So here I am–back, and not knowing where to start. I should probably start with the reason that I’m back, which is–I feel like I would like to implode my entire life. What does that mean? What am I saying?
Just that I am sick of being who I am–or pretending to be who people believe me to be–and I want out. Permanently. I want to take out a billboard and tell the world everything about me, and ex-communicate anyone who doesn’t like it.
Ex-communication–such a harsh act. Yet for some reason it’s what I crave. Last year Tyler Glenn came out with an Album called Ex-Communication, themed around his act of coming out of the closet and leaving the Mormon church. It’s not exactly my preferred style of music, but certain songs of his, I love. Not just because of clever lines like “I found myself when I lost my faith,” but because he was brave enough to write and record them. He gave no shits. HE ex-communitated no one–yet made it clear that anyone who didn’t support him could fuck right off. He was done hiding.
I can’t explain what hiding has done to me. The fact that I feel like I am always looking over my shoulder, afraid of what others might see, the questions they might raise, the conclusions they might draw.
Am I a cheating whore? My husband a poor, blind schmuck? My children, doomed to be scarred? Am I a pervert, who has no preference for whether she fucks men or women, as long as she is fucking? A sex-addict who will go there with whomever? A heartless bitch who must not love anyone at all, if she is unwilling to remain faithful? It’s all open to speculation. The world stands in judgement. And who am I? Just a woman who is tired of hiding, tired of shame, tired of pain. A woman who has been through a fucking lot in the last few years, and just wants to take a deep breath and be herself. A woman who, by many standards, is selfish, yet still feels like she is sacrificing herself in order to not hurt others.
Who am I? I have no fucking idea.
More to come.
This post will likely be rambling, because I write to figure out how I really feel.
I need to examine my motivations for my actions, and find a way to be true to myself, care for myself, and live a life that is authentic.
Part of the thing that makes my life more complicated than it needs to be, is the fact that I am a highly empathetic person. One of the worst feelings for me is disappointment–I can’t even say the word without getting an empty, crappy feeling in my chest. So naturally, I hate disappointing others.
Dating and exploring obviously comes with a measure of disappointment and rejection. It is inevitable. But it doesn’t make it any easier for me to dole out. And yet, I feel that any action on behalf of another that I will resent or that will harm me emotionally or waste my precious time, is off-limits.
We’ll start with Dark Daddy. He helped me through a crappy time in my life. He helped me discipline myself. He was a friend when I needed one. And yet I knew–I knew–from when we firs starting talking–that we weren’t right for each other. He was too pushy and demanding. He lacked sensitivity in certain areas. He asked for naked pictures of me before we ever met face to face. And though I said no, this gave me clues about him that I chose to ignore because I was focusing on the good things. He is a loyal friend. He had good references. He is a devoted father, knows the right questions to ask to help me get to the heart of a matter, and takes being a Daddy/Dom seriously.
However, we didn’t share a whole lot of interests, didn’t have a lot of shared experiences, and though both of us have physical touch as one of our top love languages, he seemed to think quality time meant fucking. Which I certainly did not agree with.
I told him that our first meeting upset me. He jokingly said I was a suck–that no amount of time with him would be enough. I told him it wasn’t about the fact that it was two and a half hours, it was how we spent it. I really wanted to have sex with him of course, but the before and after are just as important and I needed to connect in other ways.
He told me that he didn’t understand why I’d want to waste our limited time together eating, or taking a walk, when he “knows” that we both show love through physical touch and he “knows” that if we had spent some of that time doing other things, I would have complained about not getting enough cock.
We argued for a couple of days, and he said he was going to wait a few weeks until he was settled, knew his work schedule, and could plan properly before he saw me again. I was fine with that at first, and then I was pissed off.
I knew he was busy what with moving, starting a new job, and being in a friend’s wedding, but I also knew he had chunks of time free–chunks of time he’d originally planned to use to fuck me. I told him I felt like he was punishing me for feeling the way I did, and that if he only had a couple of hours here and there we could just as easily grab a coffee, hang out, and connect outside of the hotel room.
We argued some more, because he felt I was not submissive because I was questioning him. I felt that he was arrogant and was allowing his pride to prevent him from understanding where I was coming from. In the end, I decided not to see him again.
Today he texted and was not so slyly implying that I missed him, that I should trust him, etc. He mentioned how patient he is multiple times–something men have said to me on more than one occasion to make it seem like a virtue that they still want me, even though I have explained that I do not want them.
Eventually I think he got the message that we are not going to happen–I refused to give him the answers he wanted.
If there is one thing I will not stand for from a partner, it’s having my feelings invalidated. He told me I “got myself upset” about what happened, and that if I was thinking logically, I wouldn’t have reacted that way. Them’s fightin’ words, dude.
Here’s where I need to examine myself: I know that I decided not to continue to see him because his behaviour was just not okay. I immediately moved on. I’m wondering, though–how would I feel right now, if I wasn’t dating? How would I feel if there wasn’t anyone out there interested in me? Would I be willing to give him another chance, even though, though we connected, we didn’t click in the right way? Would I be willing to accept what he is offering, even though I hate the fact that he presumes to know me and what I need, better than I do?
It’s unsettling to think about.
Moving along. I slept with Sugar Daddy again. I did it because I was horny, but if I am being honest, I also did it because I was lonely. I knew he wouldn’t give me what I needed emotionally, but I just wanted to be told things I hadn’t been told in awhile. I wanted to hear that I am beautiful, not that I am sexy. I wanted someone to ask me to text them when I got home to make sure I was safe. I wanted someone who would pour me a drink before sex, and feed me after. I just wanted to be treated “properly”, in the most superficial sense, because I wasn’t getting treated properly emotionally or superficially anywhere else.
He started crossing the line. Pushing boundaries. I thought that if we were just fucking, he would respect my independence more than he did when I was his submissive. But he asked me to call him Daddy–I refused, because I decided after the Dark Daddy fiasco of 2014, that “Daddy” means “I love you”–I’m not going to throw that word around, even if I never get to say it again.
He invited me to a Halloween party at a sex club, bought the tickets, and then informed me that he may also be bringing Jailbait. He’d “already bought three tickets”, so obviously I have to go along with that plan. Obviously.
Then he told me I could keep seeing The Sadist (I suspect because The Sadist taught me how to come silently–something Sugar Daddy was never able to do, because he is not a true Dom), but he wanted me to “ditch the other guys.” There were no “other guys” in particular, but he knows that I’ve been going on dates. I said no. I hadn’t yet been on a date with Gentleman Friend, but I told him I wanted something real, and I was not going to not look for it just because he wanted me ever-available.
He is bothering me. He speaks with respect about The Girlfriend, he respected Yoga Girl’s limits, but he has never respected mine and it’s become clear that he never will. I knew this before, I’m not sure why I thought if we were just banging it would be different. So I think I need to tell him good-bye.
Here’s the absolutely fucking ridiculous part. After everything he did to me–the horrible things he said, the way he treated me like I was less than nothing, the lies, the pressure, the putting me in awful and uncomfortable situations, the way he ripped my heart right out of my chest–I feel bad dumping him.
Why? What is wrong with me that I care at all about the feelings of a man who doesn’t even have any? Even Gentleman Friend’s wife said that while she really enjoys him, she thinks he cares more about his needs than he does about making other people happy.
I know it would be best to just make a clean break, but how? What do I say? I don’t need this.
And then of course, I worry that it is only because Gentleman Friend is in my life now, that I feel the need to cut him off. Having knocked him off his pedestal and replaced him with someone far better, now I am free to move on because I am not lonely anymore.
If that is the case, gawd that is pathetic. And if it is the case, will I regret breaking it off with him if things don’t work out with Gentleman Friend? My brain is confused.
As much as I don’t have time for any more dating at all right now, there are interested men on OkCupid who seem nice, fun, and who are highly matched with me according to the compatibility questions. There is another Daddy from Alt still interested in me. And I think, geez, how do I turn these people down without shooting myself in the foot?
Because I don’t want to blow them off. What if Gentleman Friend isn’t one of the ones, and one of these guys is? Obviously there will always be fish in the sea, and this is a sick way of thinking, but I can’t help it. And then I also want to shield myself from becoming overly attached to G.F. by connecting with others. I don’t want to throw myself all in and end up unable to come up for air. I need to be careful because I tend to jump the gun.
Clearly I shouldn’t be using dating others as my way of not becoming too attached, too fast. I should just pursue my own interests, make friends, hang with my family, do my thing, be logical, remain calm, and remind myself that no one but me is responsible for my happiness. But I can’t help but hope, and hope is really freaking scary. It runs away with me and I have to calmly ask it to return me to earth before I float away.
I really don’t know if I have resolved anything here. But my fingers hurt from typing what may be my longest blog post ever, and my eyes are starting to blur, so I should probably call it a night. I am exhausted and have nothing else to say.
This is a stream of consciousness list of all the things I’m missing right now…in no particular order.
- Being fucked senseless
- Having someone look deep into my eyes while I’m talking to them
- Holding hands in public
- Holding hands in private
- Sleeping in
- Being owned
- Drinks on patios
- Being told that I’m beautiful
- Spending the entire day outside in the sun
- Coffee (why, health kick? Why?)
- Therapy spankings
- Being slapped in the face during sex
- New relationship energy
Things I do NOT like:
- Family crises
- Plane tickets being re-booked for a later date
- Being horny
- 10 Days and counting
Things I am okay with:
- Guided phone sex
- Daily anticipatory ass-plug and kegel practice
- Good night and good morning texts
- Surprise “I’m thinking of you” phone calls in the middle of the day
- Hotel bookings
- Photo sharing
- The power of words
- The slow but steady development of trust
30 Days of Truth, Day 10: Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know
This post isn’t about someone I wish I didn’t know. It’s about someone that I used to know, that I will never let go of. Specifically, my first girlfriend.
A letter to my First Love,
There is so much I want to apologize for. You will always inhabit my heart, and with you, regret. I am sorry.
I’m sorry for the way I broke you and put you back together, only to break you again.
I’m sorry for making you feel so unsafe with me that you had to disappear, change your email, block me on Facebook and stop taking my calls. Not because I would stalk you, but because I would draw you in, only to leave you, once again, hanging.
I’m sorry that I was selfish. That I let my fear, my desire for immortality and my own self-hatred come between us.
I’m sorry for abandoning our love because I believed those who told me it was wrong.
When I met you, befriended you, fell for you, my eyes were opened. I experienced something that I had never known or experienced before–devotion. Adoration. Purity, desire, lust. I fell into a world I didn’t know existed–one where another woman could touch my heart, body and mind so deeply that we became melded–one.
I realized what it was to be two sides of the same coin. Inextricable. Undeniable. Beyond permanent.
Yet my beliefs–my terror at the thought of being cast into hell, and my desperation to be accepted–built a wall so high and so strong that I could not tear it down, and I could not scale it.
I was afraid. I was afraid of our love, what it meant and said about me. I was afraid of who and what I would become if I embraced it fully. I was afraid of losing my family, friends, community, “calling”, social standing, faith and god. And all of those things, I put above you. Above us. Above our unbelievable passion and deep understanding of one another. So I fought us. I ran. I hid. And I did what I was supposed to do.
I locked away the part of me that enabled me to love you, and convinced myself that I was straight. That even if I was not heterosexual on the inside, I could be heterosexual on the outside. That if I could love a man, he would erase you. That my life with him, our home, our children, our faith and our family would blot out what you and I had, and render it unimportant.
Oh, I knew I would always love you. That I would never forget you. That you would always be a part of me, curled up deep inside, pulsing, breathing, but not growing outside of the box where I’d relegated your memory.
And now, happily for you, you have moved on. You have found someone else. A woman who is not afraid to love you. Not afraid to hold your hand and kiss your lips and possess your body. A woman who will give you what you deserve, and what you always wanted from me but I wasn’t brave enough to give.
I wish I had been brave. Not because I know we would still be together today, more than a decade later, but because we deserved a chance, you and I. You would have done anything for me. You would have stepped into another world for me. You would have abandoned your family and any friends who could not abide our love. You would have fearlessly tread where I was too scared to tread, if it meant giving us a chance. If it meant that our souls, which mirrored each others, could have a chance to touch and expand, be and explore, to at least try.
But it was me. I took one step forward and two steps back, over and over. Stealing kisses and affection and sex, then running back to my false idols and my security and my ridiculous delusion that I was important, that some Sky Daddy had a plan for me, and that plan was more important than you and I; love, and us.
I am sorry. I’m sorry that any part of me thought that we were wrong. That the fact that we had the same parts, in my mind, made what we had perversion instead of beautiful. That I thought for even a moment that our affinity for one another was anything other than perfection. That I retreated, left you stranded, and stranded myself in a place where I could not be true to who I was, and cut you off from the person you needed me to be.
It was a long time ago. So long that I am sure you are over it. But I will never be. I can accept things the way they are, because I have no choice now, but I did then, and I made the wrong one. For making you feel like the tree in the garden, for treating you like a temptation that needed to be uprooted and burned so that I would not burn with you, I am so sorry.
I will always love you, always.
30 Days of Truth, Day 9: Someone you didn’t want to let go of, but you just drifted.
WARNING: This video is NOT SAFE FOR WORK
This song perfectly describes the way my faith in god crumbled. As much as I wanted to continue to believe, as much as I needed to believe that there was someone up there who loves me unconditionally, I came to a place where I just didn’t anymore. I didn’t give up my faith. I didn’t lose it. It was pried from my hands by my inability to look the other way anymore. Genocide. Colonialism. Slavery. The subjugation of women. Homophobia. Slut-shaming. And on top of all the horrible crimes committed by humans in the name of religion, the suffering in the world was the final straw. If there is an all-powerful being up there who loves us all, then why? Why AIDS? Why cancer? Why hunger? Why poverty? Why natural disasters? Why still-births? Why?
It is not my intention or my mission to insult anyone who honestly believes. In a way, I envy you–especially those who are able to reconcile their beliefs with being able to live the life they want, without shame. If faith inspires, instead of cripples you, then I am happy for you–sincerely.
But for me, it just didn’t work anymore. I had to let go of god in order to feel any peace. I had to let go in order to stop wondering “Why?”–in order to stop dwelling on what I was or wasn’t doing in order to bring suffering upon myself. I had to stop believing because it hurt my brain and it hurt my heart to try to make sense of something that just didn’t jive for me.
It hurt, but I had to let it go. And now I feel free.
30 Days of Truth, Day 8: Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit
I had just finished my degree when I found out I was was pregnant with my daughter. I had been looking for work in my field, but with a new baby on the way, I desperately took any job I could find. This turned out to be a job at a sub chain.
The job in itself would have been fine. There were the busy periods during the day, but when we weren’t lined up out the door, I did not mind organizing condiments, mopping floors and washing dishes.
The problem was my co-workers.
I had no problem with any of them, personally. But they, it became quickly apparent, had a problem with me.
It started when they asked if I planned on going to college when The Husband (who was then a student) was done…and I told them I’d already gone. . .while they planned on working at our current place of employment until they were 80. Yes, they actually said that.
The more time I spent there, the frostier it became. They told stories of their series of boyfriends and ex-husbands who all smoked crack (yes, crack!) and treated them like shit. They discussed amongst themselves the fights they were having at home, while I quietly mopped up the counter and tried not to give them the side-eye.
Aside from my inability to understand a pattern of dating and marrying crack-smokers, was the fact that I actually understood employment law, and was not okay with working in conditions that went against said laws.
When I asked about breaks, I was told we didn’t get any. When they complained about never getting raises and I inquired about the regular reviews and increased compensation we are legally entitled to, they laughed in my face. When I asked who we spoke to about days off or sick leave (I was pregnant, remember), they said that we do not get time off, and since there were so few staff, it was basically impossible for any one of us to call in sick. One girl recounted with pride the time she was literally lying on the floor, shaking, with the cold sweats, in between serving customers–but she was there. I was appalled.
Eventually I would walk in and say hello, and no one would reply. It was like I was invisible. They nit-picked at everything I did (for instance, putting out wet-floor signs when the floor was wet–apparently that was overkill and we should just tell the customers that the ground they are walking on is a hazard), or actually rinsing off the dishes after washing them.
It became a hostile environment to work in. I was at the point where I had anxiety attacks the entire way to work, and on the way home seriously contemplated death. This may seem like an overreaction, but my hormones were out of control, and I couldn’t take my anti-depressants while pregnant. I was miserable.
One night the store was busy. There was a long line, and the debit machine was down. Unfortunately, I had to get home to watch my son so my husband could go to class, so I called a cab, and I left. The next morning there was a long note waiting for me in the back room, detailing my transgressions and explaning that was was “NEVER to call a cab” unless a fellow employee told me I could. (I mean, WTF…it’s not like the store even had managers, I was not going to be answering to someone with the exact same job, making the exact same amount of money, just because they’d been there longer).
This was the final straw. I declared that I had rights, and they include not having to stay past my scheduled shift, regardless of how busy the store is or isn’t.
They were not impressed. Shouting ensued. There was swearing involved, and tears on my part. And this miserable, swollen, pregnant lady walked right out the door and never went back.
Job abandonment, you say?
I don’t give a fuck.
30 Days of Truth, Day 7: Someone whose made your life worth living for.
My children are literally my reason for living. When I am in a dark place, and I just want to give up, I know that I can’t…because they need me. They don’t just need me to buy their clothes and make their food and brush their teeth–those are all things that could be taken over by someone else. They need me because I am their mother, period. While sometimes, when I am feeling so low I can barely manage to go on, I can convince myself that if I were no longer here they’d be taken care of…
I know that isn’t the point. I am their mother. No one hugs like I do. No one has my voice, or my smell. No one else tickles the same way, or gives the same kind of kisses. There is no one else out there who literally spent hours doing nothing but holding them when they were tiny.
I am their mama. I cannot be replaced. So I hang in there, even when it is the last thing I want to do.Even when my hair’s falling out, my life is a mess, and I’m crazy.