Candid Corvid Productions

I love external expression and play. It just hasn’t been safe for me.

When I loved full well and heartily, others conspired to chop down love’s tree.

Though I remain “standing,” I no longer know what I can trust around me.

I have this dream someday I’ll meet the right One for me, who would understand and help me embrace life completely.

I know – I am relearning how to find my own happiness.

But, it just isn’t the same as the magnificence you can experience by co-creation.

Inside, I still feel as alone and isolated as I did when in my childhood.

At least now I have the power to positively impact the world around me.

No wonder she was exhausted and her adrenals were blownout flat. No wonder she would sometimes respond automatically to negativity toward her in a ptsd-type reaction.

When positivity continually meets resistence from other minds, hearts, and spirits firmly bent upon recreating levels of hell she had already come through, messaging over time sinks in to breed thoughts like “she’s the one who’s crazy.”

No wonder she would drop “friends” in an instant if their behaviors or beliefs trended back toward that direction.

No wonder that she preferred the solitude of her own company as she worked to unravel internal tangles, over the company of those people outwardly distracting and entertaining.

It was hard to believe that she had been misled, again.

Only this time, with dreams so clear that they felt real and outlined specific things he said.

Look.

It is one thing to have fantasy desires.

We all need something to reach for – even if likely extremely farfetched.

But, she could not help but feel that she had been willfully goaded by the clarity of the messages.

That they did not reflect what he wanted publicly portrayed about him indicated a severe mismatch.

She had been thinking there was something wrong with her because she felt so irrepressibly angry, frustrated, and hostile – without any positivity inside.

Then, she realized she was in the lull before the time when she would need pragmatism, so she had to face and process old negativity that had conglomerated.

She’d been tricked.

Thinking by behaviors around her that she was getting treatment by a woman turned into full-blown panic when a man walked into the room once she was undressed.

While he worked to depth some zones desperately needing help to relax, any form of actual enjoyment was replaced by survivalism.

The feeling taking over her awareness was horrid as the man kept making mouth noises, his stomach kept gurgling too loudly as if he were sick, and then his wet, squishy-sudden repeat farting releases wrecked the music’s soothing ambience.

Meanwhile, one of his hands would dissappear from her body and go off on its own prospectively unsavory wanderings throughout the session.

The indescreet-discreet “accidental” pressings of his male member against her side here or there made her mood even more distressed.

(Was it a parlor of “happy endings?!)

In hindsight, she ought to have stopped everything from the very beginning and walked away, thereby avoiding prevailing inner conflict plaguing her now – even days later – that some of what he’d done had actually benefitted her.