Love Letters From Lucid Morgan: Paranoia and Delusions

Stock image of two fluffy dogs lying in bed together, apparently sleeping, because they're calming to me and hopefully to others who struggle with paranoia and delusions, too

Note: This was originally a therapeutic exercise suggested to me by my counsellor after I mentioned that sometimes “Sober Morgan” leaves notes for “Inebriated Morgan”, reminding them of the things they need to do before bed and the like. She put forth that “Lucid Morgan” could write to “Paranoid Morgan” or “Depressed Morgan”, reminding myself of coping strategies and facts of reality as well as providing myself with a much-needed dose of compassion. I figured these letters could also be useful to people who suffer symptoms similar to mine, so I’m posting them here. Also, this letter will refer to the paranoia and delusions I sometimes suffer, as well as self-harm. If that’s hard for you, give this one a miss – this is supposed to be a helpful tool, not another trigger!


Dear Paranoid Morgan,

Hi, it’s me. Well, it’s you. It’s us. I’m writing to you now, while I feel relatively sturdy and in touch with reality, to talk to you during what I know to be a deeply scary moment for us. I want you to know that everything I’m about to say, I truly believe in this moment, and that I’ve felt exactly the way you’re feeling before – but I’m stable enough now to realise that it will pass. It always passes.

I imagine you’ll remember what we’re meant to do in these situations, when you’re struggling with paranoia and/or delusions, but a refresher can’t hurt. Take deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, for a count of at least four seconds apiece. Try to ground yourself in reality with the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 approach (that’s five things you can see, four you can hear, three you can touch, two you can smell and one you can taste), or recite your address, your address from childhood, your mum’s phone number and/or the names of all the Organization XIII members from Kingdom Hearts. You know the drill.

Now, I’m gonna make a gentle suggestion: take your damn sedatives. They are not poison. We know this because we have taken them numerous times and suffered no ill effects. The sleepiness you feel isn’t them poisoning you, it’s them working to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, so that the panic you’re currently feeling wears off. And no, the panic isn’t a good thing. It isn’t keeping you safe, because the thing you’re panicking about isn’t a real danger. And I know you know that, because you identified you were experiencing paranoia or delusions or what-have-you with at least enough clarity to pick up this letter, but I also know that knowing and believing are two separate things.

Here are some more reminders:

  • This feels like shit, and that’s very real. You don’t deserve to feel like shit. This feeling might take hours or even days to wear off, but it does end eventually.
  • I repeat, it does end eventually. We’ve been here hundreds of times and survived it, and it goes away. Even if you wholly believe that the paranoid thing you think right now is the permanent, immutable truth of the universe and you will never change your mind, remember that the panic goes away. Sometimes it does that without us doing anything. Sometimes, you need to take your sedatives and perform some sensory-seeking behaviours until you feel more grounded. But the panic goes away, as do the paranoia and delusions.
  • Bad things that have happened to you were not your fault, and they weren’t caused by that weird evil you think lives under your skin. We know that when bad things happen to other people, it’s not as a result of nameless evil residing in their bodies, and we can’t talk the talk about victim-blaming but then do it to ourselves. The bad things that happen to the people around you aren’t your fault either. I promise.
  • I know I can’t convince you that life isn’t some elaborate simulation or illusion if that’s where you’re at, but remember: other people worry about this too, and they talk about it. If it were a simulation, it’d be stupid of its designers to alert you to that possibility by having other people consider it out loud. And, like we said in AS Philosophy (much to the chagrin of our long-suffering teacher), why does it matter if it’s a simulation? If it’s so detailed and consistent and believable that it seems like real life, then, for all intents and purposes, it is real life. Plus, if it’s a simulation, there’s nothing we can do about that anyway – you might as well eat some simulated Ben & Jerry’s and relax about it.
  • You won’t die in your sleep. We have slept thousands of times in the past 21 years and lived. There is no medical reason to suspect you could die in your sleep and people don’t die in their sleep very often at all. That means that none of your partners will die in their sleep either, and nor will your mum, the dog, your friends or anybody else you’re connected to.
  • You’ve got this. You have. The panic will pass but you don’t need to hurry it along necessarily. You know what steps you can take to help it ease off in its own time, and you know that it’s your body’s outdated way of trying to keep you safe, and you know that we’ve felt like this before, recovered and felt great the next day. You will be calm again. You will be happy again.
  • You are one of the most resilient and tenacious people in the world. We can no longer count on our digits all of the things we’ve survived; nor can we count our triumphs. If today’s triumph is not cutting your face open to extract the supernatural evil that supposedly caused your partner’s recent car accident (or whatever else you think it caused), that’s huge. You should celebrate.
  • I love you. As Lucid Morgan, I can look back on Paranoid Morgan and see a scared, confused human who is trying their absolute best. I can see how hard you’re battling. I am in awe of you and I love you. Give yourself a hug from me.

Thank you for finding it within yourself to read my letter. Thank you for keeping us as safe as you can. Thank you for working so, so hard to examine and recognise the things that you’re feeling and thank you for never, ever giving up.

All my love,

Lucid Morgan 💖

How To Eat Me Out

Labelled diagram of the vulva, showing the clitoris, outer and inner labia, urethra, vaginal opening, perineum and anus.

When I first start to see someone on a sexy and/or romantic basis, I usually find a way to drop into the conversation that I don’t like to be eaten out. It’s not a lie, as such; if you were to graph my enjoyment when receiving cunnilingus, you’d find that, statistically speaking, I don’t like to be eaten out, because most people don’t know quite how to eat me out.

But there are outliers in most data sets, and my cunnilingus experiences are no exception. I tell people I don’t like to be eaten out all that much because the amount of effort I expend on explaining my preferences doesn’t usually yield worthwhile results. In other words, some people are bad listeners in bed.

But the people who are good listeners do such a bang-up job, regardless of their experience (or lack thereof), that I feel like I should give them a chance. I wanted to write something about how I do like to be eaten out, so that I have a list of tips to hand when somebody is kind enough to ask, and to illustrate to my fellow vulva-havers that everybody has preferences and it’s okay to be bossy about them. You could use this article as a jumping-off point in considering your own tastes, or as a means to communicate with a partner about things they could try doing differently or aspects of cunnilingus the two (or more) of you haven’t yet considered.

So, step one: do not suck on my clit.

I know some people love this. And I might love it too, except that I haven’t allowed anyone to try it on me since one ill-fated hookup wherein my partner made me feel like I’d trapped my bits in a vacuum cleaner. So now, to avoid spooking me, if you must suck on my clit, do it so delicately I don’t notice – more suction-y kisses, and less trying to slurp jelly from a plate.

(We often tell people, especially those with penises, that the clitoris is biologically homologous (basically, very similar) to the penis. And that’s true, and I understand we’re trying to demystify the clit and remind people that we’re not all that dissimilar, regardless of the arrangement of our bits. But people with penises don’t always seem to take into account that the nerve endings on a clit are super densely packed in there and super duper sensitive, so sucking on it like you’re trying to extract snake venom is painful. You could, at the very least, ask, “Do you like having this sucked on?” in a sexy, breathy voice, or start gentle and see how your partner responds. Please, I implore you, do not suck it like you would a helium balloon for your excellent Alvin And The Chipmunks impressions.)

Step two: actually, calm down about my clit altogether.

Like, sure, acknowledge its presence. Say hello with your tongue. But spend the majority of your time, at least at first, kissing and licking my thighs, labia majora and mons pubis. (You can easily find diagrams of where these bits are by searching for “vulva diagram”.) Toothlessly (very toothlessly!) close your mouth around my clit with the clitoral hood still shielding it. It’s a good idea to ask before you move my clitoral hood, because I might not be ready for intense, direct clitoral stimulation just yet. Sometimes I’ll even put a hand on my own mons pubis and tug upwards, exposing my clitoris a little for you, when I’m feeling eager to have it licked. Pay attention.

Step three: please drool. And slobber. And salivate.

Dry tongues are not my favourite. They might be yours, and that’s cool, but certain kinds of friction give me such Bad Autism™ that I feel as though I might retch. (And retching is, in my world, reserved for a certain kind of blowjob, not for receiving cunnilingus.) Get your lips and tongue saturated with moisture any way you know how and keep it that way. I always have flavoured lube somewhere, so if you need some to maintain the layer of wetness that separates my genitals from sensory hell, feel free to ask. Also, if you make eye contact with me and lick your lips to indicate you’re enjoying having your face in my cunt, I will melt. Just so you know.

Step four: consider using toys.

You might feel that using toys constitutes “giving up” or indicates that you’re not doing a thorough enough job. However, I find that the opposite is true: using toys means you’re prepared to do a really thorough job, and you’re prepared to do it well. Sticking something steel and curved into my cunt will stimulate my A-spot, which allows you to focus almost entirely on eating me out. Slipping a well-lubed plug into my butt means you can gently lick, kiss and massage my vulvovaginal bits… and then surprise me by wiggling the plug. Or tapping its base. Or making it vibrate.

Eating with cutlery doesn’t mean you’ve given up on eating; it means you’ve found a more straightforward and enjoyable way to do it. Similarly, eating me out with toys in the mix doesn’t mean you’ve given up on eating me out. And I promise you, if you pay attention and do as your partner asks, no toys will fully distract from the human, wet, messy, delightful process of you eating them out. The toys might enhance it, but their thoughts won’t drift from the sensation of your mouth on their bits. I guarantee it.