I know, the title of this post doesn’t sound as if it has anything to do with masturbation, but believe me, it does.
I have noticed something strange…
I went through a couple of months where I was almost compulsive about masturbating. I knew Master T was not up to anything due to the stupid anti-depressants (he is going back to the doctor this week because his psychologist told him he should stop with the pills, so yay!) and I had this urge in me to masturbate. Sometimes two or three nights in a row. It was the same pattern over and over again: go to bed and while Master T was still downstairs or in the bathroom I got the Womanizer out, switched it on, put it between my legs and searched for some porn on my phone. Watching the porn, I gradually increased the intensity of the vibrations and soon I would orgasm, and almost in shame quickly put the toy away and switch to something else on my phone.
It was all functional and I paid absolutely no attention to my body other than that I needed to come. I needed to know that I am not broken, that I could still have an orgasm. Oh, believe me, without this quickie-masturbation I would also have known that I wasn’t broken, but there was this unexplained urge in me… I still cannot explain it. I just went with some kind of primal need, I guess. But then again, was it even a primal need? Wasn’t I just trying to prove to myself that I am still alive?
Then I had THE DREAM.
That was about two, maybe three weeks ago. My daughter had dreamed of my mother several times and clearly saw her face. I dreamed of my mother and saw everyone’s faces, except for my mom’s. It pained me. It made me believe that she was angry at me. Then again I knew this was not true, so I pushed those thoughts away. Gave them no attention at all.
The last dream of my mother, I did see her face.
I dreamed that I finally managed to speak to her after I have been looking for her for so long. She told me that she had emigrated. She emigrated back to Africa and in my dream I saw a place I have dreamed about many times before. The last time must be about two or three years ago.
It’s a place that – in my dream – is suppose to be somewhere close to Cape Town, where I have lived for some years. I have always said that if there ever was a paradise on earth, it must have been in Cape Town.
What I saw in my dream was not the reality. The place in my dreams, the one I felt was close to Cape Town exists only in my dreams. A beautiful place. Beautiful nature – waterfalls, mountains, trees. A peaceful place. A place where you really feel the peace, where you feel that you belong.
My mom told me that she had emigrated there. I remember feeling panic in my dream. Why in the world would she go to a country where no one wants to live anymore, despite it’s beauty? She assured me that she was okay. She was happy. She was where she belonged. I told her that we would come there too and she told me not to. Not yet. It’s too expensive and not as accessible as it might look. She told me that when the time is right, we can come to her. But not just yet. Then she gave me a phone number, but she told me that the service there was not that good, that I might not be able to get hold of her. Again she assured me that I shouldn’t worry, that she’s okay and she’s happy and she will contact me when she can.
I woke up. It was early morning.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, asking myself why mom had done this. Why go back to a place we all have left. And then the truth finally dawned on me: mom is gone.
I am still totally in awe of this dream. There is a kind of peace that has come over me. Not enough yet to stop my tears, but I do feel more at peace than I did before. Late this afternoon I will visit mom, because today would have been her 71st birthday. When I stand at her grave, I will thank her for the dream, because I somehow believe she really came to me to tell me she’s okay.
On Saturday, for the first time in two weeks, I wanked again. The urgency I felt before, the primal need, was gone. I took more note of my body. Of the sensations. I don’t know if it’s the dream that changed the way I approached this, but somehow there is a bit more rest in my body. Somehow, I have found a tiny bit of peace.
Missing my mom is like a physical pain where my heart is, like a piece of my heart had been ripped right out of my body, but I know I have to keep on living. That’s what she wanted. I believe that’s what she told me in her dream, why she told me that it’s not the right time to go to her. I will live on, and in the next weeks/months, I am planning to rediscover my body, and hopefully with the help of Master T, once he starts lowering the dose of anti-depressants and starts feeling more again.
© Rebel’s Notes
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