Posts Tagged ‘anxiety’

Performance Anxiety In Bed

June 6th, 2017

I have an embarrassing story to tell and it’s a story that many men will understand but will not want to admit aloud.


Performance anxiety in bed is a thing that happens to fellers sometimes, when they’re in bed making sweet love with a lady. It’s not something that we want to think about because us guys, we don’t like to think about our brains getting in the way of our weiners. But it happens sometimes and it happened to me and I’m going to tell you about it or at least my side of it. Because it happened to me while I was making love to a semi-famous person.


Before I tell my story, I should warn you fellers that if you were to get lucky and hit the sexual jackpot and make it with a famous female celebrity, this might happen to you. You think about all the crazy things you’d do to Megan Fox or Jennifer Lawrence or Sam Elliott if you’re a gay kind of feller. The truth is. . . you would crack under the pressure of trying to satisfy them. Having Jennifer Love Hewitt scrolling through her smart phone while you sweat and grunt on top of her, not even looking or paying attention to you, making you feel like a pathetic failure of a man. Failing to get even the most minute rises out of Adriana Lima or Kate Upton and giving up with a floppy unerect wiener and a face full of tears. That would be you, my dear friend.


This happened to me, dear friend. But I have a good excuse. Because I was making love to Louise Mensch, the member of British Parliament, author, blogger, and conspiracy theorist.



We were at her place, in her bed, doin’ the deed. Or I was, or at least trying to, while she glared at me. Within a few minutes, she asked me if I was a Russian operative.


I’m not a Russian operative. But I figure that’s a question that should’ve been asked earlier in the evening before the clothes came off. There are certain questions sex partners should ask before doing it for the first time, and that’s not typically one of them but if it’s that important to her, then she should ask it. I would be way more interested in knowing if my sex partners have any diseases or are in a relationship at the moment. But that’s me.


Sure enough, within a few days of our encounter, she was on Twitter calling me an operative of the Russian government. I promise I’m not. Turns out she calls a lot of people that and never shows any proof of it. It’s kinda like calling somebody a witch.


I have no idea if she has slept with all of the people she has accused of being a Russian spy. I don’t believe Louise Mensch is a giant sloot. I just believe that she thinks I’m a dickhead who can’t satisfy her and thus tarred me as a traitor to my home country.


If you’re not in the mood to have sex, don’t have sex. You put pressure on a feller.

I’m Done

March 16th, 2017

I think I’m done as a viable, functioning human being. I’m still living and breathing but mentally I checked out a long time ago and have been on autopilot ever since.


I have an addictive personality. I don’t know why I’m just figuring this out. You don’t have to be an alcoholic or a junkie to be an addict, and I’ve always associated addictive personality with drug and alcohol addiction. You can get addicted to gambling or sex or food or or work or television or video games or exercise or ┬ásocial media or pornography. Or I could.


The other day I announced finally that I was seeking treatment at a weight loss clinic so I can get bariatric surgery. The surgery is intense and will require a total lifestyle change. My lifestyle is. . . pretty horrible. I’m filled with shame and secrecy. Depression, anxiety and anger.


If you’re an alcoholic or a drug addict, people understand it even if they don’t excuse it. They might not like it, but they’ve seen it enough that it’s common. Somebody who’s addicted to junk food like me just needs to get off it and change his diet.


Two things: Changing my diet to a healthy one sounds like the worst, hardest thing you can do. Go to the top of Mount Everest and when you get there, light a stick of dynamite and put it in your mouth until it explodes and rips your body into pieces. I’m not a mountaineer. Why would I do that? Also, I’m always afraid of some unseen “They/them” and what “they/them” think about me and what I’m doing. I’m a riddle wrapped in neurosis containing an enigma.


I don’t want to go out anymore. I want to stay in the warm womb of my bed and eat junk food until it kills me. I can’t believe it hasn’t already. I’m supposed to have a mental health evaluation in May. I can’t imagine it will go well.


If I’m not done as a person, I have so much more work to do. I could have the surgery in August or September if I do everything I’m supposed to do. If I pass the mental health evalution for example. They may agree with my diagnosis that I am unfit to have the surgery. I can’t handle it. It’s too much pressure. Too many changes that I can’t make. I can’t change my world that fast.

A National Panic Attack

November 23rd, 2016

Help me. Could you send somebody over here to check on me? I’m having a hard time breathing. I can’t catch my breath and my heart keeps pounding faster and faster and I think I’m having a heart attack and I’m scared to death and I want to scream and I’m alone and I need help. Please help me.




My name? My name is America. My address is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Send somebody right away, please.




I started feeling this way about two weeks ago. I felt it for a little while and then I started feeling a little bit better and it’s come and gone in waves and now it’s really on top of me. I don’t know if it’s a heart palpitation or what.




The fear is getting to me. It’s getting to me. Yes, you can call me back at this number. Please help me. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything.




I tried ignoring it. I tried dealing with it. I tried giving it a chance. I tried and it just got worse. I can’t make it stop. I can barely sleep because of it.



I’m scared. What else can I say? I’m terrified at the prospect of President Trump. The idea haunts me. His face haunts me when I close my eyes at night when I try to sleep. His wicked, perverse face and his inbred, mean, ugly family in control. Unchecked, unbalanced. Wielding absolute power like a malevolent king. The end of Amerika. I hate him. I hate him as much I hate any sex offender, any deadbeat, any abusive parent, any swindler, any cheat, any known liar and any hatemonger.


Is this really going to happen? I guess I’m afraid because I know no matter what happens there’s a fight ahead. There’s a painful long fight. Because the hatemongers, the bigots, the racists, the Nazis are all emboldened and empowered by Trump’s “victory”, in which he lost by nearly two million votes.


Even if Hillary Clinton were to challenge the results of the vote in the swing states where there has been evidence of tampering (Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania), the damage has been done. Over 700 acts of post-election racially-tinged violent acts and incidents have occurred since then. If she somehow won a recount, then that would only inflame tensions even more. But she did win. The popular vote. This shouldn’t be happening.


And yet here we are. And yet other people have moved on, trying to get on with life. I can’t do that. I can’t allow myself to become acclimatized to authoritarianism.


Have you ever watched someone in the last years of their life? Have you watched an elderly person compromise with their inability to do the things they had been able to do in the past? I have, up close. It’s heartbreaking. Finally, you see this elderly person that you love on their death bed, no longer able to do anything. Not even able to take water to quench their thirst and you hear the death rattle in their throat. But by then you’ve resigned yourself to it. You know they will eventually pass into the next realm, whatever that may be.


We’re not there yet, not as a country. This is not the death rattle. But if we’re not careful that day will come. It only took Hitler about twelve years to go from launching the Third Reich to cashing out with his lover Eva Braun in a burned-out bunker in a devastated Germany.


I’m afraid. People are too busy laughing at fucking memes to understand what is at stake. Pushing faster toward an seemingly inevitable endpoint where everything has been ransacked and burned down and we have to start again literally from the foundation up.


You can’t tell me it will be all right, because it isn’t. And it won’t be. Even if a miracle occurred.

Four Hours In The Hole With Benefind

March 30th, 2016

Here is my edited-for-clarity live Twitter rant of my attempt to get my state medical benefits recertified.


Long story short: I lost state benefits sometime between January and the beginning of March. How much of this had to do with me failing to recertify and how much had to do with Matt Bevin’s installation of the Benefind portal as a substitute for the well-working KyNect I’m not sure.

I spent four hours on the phone. It was a difficult experience. You will see below. I’ve added some notes afterward as a postscript.





Yesterday I got the number from the ombudsman and left a phone message. I referenced that in part one above. They returned my call shortly after this tweet rant and promised to get back to me with any information they could within a few days. I have some more forms coming in the mail that I will have to turn in to my local office but I don’t know how I’ll do with that on account of my phobia which I haven’t told people about BECAUSE PEOPLE DON’T DISCLOSE THEIR PHOBIAS FOR OTHERS TO KNOW. Did you know that the Undertaker from the WWE has a fear of cucumbers? Sounds stupid doesn’t it? Not to me. I can’t open my mail.