Morgan Sex Breaking PTSD


Well the title really fills you in huh?

Just like me being filled shattered my body’s fear. It started with little fight responses.

I scratched at him, bit him.

Oh wait there was a reaction before that. Emotion restraint.

He shocked my mind into a flood through my body, dripping hormonegenesis with a kiss.

The chemistry reaction of pleasure tingles came out in reaction form, my body pressed into his and I felt released.

He moved hands further and the touch pathed to a stored memory of mine, revealing an image, a stored moment of where that path led.

My body stopped feeling, blocking my body in order to protect it. An animal freezing, maybe he won’t see me, maybe I can hide, just use memories of what I’m supposed to do here.

Move against him, you remember when you had reacted to this, when it had been something you wanted. Access those old true reactions and use them as your lies. Fill the pain with memories of before it. Auto reactions, placement of the body of old paths, not forming new. Dead with memories, not alive with the new.

Note to self: Notes based on drugs

So I felt it, took the awareness of the body that makes it aware of itself and played, myself being the game.

With each pulse of awareness my heart pounded out a memory with the pulsation. I felt it coarse like a viscous drug I’d been drinking for years, randomly flowing as it fermented in my gut. It released its signals like a drunk intoxication of a blurry past.

 He stroked me and I triggered. Fight or flight?
Let’s flight, into my soul, move all the nerves to the center to hide. Let’s stay still. Let’s protect Ainsley.
The body shall move with external memories of nerves.
How fucking brilliant. The bodily fascination. The auto, what we do without even wording it, just happening, flowing, taking me. I don’t even know it and it protects me. Living in my animal.
This body.
This mind.
Touching itself.
Before I even knew touch.

Before it could be a fear.

Stroking emotions.

So he stroked my clit. The emotion just shut me down like a computer on too vivid of an imagination. The signals erupted, fractured, and had to learn to rewire. If the signals don’t know what to do, path to the wrong this, the emotion of shutting down. The signals all turning to one area. They stop spreading. The skin stops being reached. My body stops feeling as the signals all withdrawal and then hold, shutting the body down.

It’s a convulsion though. It isn’t a slow flurbing of chemical reactions dwindling down, saying which programs haven’t saved, it happens as a crash. Nothing is saved.

How can I listen and yet type this?  Wjere O cam tjoml amd uet use these thoughts as I create them and then store them as a moment of a flash into words, but I can’t fully touch both, I lose some words as I keep this, I have to retranslate his words into the moment. All of this paragraph has been done withle still looking at Biz. Not absorbing no response just watching

I didn’t save the moment because it couldn’t be saved. My body didn’t want to save it If you shut down without these memories maybe they’ll go away. Maybe they’ll stop being stored.

We need to not keep those paths. The brain doesn’t want to remember how to get to what will kill you. It reminds you of the fear. Avoid eating the poison berry. See it and feel my limbic. Activate. Protect. Or should we adapt? let’s eat it and learn how to convert its energy. We’ll convert the whole world.

Let me bring balance. There is balance in me, activation, evolution, I have tried the world.
Store the memories of it within my own being.
I’ll translate.
The book of existence.
The human to life’s soul.
The earth’s translation.

Let me touch the moments again.

I want them.

Come on brain.

We’ve loved sex before.

it turned us on , not off

Find the switch. I’m sure it’s a flow of reactions into the neural receptors.

They aren’t hitting the signals. We just need them to accept the receptor signals, and translate them into sex again. let me feel pleasure. Release me . Flow me. Release the self with your flowing signals and it streams through my body and soaks my shorts.

So I bit him. And scratched. I had to force it. To make myself feel, but then it did. I expanded the nerves and they reacted.

Immediately after the biting it paused. It questioned. It asked why I did it.

The nerves went in again, afraid of t hemselves.

He bit me back. “I. Stop. Trigger.”
“I know. Feel it.” He says.
“I’m going to bite you. Fight you.” I said with nervous chatter through my own skin.
Something flooded.

I felt released, I wanted to bite him. Heat moved through my pelvis and i wanted him.


Brain release.

He kept pushing me, showing the layers. It was in the protection my body felt it could release itself. That stability a foundation of inner knowledge, from that base grew life like the vine of growth through my death, but with immediate pulses. One could grow a vine but he shattered out a rainbow.

From that rainbow I felt water release from my eyes, convulsions and flashes.

I saw him again.

The rape played out with flashes from my gut pounding through my occipital lobe to the same beat of my heart

huh, just realized that. I’d been trying to access the fact they were flashes, not a whole flood of what happened. His face. Him going in. Less than seconds. Milimoments.

I think it was the flash of my heart’s translation.

Then the release. The flood, The spark of a new shatter, a new realization and adaptation, telling my human that this held sadness, avoid this flow, releasing int my genes the feeling of release. We can overcome this, it can flow again, the river of my mind.

What are we?
Whoe are we?
Does any human know?
Still discovering unti lthe final discovery.
translating into the future until we hold the memories of our species.

He fucked me. I fcuked him. The kisses turned to penetration.

Lockings of the body, the mind, the newest of translations  until.

Well wait.

Back on the flashes.

After four i jumped off and curled into a ball.

I actually jumped off and went to the side of the bed, trembling in chemicals of shattered equations.

Balance disrupted, released signals that had been shut down.

Retranslating my existence.

Finding out how to create my everyday reactions, the reactions  to sex, allowing me to enjoy it again.

What is that?

What is enjoyment?

Allowing the body to feel good….Biz just told me there was a study that even sex can be ‘bad for us’

that it can overstimulate us.

I just heard on the Soundcloud of radio from a therapist that every woman he treated had been raped.

What if that ‘bad’ is the out of balance reaction of fear?

What if so many bodies are locked in fear of their own translation of the world?

I don’t

I …he made me feel.

To want to say love.

My body sending the fine motor movement of the reaction


Memories of the word from when I’d k nown it before

back to the first moment I heard it, connotating its moment into the description of the first person that defined it.

What if it was an old woman describing love for her husband and as I watched her face my internal layers held her face?

what if it has retranslated so many times I say it to any feeling of happiness?

What if my own happiness had been locked away,  a deep layer of it, to where the moment it released I translated him onto the word.

“I love you.”
It got caught in my layers.
I didn’t project it.

Caught in the layers.

Come on, come out, you got this


We’ll keep that in.

But he’s touching me


So he touches me and I want to react and respond, my mind even flashes how to do it. Literally I see a fucking flash of touching him and stroking his skin, but it doesn’t happen. Isn’t that fucking fascinating?

My brain can plan it, even show flashes of how to do it, but doesn’t project it through my body to the point of it forming the path of reactions.

Like it’s all there, all the paths, I see them, I even might only see them because they go stangant, because it translates the image over the reaction.

If I had followed the path and touched him would it have showed it?

The path would have finished instead of stopping so maybe not.

Maybe in stopping we see images.

Like movies.

We can pause them.

We’ve learned to pause lives, to create movies, to hold the moments of time.


Why do we want to hold them instead of move them?

Something bloody brilliant just happned.
i wanted to fight
I’m at this bar and I’ve been drinking and I felt the layers wow I’m staring at these keys so intently, like I can only focus on ont thing, maybe that’s a thin too, unwilling to translate. I got really sttrubborn you see.
Thought of a thought and you see seeyou see
I justl………..
rawr fucking rawr of oblivioin I can’t recall the exact thought.
I ‘ven been wondering and wondering why drunk people could get so sturbbon stubborn about fighting, when they’re limbic was deactivated and it just happened to me.
I cgot scared because my resource was low
it was
Tjeres a;sp tjos somter jes sjpwomg jos spi;
[ep[;e dp tjat
wjo;e [ep[;e ogmpre tjat
listen but don’t share their own souls
are the artists the healers?
*there’s this artistthis singerexposing his soul
do we watch
absorbtake him
because we can’t take us?

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