There are times when I need to be broken by him, taken apart and ripped wide open. There are times when he needs to break me, take me apart and rip me open. The deepest and deliciously darkest of these times are those where our dual needs smash into each other, meeting each other on a collision course towards raw intimacy and vulnerability.

 

Through extensive and challenging therapy, months and years here and there picking apart the bones of the shitstorm that was my childhood and the life long effects, it appears what I live with is Complex PTSD, something I’ve touched upon in other writings. Each month along slinks PMDD, a brutal duo that hulk out and go to town on me. I’ve recently discovered there is a recognised comorbidity between the two which piques my interest and certainly explains a lot, if I didn’t have to deal with the combined feels they bring. Continue reading “Holding Space”