the last six months,
i’ve been in detox.
from the quick hits that once passed as pleasure.
no coffee to charge me.
no alcohol to chill me.
no sex to soothe me.
no dopamine dating to distract me.
even sugar briefly left the chat.
i thought life would feel dull.
mundane. muted.
that without those highs, I’d sink.
instead i met my rawest edges.
the unedited version of myself.
every craving became,
a conversation with my own discomfort.
every urge,
a map back to the places i’ve numbed.
i used to think i was just chasing joy.
but really,
i was running from presence.
between the celibacy, the sobriety,
the yo-yo intimacy…
i discovered the ache underneath the urge.
the numbness i once clung to
had become a cage dressed up as freedom.
pleasure isn’t the problem.
it’s the packaging.
we are overfed
but underfelt.
taught to consume instead of connect.
to perform closeness,
but never really land in it to feel the intensity.
i used to want more pleasure.
now, i want more aliveness.
what’s the point of a high
if it leaves me hollow after?
what’s the point of touch
if i can’t feel my own skin?
no more penetration without presence.
no more connection without care.
no more coping disguised as fun.
i’m a lovergirl at heart.
i’m not anti-pleasure.
i’m anti-empty.
these days,
i’m choosing a slower burn.
the kind of joy that doesn’t spike,
but settles into my bones.
the kind of love that holds,
instead of hunts.
the kind of play
that doesn’t leave me questioning myself after.
artificial pleasures
will never satisfy a natural hunger.
and now,
i'm off for a european summer.
wish me luck.
temptation wears her best dress in spain.
but so do i!
i’m not perfect
i’ll enjoy that wine and flirt a lil
but my intention is to…
be in the now.
feel the uncomfort.