of this wholly natural range of sensations?

I hope that if I do eventually end my life, someone sees why and will choose maybe to have real compassion for people with sexual difficulties and the range of the destruction that it takes from there. But more so, I with hope that in writing this, God, Sprit, the Angels, or whoever it is that provides me the psychic insight I give others, will grant me a reprieve and will end this long chapter of numbness. I implore It or Them, Her or Him, to restore my ability to experience these sensations of sensuality and to re-awaken the nerves that have gone dormant in waiting. Please, I beg you, fill my body with the dense, full awareness of living again. Let me genitals feel heavy, and my body to feel complete. Please, even if it means my heart being broken from lost love, to restore the responsiveness of my nerves so that I can finally feel whole again. Grant me an escape route out of this Cave and into the real world again. Let me feel the first heated yet comforting feelings of my hands or those of others clasping around my penis, the delight of feeling it grow into a raw source of masculine strength and passion as the erection grows. Let me feel the heaviness of penis flapping around, the way it feels so big (whether it is or not) because the sensations are so much larger and more expansive than my body could contain. Let me feel the reassurance in the knowledge my genitals would only grow in size and in pleasure until I reach a deeply satisfied state brought on with great waves of deep, unprecedented pleasure of so those unlimited varieties, shapes, textures and warmth that I only remember to exist.

Please, universe. Please God(s). Please guides. Please angels. Please ancestors. I just plead with you, with anybody. Again and again, I plead to heal my body and bring back all the lacking sensations and pleasure I’ve been missing out on for so many years.

And in case I’m supposed to learn a lesson before I can have it back, I beg you to instruct me without delay in how to learn it and when done to immediately restore my body and especially my penis, testicles and prostate, with the access to sensations I could have had without whatever caused my impotence at the age of 18.

Please have pity in knowing I’ve already suffered 14 years of this. Adding more years bring pointless torment into my life.

I can’t do it by myself, and it seems no one on this Earth can assist me. So please, Divine, make me completely whole again. Restore my “sight.” Put me into the light and out of the void of the Cave. Please, universe, Divine, All, please before it is too late. Let me see into Eden like all the others can.

If I need to make a positive request rather than a negative one: Please bless me once again with the intense, deep spectrum of pleasurable sensations in my genitals and beyond. Let me feel whole, complete, and dense in the most pleasant and satisfying ways. Allow me to indulge in my genitals and experience the waves of unfathomable pleasure that come with massaging them and the even more breathtakingly beautiful experience of orgasm. Please fill me up with comfort and sensation, of serene, gratified awareness of my whole body and its sweet masculinity. Bless me with the extra sensitivity and joy that I want to come from my penis and the rest of the area of the groin. Please restore my ability to access the full range of sexual expression and experience. Make my body whole and complete again. Please. Please. Please.

Or just tell me what to do to get it back. If you choose to tell me a method, please make it clear and concise. Please make it possible for me to get there despite financial or social issues.

I could beg for days. It seems to me that often, when I find myself in the riles of desperation, that I hear “no amount of begging with give it back to you. You are living with the consequence of your own actions” Though, rarely, sometimes I do hear the message, “this will be healed. Please be patient,” along with the most subtle of hopefulness that fades the moment I attempt to savor it.

If you need more begging, universe, then here:
I beg for the second message – the one of healing – to be the true insight. That the first harsh message to be born of Fear, not of Truth. And I beg that I only need to be patient for a short time longer. Please bring me from this hellish landscape of desperation and torment to a place where I can live, breathe, and relish in all shades, textures, colors, and extremes of sensation that can only be found on the outside of this Cave which imprisons me. Let the healing bring back my connection the Outside and the Inside so that my lonely soul can become acquainted again with the Other with full compassion, gratitude and a total lack of bitterness or resentment. Let this message of healing be the Truth. Let the healing message be the Truth.

I feel so helpless, so fraught, so needful of Grace and salvation. I am not a religious person, though perhaps a spiritual one. But I know I cannot find my way out alone. Send help now, please Divine, so I don’t have to live any more of my limited, precious life in this state.

Please. Please.

Please.
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anacleta
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Re: My experience with PSSD - essay - may you feel less alone in your suffering

Unread post by anacleta »

edit: I had mistaken the essay for a topic of reflections and views on the condition instead it is just the exposition of a personal experience.
Last edited by anacleta on Sun Jan 22, 2023 7:25 am, edited 1 time in total.
healingspell
Posts: 42
Joined: Mon Nov 14, 2022 5:25 pm
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Re: My experience with PSSD - essay - may you feel less alone in your suffering

Unread post by healingspell »

anacleta wrote: Sat Jan 21, 2023 6:03 pm edit: I had mistaken the essay for a topic of reflections and views on the condition instead it is just the exposition of a personal experience.
thank you
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