Aimless Orbit

Let’s talk about hypersexuality—but not the version that’s easy to dismiss or sensationalize. I want to talk about what it actually feels like. What it hides. What it reveals. What it leaves behind when the noise settles.

For a long time, I thought hypersexuality was just about action. What you do with others. How often. With who. But now I understand it’s more mental than physical. At least for me, it started in the mind—intrusive thoughts, unmet emotional needs, moments of silence that spiraled into fantasies. It started when I stopped feeling like my body belonged to me.

I wasn’t always like this. Before the trauma, sex wasn’t really on my mind. I didn’t masturbate. I didn’t fantasize. I simply existed in my body without trying to control or escape it.

Then I was assaulted.
And suddenly, my body didn’t feel like mine anymore.

I wore a smile like armor—bubbly, bright, unaffected. But privately, I started to shift. I began to seek out ways to reclaim ownership of my body, starting with excessive masturbation. It wasn’t about pleasure at first. It was about proof—that I could still feel something, on my own terms. It was survival disguised as satisfaction.

According to research, hypersexuality can often show up as a coping mechanism after trauma. It’s not always about impulsivity or addiction—sometimes, it’s the brain trying to regain power in the only way it knows how. The dopamine rush becomes a temporary cure for a deeper ache. It becomes a ritual. A distraction. A form of self-soothing dressed as seduction.

Later came the sex with others. Not reckless, just… repetitive. I wanted it to mean something. I wanted to feel close. But I never did. I chased intimacy, but I only found control. Watching someone unravel for me—that was the feeling I clung to. That was the transaction I knew how to navigate. Until even that faded.

Eventually, even the control lost its grip. I stopped having sex with others for a while, but I didn’t stop masturbating. That became my world again. Seven times in a day wasn’t unusual. I craved the release, the validation. Because in those moments, I was enough. I could feel. I could respond. I didn’t need anyone. And yet… I still wanted to be wanted.

Some days, the thoughts hit like a wave. No build-up. No warning. Sometimes it’s a fantasy—usually BDSM, the kind where I’m finally not in charge. Other times, it’s the random sexualization of a stranger in public, and my brain plays it out like a movie scene. That part is hard to explain to people. It’s not always about desire. It’s about power. Control. Trust. Validation. Escape.

And here’s the twist I didn’t see coming: after all that control I used to crave, now I fantasize about submission. Not in a helpless way, but in a trusting way. To be safe enough to let go. To stop steering. To just be held. But that’s still a fantasy, too. Because I haven’t met someone I trust that deeply. Not yet.

And if I ever do—what happens then? Will I be disappointed? Will the fantasy dissolve in the light of reality? Will I spiral again, or will I finally feel whole?

To the Ones Who Know This Hunger
If you’ve ever felt this way—like your body wants things your heart can’t explain—please know that you’re not broken. You’re not shameful. You’re not alone. Hypersexuality doesn’t make you less worthy of love or more difficult to understand. It just means there’s something deeper inside you trying to be seen.

Maybe you’re not ready to unpack it yet. Maybe you don’t even know where to start. But even recognizing it—that’s a beginning. And beginnings are sacred.

Start by asking yourself what you’re really craving. Is it closeness? Is it control? Is it safety? Is it to finally be chosen without having to be perfect first?

Sometimes our bodies scream what our mouths don’t know how to say. And instead of blaming yourself for that hunger, try listening to it.

Not every fantasy needs to be fulfilled to be understood. Sometimes, it just wants to be acknowledged.

And if someone you love is walking through this? Don’t judge. Don’t fix. Just sit with them. Make space. Let them speak without bracing for correction. Because silence is what created this hunger in the first place—and being heard might be the first thing that softens it.

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Drifter Reflection
We all have cravings that don’t come with instructions. Some feed the soul. Others just distract the ache.

So I’ll ask you, Drifter—what hunger lives inside of you, and what have you been feeding it?