Here’s the vodka in the Gimlet, so to speak,I don’t know how to express or, maturely ask, Wash your hands don’t do cocaine shirt how to meet my needs. So, I we go through tons of subterfuge in an attempt to ‘hit’ the right emotion, by making you feel it, and feed it back to me. Pretty whacked way to get your ‘needs’ met.Worse when, I get you worked up, so I can feel it, but, now that I feel it, that’s all I wanted, you want to proceed in, oh let’s say, amorous mode. By the time it took you to get my hinting around, and respond, my mood flipped, and I’m on to, Driven and accomplish mode. You don’t know what happened. Weren’t we just all snuggly and loving. You walk up behind me at the sink to give me a hug, and I stiffen. needs is hard for the , but it’s maddening to those who love us. I have no ability to internalize my emotions once they come full frontal. You will know, clearly, when I’m frustrated, pissed, aggravated, happy, anguished, and, curious, driven, amorous, or envious. I might think I can tell what you’re feeling, too. I can’t. I’m terrible at reading people.
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No better at it than understanding Wash your hands don’t do cocaine shirt myself. Imagine having a hypervigilant little voice in your head loudly telling you what this or that motion, facial expressions, or sigh meant, and it’s wrong. But, until I learned how faulty my self defense techniques were, I relied on them absolutely. If the voice was wrong, I was, too. Egad. The crappy decisions I made so self assured that my limbic system was telling me the truth. you help me figure out why I’m getting frustrated with this makes you think of me. Asking won’t lead me to a stupid assumption.My needs, are the same as yours. I need to take care of me, personally. Sometimes I forget to take care of me. Sometimes, I obsessively take care of me, and come across as selfish. To me, being called selfish is the worst insult. My heart is a very open one, and, I work at not judging, cause I am, and have been. So, I have to work hard on that balance.I need love, but not necessarily the physical affection. Sex comes and goes as far as a mood. It’s such an embroiled topic in my head. Skewed with abuse, self perpetuated abuse, the real good stuff, and the stuff I allowed to happen. Ugh. Sometimes sex is a topic best ignored.