While I was traveling over the weekend, I had the opportunity to do a lot of thinking. As usual I was playing my IPod and allowing myself to mentally go from space to space as the music changed. I started to wonder if people would be interested in the effects music has on my brain and its ability to make me switch. I thought maybe I would pursue a research or study team to check it out. I find it fascinating, even if no one else does.
The act of what I refer to as 'switching' can be looked at from many angles. I suppose the most notable might be the possibility that it is a product of mental instability. That its a manifestation of post traumatic experiences and borderline personality disorder. A simple case (well not so simple) of personality identity disorder. Another strong possibility is that I truly am both genders and physically there are multiple sides to me.
Since music has such a big influence on my emotions, I began to wonder if the fluidity I experience in gender is emotionally based or physically based, or both. It is very apparent that emotionally I am in different places when in different spaces. And it is also apparent that I am physically in different places as well. I have noticed that my hand writing, my driving style, the way I walk or carry myself, is all dependent on 'who' I am in that moment.
Do my emotions change the physical state or is a physical change (eg: brain chemical or neuro activity) changing my emotions? Rationally I would think that most things are emotionally based and therefore behavioral, but I am not so sure I am ready to give in to rationale on this one. I can say, with the utmost certainty that I truly believe I am both genders. I have way too many characteristics to say otherwise. Characteristics that are not just behavioral. And being able to trace these attributes back to childhood well before I would have taught myself to behave differently just makes me think I am not just a girl.
So my research project would be to see if there are chemical or neurological changes that take place when I 'shift' from one gender to the other. And then to decide if emotionally I can cause those changes (if they exist) or if those changes are causing my difference in emotion.
Certainly not your classic chicken or the egg experiment.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What Can I do For You
I am dealing with a particular situation within my relationship. Not a bad situation, quite the opposite. We have made a collective decision to find a common dynamic between us that seems to have found its way to the back burner. The dynamic was what brought us together in the first place. It was who we were to each other, who we grew from, who we experienced many firsts through and who we truly are as people deep down. Unfortunately it is the easiest dynamic we share to overlook. Most likely because they are the pieces of us that need the least nurturing. However, out of sight truly is out of mind. Out of mind means neglecting who we are as a whole and allowing pieces of us to fall by the way side.
My role in this particular dynamic is quite dominant. I make the rules, I make the decisions, I dictate what occurs. Well one would assume that to be the way things unfold. In actuality, it is much more complex than that. I, as the dominant force in the relationship also have the responsibility of self humility and humbleness. It is my job to find what works for everyone. Being a bully is not an option. Brow beating one to fit my desires is counterproductive. As the dominant one in the relationship it is my job to see that everyone is taken care of.
Yes, it is my way or the highway. And yes, I can be very demanding. But always. And I mean always, those demands are made in a way that my needs are met and so are those providing for those needs. The dynamic is intricate and particularly difficult to share within the realm of every day life. Those that say they live this way 24/7 are probably not being completely honest. There are some that can manage, but with jobs, family, children, chores etc, it becomes exceedingly difficult.
I have seen many relationships start out very deeply committed to their D/s dynamic. I have also seen most of those relationships die. Many times vanilla life becomes something they cant overcome and usually don't wish to share together. My situation is different. We were very committed to our D/s relationship. For many years. But we did grow to add everyday life as well. And I do wish to share that as well. But we have let life take over and that original commitment seems to be a memory. A memory I am determined to add to.
I am the dominant. I am the Ma'am, the Daddy, the Mistress, the Sir. I am the boss. But I am humble and gracious and nurturing. I want you near me. I want to give you a reason to want that too. And so I ask, what can I do for you?
My role in this particular dynamic is quite dominant. I make the rules, I make the decisions, I dictate what occurs. Well one would assume that to be the way things unfold. In actuality, it is much more complex than that. I, as the dominant force in the relationship also have the responsibility of self humility and humbleness. It is my job to find what works for everyone. Being a bully is not an option. Brow beating one to fit my desires is counterproductive. As the dominant one in the relationship it is my job to see that everyone is taken care of.
Yes, it is my way or the highway. And yes, I can be very demanding. But always. And I mean always, those demands are made in a way that my needs are met and so are those providing for those needs. The dynamic is intricate and particularly difficult to share within the realm of every day life. Those that say they live this way 24/7 are probably not being completely honest. There are some that can manage, but with jobs, family, children, chores etc, it becomes exceedingly difficult.
I have seen many relationships start out very deeply committed to their D/s dynamic. I have also seen most of those relationships die. Many times vanilla life becomes something they cant overcome and usually don't wish to share together. My situation is different. We were very committed to our D/s relationship. For many years. But we did grow to add everyday life as well. And I do wish to share that as well. But we have let life take over and that original commitment seems to be a memory. A memory I am determined to add to.
I am the dominant. I am the Ma'am, the Daddy, the Mistress, the Sir. I am the boss. But I am humble and gracious and nurturing. I want you near me. I want to give you a reason to want that too. And so I ask, what can I do for you?
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Wedding
I attended a wedding this weekend. A young family member on my partner's side. No one in actual relation to me was there.
Weddings are bitter sweet for a lot of people I think. You go there, expecting to be elated for the couple, and instead find yourself questioning your own life. Some people looked genuinely happy to be there for the couple, some looked miserable because they just realized they aren't in love, some are just drunk fools, and then there's me.
We were the only (that I know of) gay couple that attended. And while the bride's family (and blood relatives of my partner) are well aware, accepting and welcoming of me and our relationship, I cant help but feel like the red headed step child.
I know "its 2010" and people are "cool(er)" with gay people, especially the ever popular and trendy lesbian. However, I had many reasons why I didn't wish to be the 'token' anything at this wedding. Some of it is fear from decades ago. Some of it is the fear instilled by my mother that I reflect poorly on my family. And a lot of it is simple respect drilled into my head as a child. I was brought up that if there was a possibility you, your actions, your clothing, whatever would offend someone in some way, you don't go, do that, or wear it, etc. This didn't just teach me respect, it taught me to loathe myself and fear every single situation I encounter that is new. But this piece is not about my mother or my self esteem. Its about the deep sadness all of that creates.
I have been with the same woman going on 14 years. That is longer than the majority of people at that wedding could say about their relationships. I share a very passionate love with my partner and have wooed her continuously since day one. I am a hopeless romantic and spend an uncountable about of time choosing and making gifts that are meaningful. I send flowers and chocolate dipped fruit to the house just because. There is hardly a time I walk into a store and leave without something for her, even it is just the Peppermint Patty she likes. I choose to spend my free time with her, and have happily given up nights out and friends for that time. We always go to bed together at the same time. We still brush our teeth together. We have 'our songs' and 'my song', the one even she doesn't know is for her.
As I sat at my table during the wedding, I watched. Watched all the young couples and a few married couples interact. The mood in the air at a wedding brings out more lovey behavior in most people. None of them seemed to share the deep connection we do though. However, they shared the one thing that I deperately wanted to but couldnt.......a dance. As I sit here now I can feel the tears well up at the realization that we probably loved each other more than most people in that room, and yet I was unable to share a moment that they all took for granted.
Could I have danced? Sure. Would it have been the end of the world? No probably not. But I have seen and felt first hand the possibilities that can exist. I have felt the stares, heard the whispers and have even been removed from the premises because I took that chance before. I have lost family, friends and invitations to return.
Being the romantic in the relationship, I may be the only one that shares in this sadness. The question "did they even play any slow songs?" was asked of me. My reply, simply stated, "yes, a lot of them". What I didn't say was, "they even played my song".
Weddings are bitter sweet for a lot of people I think. You go there, expecting to be elated for the couple, and instead find yourself questioning your own life. Some people looked genuinely happy to be there for the couple, some looked miserable because they just realized they aren't in love, some are just drunk fools, and then there's me.
We were the only (that I know of) gay couple that attended. And while the bride's family (and blood relatives of my partner) are well aware, accepting and welcoming of me and our relationship, I cant help but feel like the red headed step child.
I know "its 2010" and people are "cool(er)" with gay people, especially the ever popular and trendy lesbian. However, I had many reasons why I didn't wish to be the 'token' anything at this wedding. Some of it is fear from decades ago. Some of it is the fear instilled by my mother that I reflect poorly on my family. And a lot of it is simple respect drilled into my head as a child. I was brought up that if there was a possibility you, your actions, your clothing, whatever would offend someone in some way, you don't go, do that, or wear it, etc. This didn't just teach me respect, it taught me to loathe myself and fear every single situation I encounter that is new. But this piece is not about my mother or my self esteem. Its about the deep sadness all of that creates.
I have been with the same woman going on 14 years. That is longer than the majority of people at that wedding could say about their relationships. I share a very passionate love with my partner and have wooed her continuously since day one. I am a hopeless romantic and spend an uncountable about of time choosing and making gifts that are meaningful. I send flowers and chocolate dipped fruit to the house just because. There is hardly a time I walk into a store and leave without something for her, even it is just the Peppermint Patty she likes. I choose to spend my free time with her, and have happily given up nights out and friends for that time. We always go to bed together at the same time. We still brush our teeth together. We have 'our songs' and 'my song', the one even she doesn't know is for her.
As I sat at my table during the wedding, I watched. Watched all the young couples and a few married couples interact. The mood in the air at a wedding brings out more lovey behavior in most people. None of them seemed to share the deep connection we do though. However, they shared the one thing that I deperately wanted to but couldnt.......a dance. As I sit here now I can feel the tears well up at the realization that we probably loved each other more than most people in that room, and yet I was unable to share a moment that they all took for granted.
Could I have danced? Sure. Would it have been the end of the world? No probably not. But I have seen and felt first hand the possibilities that can exist. I have felt the stares, heard the whispers and have even been removed from the premises because I took that chance before. I have lost family, friends and invitations to return.
Being the romantic in the relationship, I may be the only one that shares in this sadness. The question "did they even play any slow songs?" was asked of me. My reply, simply stated, "yes, a lot of them". What I didn't say was, "they even played my song".
Friday, July 23, 2010
Owned
According to urban definition, owned refers to what is otherwise known as embarrassing or beating someone, and calling attention to the 'epic fail'. I don't speak urban anything. I speak middle aged pompous ass sarcasm mostly.
According to good old Webster, owned can mean a variety of things. Most commonly, it means to have or possess as property, or being had or possessed by someone, having an owner.
My idea of owned is probably a little risque for the average Joe, but I assume the average Joe isn't reading this so I will share.
Ownership in my world isn't about staking claim to someone. It isn't about an opportunity to puff up my chest and say "MINE". It isn't about finding someone to crawl behind me. The only things those own is a title of cowardly bully.
Ownership for me is about finding a connection with someone, a trust so deep that their soul screams to belong to you. A connection that makes me only half a person without it. Its about learning everything about someone's psyche. Its about getting into their head, their mind and peeling away the layers until you reach the raw core.
Being owned is not about being a doormat. Or about being taken advantage of and demeaned. Its about being held highly with the utmost respect and allowing someone the gift of owning you. Its about knowing although you don't control the time and place, you do control the energy.
Ownership is unfortunately given up way too easily and with little regard. Ownership is also taken unjustly and abused all too often.
I am not really sure where I am going with this today. Maybe it is just my round about way of thanking someone for knowing who they were, what they deserved and allowing me to receive that gift. My acknowledgment that submission is a sign of strength and not of weakness. My gratitude for making my journey possible through you.
Owned. Never taken for granted.
According to good old Webster, owned can mean a variety of things. Most commonly, it means to have or possess as property, or being had or possessed by someone, having an owner.
My idea of owned is probably a little risque for the average Joe, but I assume the average Joe isn't reading this so I will share.
Ownership in my world isn't about staking claim to someone. It isn't about an opportunity to puff up my chest and say "MINE". It isn't about finding someone to crawl behind me. The only things those own is a title of cowardly bully.
Ownership for me is about finding a connection with someone, a trust so deep that their soul screams to belong to you. A connection that makes me only half a person without it. Its about learning everything about someone's psyche. Its about getting into their head, their mind and peeling away the layers until you reach the raw core.
Being owned is not about being a doormat. Or about being taken advantage of and demeaned. Its about being held highly with the utmost respect and allowing someone the gift of owning you. Its about knowing although you don't control the time and place, you do control the energy.
Ownership is unfortunately given up way too easily and with little regard. Ownership is also taken unjustly and abused all too often.
I am not really sure where I am going with this today. Maybe it is just my round about way of thanking someone for knowing who they were, what they deserved and allowing me to receive that gift. My acknowledgment that submission is a sign of strength and not of weakness. My gratitude for making my journey possible through you.
Owned. Never taken for granted.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Nurture the Entire List
In light of some positive writing feedback, vivid dreams, and questions from a friend, my head has been inundated with the thoughts, and the missing of sadomasochism in my life.
A wise man once told me that you should never allow your D/s relationships to die under the pressure of vanilla life. Apparently I am too stubborn to listen to wisdom. In all fairness, it takes two to tango, and I am not the only one to blame for the diminishing desire, but I certainly didn't have to go along with that plan.
In the twenty plus years I have been involved in the dark seedy world of kink (that was a joke folks), I have had times when the lifestyle came dead last on the priority list. Not because I opted to place it there, but because other perceived essentials ranked higher. However, we seem to neglect things that make us different before we neglect things that we as a society deem normal.
When we allow society to dictate what should be important to us, we short change ourselves. We pretend to believe that our needs and desires for anything else should not over shadow our 'normal' life's expectation. And this holds true for all things different, not just kink. If its been oppressed or put in a taboo box, it should end up at the end of the nurturing list. And until today, I might have agreed with that.
Yesterday I wrote about hair pulling. It flowed out of my fingertips like lava. It came freely and intensely hot. It was written in about 2 minutes (or as long as it takes me to type that many words). I had to put zero thought into that post.
The day before I had a friend seek intimate advice from my dominant viewpoint. Again, no thought necessary. The answers came quickly and easily. I enjoyed the conversation, the memories and the offering of my experience. In fact, I was a tad bit envious that it wasn't me.
Last night I dreamed of woman standing, restrained and beautifully marked. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked. Not because she was pretty, because I could not even see her face. But because she was so eager and hungry and marked with the most delicious signs that only a masochist is willing to wear. Her sounds made me sad. Sad I was not sharing in the moment.
In a very mundane moment yesterday, I remembered my wife, my submissive, and a moment we shared together long ago. It wasn't about pain or play or sex, it was a simple moment of trust. A trust that is capable of giving me butterflies when I think about it. I suddenly felt a huge appreciation for who she was and what she gave me. I wondered if she would do that today. I reached my hand out and rested it on her back. She, having no idea where I was in thought, most likely thought nothing of it. I was hoping she would 'feel' me.
I know life has changed for me. But only because I have allowed it to. And perhaps my days of hard core heavy play is behind me. I am not getting any younger or any stronger, but its never really been about that for me. Its been about allowing who I am, at my core, to surface and be received. Its about not taking pieces and keeping them stuffed out of view because it doesn't fit in with the rest of the 'list'.
A wise man also once told me that I should listen to myself. I think this time, I will allow myself to hear the wisdom.
A wise man once told me that you should never allow your D/s relationships to die under the pressure of vanilla life. Apparently I am too stubborn to listen to wisdom. In all fairness, it takes two to tango, and I am not the only one to blame for the diminishing desire, but I certainly didn't have to go along with that plan.
In the twenty plus years I have been involved in the dark seedy world of kink (that was a joke folks), I have had times when the lifestyle came dead last on the priority list. Not because I opted to place it there, but because other perceived essentials ranked higher. However, we seem to neglect things that make us different before we neglect things that we as a society deem normal.
When we allow society to dictate what should be important to us, we short change ourselves. We pretend to believe that our needs and desires for anything else should not over shadow our 'normal' life's expectation. And this holds true for all things different, not just kink. If its been oppressed or put in a taboo box, it should end up at the end of the nurturing list. And until today, I might have agreed with that.
Yesterday I wrote about hair pulling. It flowed out of my fingertips like lava. It came freely and intensely hot. It was written in about 2 minutes (or as long as it takes me to type that many words). I had to put zero thought into that post.
The day before I had a friend seek intimate advice from my dominant viewpoint. Again, no thought necessary. The answers came quickly and easily. I enjoyed the conversation, the memories and the offering of my experience. In fact, I was a tad bit envious that it wasn't me.
Last night I dreamed of woman standing, restrained and beautifully marked. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked. Not because she was pretty, because I could not even see her face. But because she was so eager and hungry and marked with the most delicious signs that only a masochist is willing to wear. Her sounds made me sad. Sad I was not sharing in the moment.
In a very mundane moment yesterday, I remembered my wife, my submissive, and a moment we shared together long ago. It wasn't about pain or play or sex, it was a simple moment of trust. A trust that is capable of giving me butterflies when I think about it. I suddenly felt a huge appreciation for who she was and what she gave me. I wondered if she would do that today. I reached my hand out and rested it on her back. She, having no idea where I was in thought, most likely thought nothing of it. I was hoping she would 'feel' me.
I know life has changed for me. But only because I have allowed it to. And perhaps my days of hard core heavy play is behind me. I am not getting any younger or any stronger, but its never really been about that for me. Its been about allowing who I am, at my core, to surface and be received. Its about not taking pieces and keeping them stuffed out of view because it doesn't fit in with the rest of the 'list'.
A wise man also once told me that I should listen to myself. I think this time, I will allow myself to hear the wisdom.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Hair Pulling
Thats the thing about hair pulling. Simply put. It's hot.
I am a big fan of hair pulling. It gets someone's attention, no matter in what context you use it. No, I am not a violent person. No I don't do it because I am angry. No I don't use it just because I can....wait...yes I do.
Gripping ones hair in your fist speaks louder than words. At least when you use it with someone that understands the language. For me, grabbing a fist full of hair says, "I am in charge" or "I am feeling very aggressive, and you are about to find out just how much". Its pretty easy to tell if this tactic is effective or not. You always have the "Just kidding" scape goat if not.
During sex hair pulling is a great tool for restraint. You can keep someone frozen in whatever position you choose the minute your hand wraps around their hair. You can direct their head if thats your pleasure. From behind, that handful of hair makes a great leverage tool or handle if you are a little unsteady in your technique.
All those wonderful things aside, hair pulling for me is really about energy. My energy transferring to another. Its full of expression and meaning. Its a way to take someone to my energy level enabling me then to feed off theirs. Its a raw gesture but very effective. The breath that inevitably escapes someone's mouth when you grab hold is a major turn on. Quick and sudden, it can spin me from an 'eh' time to an incredible one. Its not just about me taking over, its about transferring power and energy. Its about sharing a raw space.
Hair pulling....its not just for the play ground anymore.
I am a big fan of hair pulling. It gets someone's attention, no matter in what context you use it. No, I am not a violent person. No I don't do it because I am angry. No I don't use it just because I can....wait...yes I do.
Gripping ones hair in your fist speaks louder than words. At least when you use it with someone that understands the language. For me, grabbing a fist full of hair says, "I am in charge" or "I am feeling very aggressive, and you are about to find out just how much". Its pretty easy to tell if this tactic is effective or not. You always have the "Just kidding" scape goat if not.
During sex hair pulling is a great tool for restraint. You can keep someone frozen in whatever position you choose the minute your hand wraps around their hair. You can direct their head if thats your pleasure. From behind, that handful of hair makes a great leverage tool or handle if you are a little unsteady in your technique.
All those wonderful things aside, hair pulling for me is really about energy. My energy transferring to another. Its full of expression and meaning. Its a way to take someone to my energy level enabling me then to feed off theirs. Its a raw gesture but very effective. The breath that inevitably escapes someone's mouth when you grab hold is a major turn on. Quick and sudden, it can spin me from an 'eh' time to an incredible one. Its not just about me taking over, its about transferring power and energy. Its about sharing a raw space.
Hair pulling....its not just for the play ground anymore.
Obsessive Relationships
I was thinking (odd I know), about how much I have changed over the course of the past couple of decades, even though I don't feel as though I have changed at all.
I still feel young and vibrant despite my age and the illness that kicks my physical ass on a regular basis. I am still driven by compulsions and manic behavior. I still make stupid decisions. However I seem to have grown into those behaviors and found a way to handle them at a more mature level. They are much less damaging to my life and relationships. As a matter of fact, most of my manic episodes go fairly unnoticed by anyone other than me. I disguise my short comings well.
This morning I was recalling my past. Particularly my 'relationships' if you will. I put that in quotes because a true relationship is shared by two people equally. Only now have I really found out what relationship means.
My adolescnce is full of one sided obsessive relationships. My addicitve behavior spilling over into my desire for people. Couple that with abandonment fears stemming from my BPD and what you have is a gender confused, obsessed, hormonal and mentally unstable young person vying for attention that is usually not reciprocated or even taken notice of.
I, not so fondly, remember stalking, creating shrines, stealing clothes, changing looks, and wanting the same things as the women I became fixated on. Many times they were older, always straight and usually unavailable to the likes of me. Sometimes I would luck out in my conquest, but only with those that recognized my relentless pining for them. Most time I went undetected and therefore found myself angry, frustrated and hurt but their lack of returned affection. I simply was unable to rationalize these women didn't even realize how they were effecting me. Perhaps I was just hoping they would come to me, validate that I was desirable without me having to put the idea in their heads.
Back in the day, when my addictions controlled every aspect of my life, obsessive relationships filled a void just as well as drugs. It enabled me to focus on something other than the pain I was feeling. Little did I know how painful those obsessions were to me. The residual effects I live with even to this day. Unhealthy relationships, even the ones others were not aware they were having with me, paved the way to even deeper self esteem problems, confidence issues, and feelings of being undesirable. I live with those feelings still.
Today I am not chemically addicted anymore. But I cannot say I am free of my obsessive relationship style or my manic behavior. I have learned how to fine tune it so it isn't as obvious to everyone else. While I am manic, I am happy. While I am obsessed with something, I don't have time to let negative thoughts in. I still feel as though I need to give a million percent to deserve even a small portion of that back, but I am working on that.
I have learned that obsessive behavior is not what defines your desirability. And that I will never, and should never have someone see me from those eyes. I have learned that obsessiveness is not healthy. What I cant seem to learn is how to stop wanting it.
I still feel young and vibrant despite my age and the illness that kicks my physical ass on a regular basis. I am still driven by compulsions and manic behavior. I still make stupid decisions. However I seem to have grown into those behaviors and found a way to handle them at a more mature level. They are much less damaging to my life and relationships. As a matter of fact, most of my manic episodes go fairly unnoticed by anyone other than me. I disguise my short comings well.
This morning I was recalling my past. Particularly my 'relationships' if you will. I put that in quotes because a true relationship is shared by two people equally. Only now have I really found out what relationship means.
My adolescnce is full of one sided obsessive relationships. My addicitve behavior spilling over into my desire for people. Couple that with abandonment fears stemming from my BPD and what you have is a gender confused, obsessed, hormonal and mentally unstable young person vying for attention that is usually not reciprocated or even taken notice of.
I, not so fondly, remember stalking, creating shrines, stealing clothes, changing looks, and wanting the same things as the women I became fixated on. Many times they were older, always straight and usually unavailable to the likes of me. Sometimes I would luck out in my conquest, but only with those that recognized my relentless pining for them. Most time I went undetected and therefore found myself angry, frustrated and hurt but their lack of returned affection. I simply was unable to rationalize these women didn't even realize how they were effecting me. Perhaps I was just hoping they would come to me, validate that I was desirable without me having to put the idea in their heads.
Back in the day, when my addictions controlled every aspect of my life, obsessive relationships filled a void just as well as drugs. It enabled me to focus on something other than the pain I was feeling. Little did I know how painful those obsessions were to me. The residual effects I live with even to this day. Unhealthy relationships, even the ones others were not aware they were having with me, paved the way to even deeper self esteem problems, confidence issues, and feelings of being undesirable. I live with those feelings still.
Today I am not chemically addicted anymore. But I cannot say I am free of my obsessive relationship style or my manic behavior. I have learned how to fine tune it so it isn't as obvious to everyone else. While I am manic, I am happy. While I am obsessed with something, I don't have time to let negative thoughts in. I still feel as though I need to give a million percent to deserve even a small portion of that back, but I am working on that.
I have learned that obsessive behavior is not what defines your desirability. And that I will never, and should never have someone see me from those eyes. I have learned that obsessiveness is not healthy. What I cant seem to learn is how to stop wanting it.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
You are admired, I am judged
Its never a good idea to let yourself envy others. Or so they tell me anyway. I cannot help it. I have always been envious of others. Not for what they have, or who they know, but for what they possess emotionally and who they are.
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a confident person at all. I am brassy and bold, loud and the center of attention. However all of those qualities come from fear and shyness, not confidence. I don't know how to be comfortable with myself. And it seems everyone else does.
When I look at some of you I see very brave people. People willing and able to be true to themselves. People honest in what they feel. People not afraid to do what defies everything they were taught. People willing to sacrifice almost anything for that honesty. For that I am truly envious. And apparently a coward.
When you walk down the street people look at you because you exude the true "I am what I am" air. They feel it, and most are OK with it. I walk down the street and people look at me because I don't fit in, I am shaped a little odd, and its obvious they know I am gender confused. You are admired, I am judged. This is how I feel.
I know this is not reality. I know you too have more than your share of self conscious moments. I also know that there are people that do feel my air and do respect who I am. Rationalizing is easy. Feeling the rationale is much more difficult.
I wonder where you got your confidence. Where you got your strength. When you realized that it just didn't matter what the world had to say about you. I wonder how you braved the journey you have taken and crossed the line from judgment to admiration. I should not envy, but I do.
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a confident person at all. I am brassy and bold, loud and the center of attention. However all of those qualities come from fear and shyness, not confidence. I don't know how to be comfortable with myself. And it seems everyone else does.
When I look at some of you I see very brave people. People willing and able to be true to themselves. People honest in what they feel. People not afraid to do what defies everything they were taught. People willing to sacrifice almost anything for that honesty. For that I am truly envious. And apparently a coward.
When you walk down the street people look at you because you exude the true "I am what I am" air. They feel it, and most are OK with it. I walk down the street and people look at me because I don't fit in, I am shaped a little odd, and its obvious they know I am gender confused. You are admired, I am judged. This is how I feel.
I know this is not reality. I know you too have more than your share of self conscious moments. I also know that there are people that do feel my air and do respect who I am. Rationalizing is easy. Feeling the rationale is much more difficult.
I wonder where you got your confidence. Where you got your strength. When you realized that it just didn't matter what the world had to say about you. I wonder how you braved the journey you have taken and crossed the line from judgment to admiration. I should not envy, but I do.
Its not Poly, Its my head
I tend to write a lot about crossing gender lines during intimate moments. Perhaps its because I am very aware of what is happening then. Maybe its because I am not distracted by trying to fit myself into the shoe box of the moment like I am during my work day and interaction with people that don't 'know' me.
Whatever the case, I am acutely aware of the blurred lines in which I love from. What I don't know for certain, is what my head is truly tapping into, especially during self love. I know I have talked about experiencing excitement from both gender spaces. But I haven't discussed (because I just thought about it today), the confusion I have over what part of the picture in my head I am aroused by.
There are many scenarios I can think up that will arouse me. All have at least two people involved, some more. And they all have both sexes involved. Since I am without a doubt a lover of women, I can only assume my fascination with men during masturbation is out of penis envy or my desire to have some cougar take on the young boy inside of me.
When I fantasize (and I use that term loosely), I cannot with any degree of certainty know who I am relating to in the scenario. I don't ever picture me, and I don't ever picture someone I know. I suppose I just make up my own porno flick to suit me. My thoughts encompass all aspects of who I am. Predator, prey, younger, older, male, female, experienced, novice. Take a couple of those and mash them together with different genders, and you have a ton of possibilities and combinations.
I feel sorry for people that are aroused by only one gender, one thought, one mindset. And although I don't really know who is 'getting off' in my thoughts as well as my pants, I don't think I care. I have the ability to be anything and all of these things, and that opens up a world of opportunity. I take these thoughts and bring them over into my intimate moments.
I feel fortunate that I have a wide variety of feelings and expressions I can use in my love making. I feel even more fortunate that I have a partner that can find a connection with them all. For us, it is like having multiple partners and experiences in the bedroom without the hassle of having to deal with multiple people and relationships the rest of the time.
Whatever the case, I am acutely aware of the blurred lines in which I love from. What I don't know for certain, is what my head is truly tapping into, especially during self love. I know I have talked about experiencing excitement from both gender spaces. But I haven't discussed (because I just thought about it today), the confusion I have over what part of the picture in my head I am aroused by.
There are many scenarios I can think up that will arouse me. All have at least two people involved, some more. And they all have both sexes involved. Since I am without a doubt a lover of women, I can only assume my fascination with men during masturbation is out of penis envy or my desire to have some cougar take on the young boy inside of me.
When I fantasize (and I use that term loosely), I cannot with any degree of certainty know who I am relating to in the scenario. I don't ever picture me, and I don't ever picture someone I know. I suppose I just make up my own porno flick to suit me. My thoughts encompass all aspects of who I am. Predator, prey, younger, older, male, female, experienced, novice. Take a couple of those and mash them together with different genders, and you have a ton of possibilities and combinations.
I feel sorry for people that are aroused by only one gender, one thought, one mindset. And although I don't really know who is 'getting off' in my thoughts as well as my pants, I don't think I care. I have the ability to be anything and all of these things, and that opens up a world of opportunity. I take these thoughts and bring them over into my intimate moments.
I feel fortunate that I have a wide variety of feelings and expressions I can use in my love making. I feel even more fortunate that I have a partner that can find a connection with them all. For us, it is like having multiple partners and experiences in the bedroom without the hassle of having to deal with multiple people and relationships the rest of the time.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Multiples in Bed
I apologize if you clicked the link to get here only to find out this is not about threesomes, foursomes or orgies. It is about me, and all the pieces of me that I take to bed.
Its no big news that I float around this earth using multiple personalities to get me through the day. I enjoy switching when it suits me, and appreciate that my head does it naturally when I need a safety net. During the day it doesn't usually present too many challenges since most people are unaware of my head space anyway.
Where it becomes tricky is in bed. Each one of my 'spaces' has its own individual wants and needs. I usually don't dictate where my head will go, I prefer to have my partner do that. I am much more aroused knowing I am somewhere she wants me to be as opposed to taking her somewhere I want to be. I am insatiable in the bedroom and want her to at least be able to enjoy where she is at since she is going to be there a while (think energizer bunny).
When we are 'finished' having sex, it is no secret that I am still ready to go. This has never been more prevalent than with my wife. Because she knows 'all of me', and can interact with each persona and compliment them, I find that she also has the ability to sexually arouse them all. And when they are all aroused, but not all are participating in the activity, someone is going to be left unsatisfied. Its not a bad thing, and I have no complaints, its just the reality. Partners in the past were not so tapped into my psyche so I didn't necessarily have a desire to be with them from every place within me.
Most intimate evenings end up with me masturbating the poor soul that got left untouched. It is virtually impossible not to have a piece of me left standing since they are all so different and not so easily switched in a passionate moment. I have found certain positions that allow me to 'take care of' multiple head spaces at the same time, and its fantastic. Its like receiving two or three times the stimulation you otherwise would in that moment.
I like my identity disturbances. I am thankful for the opportunities being true to how I feel and who I feel like affords me. I am undeniably grateful for having a partner that understands, appreciates and complements them all. I enjoy the satisfaction I am able to achieve in my life now without having to leave pieces of me waiting in the wing.
Its no big news that I float around this earth using multiple personalities to get me through the day. I enjoy switching when it suits me, and appreciate that my head does it naturally when I need a safety net. During the day it doesn't usually present too many challenges since most people are unaware of my head space anyway.
Where it becomes tricky is in bed. Each one of my 'spaces' has its own individual wants and needs. I usually don't dictate where my head will go, I prefer to have my partner do that. I am much more aroused knowing I am somewhere she wants me to be as opposed to taking her somewhere I want to be. I am insatiable in the bedroom and want her to at least be able to enjoy where she is at since she is going to be there a while (think energizer bunny).
When we are 'finished' having sex, it is no secret that I am still ready to go. This has never been more prevalent than with my wife. Because she knows 'all of me', and can interact with each persona and compliment them, I find that she also has the ability to sexually arouse them all. And when they are all aroused, but not all are participating in the activity, someone is going to be left unsatisfied. Its not a bad thing, and I have no complaints, its just the reality. Partners in the past were not so tapped into my psyche so I didn't necessarily have a desire to be with them from every place within me.
Most intimate evenings end up with me masturbating the poor soul that got left untouched. It is virtually impossible not to have a piece of me left standing since they are all so different and not so easily switched in a passionate moment. I have found certain positions that allow me to 'take care of' multiple head spaces at the same time, and its fantastic. Its like receiving two or three times the stimulation you otherwise would in that moment.
I like my identity disturbances. I am thankful for the opportunities being true to how I feel and who I feel like affords me. I am undeniably grateful for having a partner that understands, appreciates and complements them all. I enjoy the satisfaction I am able to achieve in my life now without having to leave pieces of me waiting in the wing.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Locker Room
Today was the first time I have ever had any type of trans gender situation occur at work. While doing my mundane paperwork I noticed a note attached to someone's account regarding their child being transgendered. After working here almost five years I am well aware of the fact that no one here has any experience with or even knows transgendered people, so I looked into it further.
The child (which turned out to be 22), is named Paul. However from the notes on the account, I kept seeing Paul referred to as 'she'. It got me to wondering what gender Paul was. Was his gender male now? Or was it his birth gender and his name not changed yet? Either way, I needed to make sure that Paul was treated like any other person of his or her gender. And from the rest of the note, I knew that was already in jeopardy. "I showed her (the mom) the handicap locker room and said Paul could change there". (it only accommodates one person or small family at a time)
I immediately made a phone call. Thank goodness Paul hadn't been here yet and had never been subject to that ignorance. And that is all it was. There was no maliciousness in the comment. Just plain ignorance.
I made the call and found out the Paul was an FTM. I stated that Paul is a man and should have all the same rights and availabilities as every other man that walks through that door. I was pleased that our staff asked a lot of questions. I was even more pleased that I knew the answers. The common misconception was over 'where he was in the transition'. After explaining the difference between gender and sex assignment and the rights that Paul should be afforded, all was how it should be. And all without Paul having to deal with the stigma and embarrassment associated when confrontation with ignorant people occur.
In all fairness, you can hardly expect everyone to be knowledgeable about things they have never had exposure to. But sometimes I think common sense is stalled when staring into the face of the unfamiliar. Exposure, as scary as it may be for those exposed, truly does open doors to acceptance.
The child (which turned out to be 22), is named Paul. However from the notes on the account, I kept seeing Paul referred to as 'she'. It got me to wondering what gender Paul was. Was his gender male now? Or was it his birth gender and his name not changed yet? Either way, I needed to make sure that Paul was treated like any other person of his or her gender. And from the rest of the note, I knew that was already in jeopardy. "I showed her (the mom) the handicap locker room and said Paul could change there". (it only accommodates one person or small family at a time)
I immediately made a phone call. Thank goodness Paul hadn't been here yet and had never been subject to that ignorance. And that is all it was. There was no maliciousness in the comment. Just plain ignorance.
I made the call and found out the Paul was an FTM. I stated that Paul is a man and should have all the same rights and availabilities as every other man that walks through that door. I was pleased that our staff asked a lot of questions. I was even more pleased that I knew the answers. The common misconception was over 'where he was in the transition'. After explaining the difference between gender and sex assignment and the rights that Paul should be afforded, all was how it should be. And all without Paul having to deal with the stigma and embarrassment associated when confrontation with ignorant people occur.
In all fairness, you can hardly expect everyone to be knowledgeable about things they have never had exposure to. But sometimes I think common sense is stalled when staring into the face of the unfamiliar. Exposure, as scary as it may be for those exposed, truly does open doors to acceptance.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Reality Show
You will never see me on a reality show. Not because I don't agree with the idea of reality, but because my reality doesn't fit.
My wife and I jokingly question each other on why they don't make a reality show about us. Two middle aged lesbians that work forty hour a week jobs, parent children and do household chores. You wont see us, because its boring. Everyone does that. Well maybe not the lesbian part, but that in itself doesn't seem too appealing to anyone else but another lesbian. That decreases my viewer potential drastically. However, if I looked like the 'lesbians' in porn films or music videos I might stand a chance.
That's my point. People are only interested in things they can relate to, even if they don't realize they can relate. Most reality shows can be traced back to just a few common themes; match making, fitness, power struggle, or medical anomalies. They sugar coat the theme with something that appears to be a human interest story and call it by a different name than the one before. Toss in your 'token' whatever in each show and voila! We watch the same show again and again. Different people, same stories. Hardly a representation of reality.
Reality is not just a couple of topics revisited different ways. Reality is a million people living a million topics every day. So why do we not embrace that? Because my reality is so far removed from yours the risk of your disinterest is too high to chance. This is where we fail as whole. If we don't understand it, we don't seek to learn, we ignore it. If it makes us uncomfortable, we look the other way and focus on something we know. If it doesn't 'fit' into a familiar category we pretend it doesn't exist, or worse yet, make a decision to hate it.
I know I am interesting. I am complex and full of stories. I am engaging and willing to share. I am not just the middle aged lesbian living the typical life. I am a fighter, and a survivor and someone that still battles both physical and mental challenges on a daily basis. I have life experiences people cant even fathom. There are things that can be learned from me. However, I am different. I don't fit the reality mold. I am unfamiliar and uncomfortable to some. And because of this I have tucked myself out of most people's sights. Sharing only what people ask for.
My life will never be a reality show. People will never learn that my diversities are not threatening. That they can embrace people they don't understand. That if they just sat back and 'watched' they would find commonalities and relate. They might just find they have more patience and love than they thought.
My wife and I jokingly question each other on why they don't make a reality show about us. Two middle aged lesbians that work forty hour a week jobs, parent children and do household chores. You wont see us, because its boring. Everyone does that. Well maybe not the lesbian part, but that in itself doesn't seem too appealing to anyone else but another lesbian. That decreases my viewer potential drastically. However, if I looked like the 'lesbians' in porn films or music videos I might stand a chance.
That's my point. People are only interested in things they can relate to, even if they don't realize they can relate. Most reality shows can be traced back to just a few common themes; match making, fitness, power struggle, or medical anomalies. They sugar coat the theme with something that appears to be a human interest story and call it by a different name than the one before. Toss in your 'token' whatever in each show and voila! We watch the same show again and again. Different people, same stories. Hardly a representation of reality.
Reality is not just a couple of topics revisited different ways. Reality is a million people living a million topics every day. So why do we not embrace that? Because my reality is so far removed from yours the risk of your disinterest is too high to chance. This is where we fail as whole. If we don't understand it, we don't seek to learn, we ignore it. If it makes us uncomfortable, we look the other way and focus on something we know. If it doesn't 'fit' into a familiar category we pretend it doesn't exist, or worse yet, make a decision to hate it.
I know I am interesting. I am complex and full of stories. I am engaging and willing to share. I am not just the middle aged lesbian living the typical life. I am a fighter, and a survivor and someone that still battles both physical and mental challenges on a daily basis. I have life experiences people cant even fathom. There are things that can be learned from me. However, I am different. I don't fit the reality mold. I am unfamiliar and uncomfortable to some. And because of this I have tucked myself out of most people's sights. Sharing only what people ask for.
My life will never be a reality show. People will never learn that my diversities are not threatening. That they can embrace people they don't understand. That if they just sat back and 'watched' they would find commonalities and relate. They might just find they have more patience and love than they thought.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh
I realized today that when I am alone and able to think I do not ponder or reflect, I hold conversations in my head with myself and/or other people. If my quiet time is in the morning, I play out conversations that I assume will take place during the day. If my quiet time is driving home, I play out conversations I will be having while cooking, having dinner and prior to bed. When I brush my teeth I am practicing the lines I will use in bed or the ones I will try to deflect. If I don't think I will need to hold any particular conversation I usually spend the time arguing in my head with myself.
I came to the realization that I rehearse what I think the day will hold for me. If you know anyone with OCD, you can attest to the fact that any variation in a plan is never a good thing. For me personally, it frustrates and aggravates me unbelievably if anyone other than me changes the 'plans'. I suppose my quiet conversations with myself is me planning. Planning things that most likely will never play out exactly. I know I do it so I think I will never be unprepared in a social situation, but in reality I am just setting myself for the stress and frustration of having things go terribly different than my made up version of the day.
This morning I was holding a conversation with my wife, and although she was in the room, she had no idea we were conversing. It make me chuckle and wonder why I wasn't just talking out loud to her. The only answer I could come up with was that I was responding to a conversation that she started, but really never did. I thought about all the times when people say "whatcha thinkin?", and you respond "nothin". What fun it would be to actually let loose and start spewing the entire conversation to someone. "well you see, I just said, and she said, then I said, then you said".
The purpose of bringing this up really had nothing to do with my sanity or lack thereof. I just felt enlightened, and a tad distressed, at the fact that I bring on so much undo stress to myself. I imagine most people do in some form or another. I don't know what course I will take therapeutically to cease my silent destructive behavior. I suppose finding an answer to why I rehearse my life in the first place would be a good start.
So if ever I am eerily quiet, please just say "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".
I came to the realization that I rehearse what I think the day will hold for me. If you know anyone with OCD, you can attest to the fact that any variation in a plan is never a good thing. For me personally, it frustrates and aggravates me unbelievably if anyone other than me changes the 'plans'. I suppose my quiet conversations with myself is me planning. Planning things that most likely will never play out exactly. I know I do it so I think I will never be unprepared in a social situation, but in reality I am just setting myself for the stress and frustration of having things go terribly different than my made up version of the day.
This morning I was holding a conversation with my wife, and although she was in the room, she had no idea we were conversing. It make me chuckle and wonder why I wasn't just talking out loud to her. The only answer I could come up with was that I was responding to a conversation that she started, but really never did. I thought about all the times when people say "whatcha thinkin?", and you respond "nothin". What fun it would be to actually let loose and start spewing the entire conversation to someone. "well you see, I just said, and she said, then I said, then you said".
The purpose of bringing this up really had nothing to do with my sanity or lack thereof. I just felt enlightened, and a tad distressed, at the fact that I bring on so much undo stress to myself. I imagine most people do in some form or another. I don't know what course I will take therapeutically to cease my silent destructive behavior. I suppose finding an answer to why I rehearse my life in the first place would be a good start.
So if ever I am eerily quiet, please just say "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Reassurance
I know there are times when you don't think I notice you. Don't think I feel you. Don't think it matters that you are there. I know there are times when I appear preoccupied, disinterested, or removed. You tell me "I am getting used to your back" while lying in bed. You assume I don't know what you mean. But I do.
Some days, some weeks, I simply am not physically well. You are not slighted, I am just trying to get through the day. I don't want to complain, so I say nothing. My mind does not want you any less, my body just cant keep up with it.
But what makes us different, and you inherently better than I, is your ability to still reach out, even when feeling slighted. I feel your hand on my hip. I focus on it. You having no idea how much that moment says and means. My back toward you, I can still 'see' you. I listen to your breathing, as it gets deeper. I feel your hand slowly relax and find its final resting place. I know you are asleep.
Your touch my reassurance. These words, yours.
Some days, some weeks, I simply am not physically well. You are not slighted, I am just trying to get through the day. I don't want to complain, so I say nothing. My mind does not want you any less, my body just cant keep up with it.
But what makes us different, and you inherently better than I, is your ability to still reach out, even when feeling slighted. I feel your hand on my hip. I focus on it. You having no idea how much that moment says and means. My back toward you, I can still 'see' you. I listen to your breathing, as it gets deeper. I feel your hand slowly relax and find its final resting place. I know you are asleep.
Your touch my reassurance. These words, yours.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Strap on Strap off
I was thinking about how proficient I am with my cock(s). To me they are an extension of who I am, not something I attach to my body. I don't always use one, but when I do, its because I NEED to use it.
I have owned a variety of shapes and sizes, harnessed and not. I have worn soft ones when I felt the need to 'pack' and dabbled in creating them out of silicone myself. I have even incorporated catheters into them, so peeing could be optimized.
For me, owning, wearing or using a cock does not change my gender. It simply enhances the twisted parts of the fluid gender I already have. I don't use it for control, I don't use it to humiliate I use to to express parts of me that I cannot otherwise do.
I can look back on the past 25 or so years and recognize that my cock needs have changed as much as I have. (I would have said grown, but hell, they are pretty big already!) The first one came with a harness, it lived the majority of its life in a drawer, still in the box. My desire to use it was over shadowed by my fear of looking stupid. I short changed myself, as I often do. However, over the course of the years as others desired my cock as much as I did, the extension of me became that much easier.
My collection has been pretty extensive. Each one almost tailored to whom it was intended. Short and fat, long and thin, black or white. I have owned soft ones, hard ones, strap ons, strap offs, vibrating and not. Having the ability to purchase the perfect fit is pretty nice. Had I been born with one, I imagine my cock would have been less desired many times. Vibrators and cocks made of plastic and glass, or colored rainbow, just don't do it for me. I want a cock that is just that. One that can be sucked off, sat on, and handled naturally.
I like to fuck. Literally. Its not a need to shove things up someone's vagina, its a need to physically fuck. To me its not always a gender thing, as I have fucked many women that did not relate to my masculine side at all. Having a cock on does not change my gender, it just enhances all of the genders I already am.
Sometimes I wonder if my genetic makeup truly consists of both genders. I cant help but be amazed at my own reactions to how my cock makes me feel. Is it possible that I have just created the 'knowledge' of what it feels like to fuck or have my cock sucked? Or are those 'feelings' a predisposition in my genetics and I am just lacking the physical attributes that go with them?
I have owned a variety of shapes and sizes, harnessed and not. I have worn soft ones when I felt the need to 'pack' and dabbled in creating them out of silicone myself. I have even incorporated catheters into them, so peeing could be optimized.
For me, owning, wearing or using a cock does not change my gender. It simply enhances the twisted parts of the fluid gender I already have. I don't use it for control, I don't use it to humiliate I use to to express parts of me that I cannot otherwise do.
I can look back on the past 25 or so years and recognize that my cock needs have changed as much as I have. (I would have said grown, but hell, they are pretty big already!) The first one came with a harness, it lived the majority of its life in a drawer, still in the box. My desire to use it was over shadowed by my fear of looking stupid. I short changed myself, as I often do. However, over the course of the years as others desired my cock as much as I did, the extension of me became that much easier.
My collection has been pretty extensive. Each one almost tailored to whom it was intended. Short and fat, long and thin, black or white. I have owned soft ones, hard ones, strap ons, strap offs, vibrating and not. Having the ability to purchase the perfect fit is pretty nice. Had I been born with one, I imagine my cock would have been less desired many times. Vibrators and cocks made of plastic and glass, or colored rainbow, just don't do it for me. I want a cock that is just that. One that can be sucked off, sat on, and handled naturally.
I like to fuck. Literally. Its not a need to shove things up someone's vagina, its a need to physically fuck. To me its not always a gender thing, as I have fucked many women that did not relate to my masculine side at all. Having a cock on does not change my gender, it just enhances all of the genders I already am.
Sometimes I wonder if my genetic makeup truly consists of both genders. I cant help but be amazed at my own reactions to how my cock makes me feel. Is it possible that I have just created the 'knowledge' of what it feels like to fuck or have my cock sucked? Or are those 'feelings' a predisposition in my genetics and I am just lacking the physical attributes that go with them?
Friday, July 9, 2010
Is it Vanity?
Vanity. A word that seems to make us all cringe a bit. It's defined as excessive belief in ones own abilities or attractiveness to others. We all know someone we would call vain. The person who always dresses to the nines, not because they have the class to, but because they have a need to look better than everyone else, and let you know they do. Someone who never leaves the house without makeup or their hair done just right. Someone who can't walk past a reflective surface without staring, fixing, and appreciating. Vanity sometimes makes beautiful people very ugly.
We have become accustomed to recognize superficial shallow people. Vain people. We think we are able to pick them out of the crowd and have no problem making a snide remark or subtle sound of disgust. But are we right in our assumptions? Are perceived vain people truly holding themselves above everyone else? Are they really that into themselves? I suppose the answer to that is yes, but probably a lot less than most presume.
I don't want to discuss the reasons why we are disgusted with those people, thats a topic in itself. The old green eyed monster comes to mind. I am more interested in who these people are. The people we call vain. And why they have such an air of greater than thou. If they are anything like me, they are overcompensating for a life time of body image issues, eating disorders, a traumatic childhood, and lack of self esteem.
I dont ever leave the house unkempt. My clothes are ironed every morning, my hair is where it needs to be, my makeup is always done. This does not make me vain, this makes me extremely distressed. I have not left my house any other way since the age of 13. That's almost 30 years of torturing myself. I was brought up to be perfect. Obviously that was impossible. However when you are told again and again that your lack of perfection reflects poorly on those around you, you cannot help but try all you can to come as close as possible.
I am well aware of where my issues derive from. I can rationalize most everything that plagues me. However I have never been able to get past what it has done to my self worth. And no matter how hard I try to look 'right' I never have.
So yes, I am the one looking into every mirror I pass. Not because I think I look good, because I keep hoping to see something other than what I have loathed all these years.
We have become accustomed to recognize superficial shallow people. Vain people. We think we are able to pick them out of the crowd and have no problem making a snide remark or subtle sound of disgust. But are we right in our assumptions? Are perceived vain people truly holding themselves above everyone else? Are they really that into themselves? I suppose the answer to that is yes, but probably a lot less than most presume.
I don't want to discuss the reasons why we are disgusted with those people, thats a topic in itself. The old green eyed monster comes to mind. I am more interested in who these people are. The people we call vain. And why they have such an air of greater than thou. If they are anything like me, they are overcompensating for a life time of body image issues, eating disorders, a traumatic childhood, and lack of self esteem.
I dont ever leave the house unkempt. My clothes are ironed every morning, my hair is where it needs to be, my makeup is always done. This does not make me vain, this makes me extremely distressed. I have not left my house any other way since the age of 13. That's almost 30 years of torturing myself. I was brought up to be perfect. Obviously that was impossible. However when you are told again and again that your lack of perfection reflects poorly on those around you, you cannot help but try all you can to come as close as possible.
I am well aware of where my issues derive from. I can rationalize most everything that plagues me. However I have never been able to get past what it has done to my self worth. And no matter how hard I try to look 'right' I never have.
So yes, I am the one looking into every mirror I pass. Not because I think I look good, because I keep hoping to see something other than what I have loathed all these years.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Addicted to addiction
I haven't written much about addiction here. As a matter of fact only one entry actually made it into the addiction category. I suppose once you say "I am an addict" out loud, you pretty much have said enough for people to make their judgment and move on. Some will pity the addict, others chastise them. Most will have words of wisdom and a few will not care either way. When people who have never been addicted realize you are an addict, even a long time recovering one, they attach a stigma to you that immediately puts you beneath them both on the moral and social ladder. Or so they presume.
I have been an addict since high school. I don't embrace that realization, but I dont deny it. Now that I am many years into recovery, its a little easier to talk about it with people. I even find myself making light of the drug induced behaviors and situations I lived through. I truly don't find humor in them, however sometimes laughing at yourself is easier than beating yourself up.
I harbor a lot of guilt from those years. I don't need others judgments, I have given myself enough of my own. Aside from the horrible things that could have happened and all the things that could have gone wrong, I live with the realization that I could have been so much better. I could have done so much better. I could have offered so much more.
I spent a lot of my days purposely putting myself in dangerous situtations. I copped drugs in the meanest, baddest, scariest places the New York City area has to offer. I have had guns pulled on me, attempted car jackings occur, and friends severly beaten and raped while I waited for them outside of buildings. I visited dealers with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drugs laying on a table, gunmen and dogs guarding the doors, and shots and sirens wailing outside.
Everyone knew I liked to party, no one knew how serious of an addiction it was. My addiction to the addiction was a million times worse. My natural compulsive behavior got me hooked and my obsessiveness kept me there. I was so addicted to the act of buying the drugs. I was drawn to the danger and the euphoria that copping in an environment like that and surviving gave me. I had delusions of being untouchable and desired as a 'regular'. I refused to think that my drug addiction meant nothing to those I bought from or those I gave to other than their own selfish satisfaction.
There were times during my addiction that I was not 'active' in the addiction. I spent a couple of years not doing drugs at all. During these times there were other things going on that fulfilled whatever the drug scene did previously. I was always very aware of this and perhaps used it to lessen the need to acknowledge I was an addict. If I could stop I was not addicted. If I only used to fill a void, I may have been unstable, but not addicted. And maybe I was right. Maybe I was not addicted to drugs at all.
Just because I ingested drugs does not mean I was addicted to what it did to my body any more than over eaters are addicted to their weight.
I have been an addict since high school. I don't embrace that realization, but I dont deny it. Now that I am many years into recovery, its a little easier to talk about it with people. I even find myself making light of the drug induced behaviors and situations I lived through. I truly don't find humor in them, however sometimes laughing at yourself is easier than beating yourself up.
I harbor a lot of guilt from those years. I don't need others judgments, I have given myself enough of my own. Aside from the horrible things that could have happened and all the things that could have gone wrong, I live with the realization that I could have been so much better. I could have done so much better. I could have offered so much more.
I spent a lot of my days purposely putting myself in dangerous situtations. I copped drugs in the meanest, baddest, scariest places the New York City area has to offer. I have had guns pulled on me, attempted car jackings occur, and friends severly beaten and raped while I waited for them outside of buildings. I visited dealers with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of drugs laying on a table, gunmen and dogs guarding the doors, and shots and sirens wailing outside.
Everyone knew I liked to party, no one knew how serious of an addiction it was. My addiction to the addiction was a million times worse. My natural compulsive behavior got me hooked and my obsessiveness kept me there. I was so addicted to the act of buying the drugs. I was drawn to the danger and the euphoria that copping in an environment like that and surviving gave me. I had delusions of being untouchable and desired as a 'regular'. I refused to think that my drug addiction meant nothing to those I bought from or those I gave to other than their own selfish satisfaction.
There were times during my addiction that I was not 'active' in the addiction. I spent a couple of years not doing drugs at all. During these times there were other things going on that fulfilled whatever the drug scene did previously. I was always very aware of this and perhaps used it to lessen the need to acknowledge I was an addict. If I could stop I was not addicted. If I only used to fill a void, I may have been unstable, but not addicted. And maybe I was right. Maybe I was not addicted to drugs at all.
Just because I ingested drugs does not mean I was addicted to what it did to my body any more than over eaters are addicted to their weight.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Man or Male
I am gender fluid. To me that means I have the ability to shift from one gender to another effortlessly and without resistance. There are times when I consciously do this and other times when it just seems to happen. Certainly my environment and situation have great influence, as do others personalities and auroras.
I do not feel transgendered, as I do associate with my biological sex. I was born female, I have many female traits. I sometimes only feel comfortable in that female space. Again, it really depends on the circumstances. I have no desire to change my sex or to live as the opposite sex. I am 100% supportive of those that do, its just not who I am.
I embrace my male qualities. I like the traits I carry when my testosterone seems to be winning the shift. I feel powerful, strong, confident. I feel protective. I feel untouchable by things that upset the female emotional apple cart. However, at no time am I a man.
There is a big difference between male and man. I honestly don't believe one equals the other. Man is a gender, not a persona. Male is a 'feeling', a way of being. I can be very 'male' in feeling while still being very female in gender. This seems especially true in my dominant and sadistic states. I am very female in that space. I want to look desirable, and dare I say sexy. I want people's heads to turn. Not because my appearance looks confused like usual, but because I look intriguing and exude dominance and sex. The irony is my male 'feelings' run very high in these moments.
I have come to the conclusion that feeling male, for me, has absolutely nothing to do with my appearance. Granted I feel comfortable dressing genderless or even to the 'boy' side, but the male in me seems to come out as strong when I am wearing a leather corset as it does when I am working on the car. For me, its all about the use of testosterone, not my genitals.
I do not feel transgendered, as I do associate with my biological sex. I was born female, I have many female traits. I sometimes only feel comfortable in that female space. Again, it really depends on the circumstances. I have no desire to change my sex or to live as the opposite sex. I am 100% supportive of those that do, its just not who I am.
I embrace my male qualities. I like the traits I carry when my testosterone seems to be winning the shift. I feel powerful, strong, confident. I feel protective. I feel untouchable by things that upset the female emotional apple cart. However, at no time am I a man.
There is a big difference between male and man. I honestly don't believe one equals the other. Man is a gender, not a persona. Male is a 'feeling', a way of being. I can be very 'male' in feeling while still being very female in gender. This seems especially true in my dominant and sadistic states. I am very female in that space. I want to look desirable, and dare I say sexy. I want people's heads to turn. Not because my appearance looks confused like usual, but because I look intriguing and exude dominance and sex. The irony is my male 'feelings' run very high in these moments.
I have come to the conclusion that feeling male, for me, has absolutely nothing to do with my appearance. Granted I feel comfortable dressing genderless or even to the 'boy' side, but the male in me seems to come out as strong when I am wearing a leather corset as it does when I am working on the car. For me, its all about the use of testosterone, not my genitals.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Home
I have an uncanny ability to take words and make them mean whatever I need them to mean in the moment. The same goes for music. I can think so abstractly that any song can be transformed into words relating to me some how or another. I have experienced a lot in my life. You would be hard pressed to find a song that I couldn't relate to somehow.
When I hear a song, and truly listen to it, I will either 'feel' it or not. If I feel it, it goes on my Ipod. I have days and days of music on my Ipod. Everything from opera to heavy metal and everything in between. My music tastes are as complex and diverse as I am.
I like a lot of music but particular songs speak to me. They evoke emotion, sometimes overwhelming. They bring memories to the surface quite easily. Unfortunately, many of the memories are deep rooted and sad.
I have a lot of songs that make me think of my current relationship. Phrases that typically come up in these songs have to do with feelings of comfort, peacefulness, or being 'at home'. At home. Not exactly a place I associate with love and feeling good.
Home for me was a place of isolation and loneliness. It was a place of maturing too soon. It was a place of abandonment and unsafe love. Home was where you never lived up to people's expectations, where diversity was shunned upon and where perfection was all that mattered. Home was always being ridiculed and put down. A place where your imperfections were brought to attention over and over again. Home was a place of physical dominance and mental torture. Escaping home was where the comfort was.
So when I hear phrases, like "feels like home", "I'm coming home", "reminds me of a place called home", I have to blank out that moment in the song. At no point does my relationship feel like home ever did. And thats what's sad. I don't have a cozy feeling when I say home. I cannot relate to those that do.
So I as drove many hours this past week with my Ipod playing, I realized that home doesn't have to be where you grew up as a child. That home is really where you are safe, warm and loved.
"I am already home"
When I hear a song, and truly listen to it, I will either 'feel' it or not. If I feel it, it goes on my Ipod. I have days and days of music on my Ipod. Everything from opera to heavy metal and everything in between. My music tastes are as complex and diverse as I am.
I like a lot of music but particular songs speak to me. They evoke emotion, sometimes overwhelming. They bring memories to the surface quite easily. Unfortunately, many of the memories are deep rooted and sad.
I have a lot of songs that make me think of my current relationship. Phrases that typically come up in these songs have to do with feelings of comfort, peacefulness, or being 'at home'. At home. Not exactly a place I associate with love and feeling good.
Home for me was a place of isolation and loneliness. It was a place of maturing too soon. It was a place of abandonment and unsafe love. Home was where you never lived up to people's expectations, where diversity was shunned upon and where perfection was all that mattered. Home was always being ridiculed and put down. A place where your imperfections were brought to attention over and over again. Home was a place of physical dominance and mental torture. Escaping home was where the comfort was.
So when I hear phrases, like "feels like home", "I'm coming home", "reminds me of a place called home", I have to blank out that moment in the song. At no point does my relationship feel like home ever did. And thats what's sad. I don't have a cozy feeling when I say home. I cannot relate to those that do.
So I as drove many hours this past week with my Ipod playing, I realized that home doesn't have to be where you grew up as a child. That home is really where you are safe, warm and loved.
"I am already home"
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Things I learned on Vacation
Tourists make a town pretentious, not the locals
For the price of one bowl of ziti, I can feed my entire family
There truly is a Walmart in every town
A paid vacation is never really paid for
70 degrees is NOT warm ocean water
I will always look gross in a photo
My patience for other people's children has diminished with age
Complementary breakfast will always give you heartburn
Not everyone cleans up after their dog on sidewalks
If you say it's a tourist town you can charge three times as much
Some dresses should be classified as shirts and accompany pants
Boots with shorts look ridiculous, especially on the beach
If you try to sneak a kiss on a boat ride in the dark, they WILL turn on the light
You are obligated to tip everyone for doing their job
Stalactites take 100 years to grow 1 inch (useless information)
If you choose the room with two beds your odds of getting a good mattress increases
New York State cigarettes are $10 a pack!
Sleeping on your young adult child's pull out couch is strange
Toy boxes draped with material make great coffee tables
Cars should have cruise steering
The drive home is always the longest
There is no place like home
For the price of one bowl of ziti, I can feed my entire family
There truly is a Walmart in every town
A paid vacation is never really paid for
70 degrees is NOT warm ocean water
I will always look gross in a photo
My patience for other people's children has diminished with age
Complementary breakfast will always give you heartburn
Not everyone cleans up after their dog on sidewalks
If you say it's a tourist town you can charge three times as much
Some dresses should be classified as shirts and accompany pants
Boots with shorts look ridiculous, especially on the beach
If you try to sneak a kiss on a boat ride in the dark, they WILL turn on the light
You are obligated to tip everyone for doing their job
Stalactites take 100 years to grow 1 inch (useless information)
If you choose the room with two beds your odds of getting a good mattress increases
New York State cigarettes are $10 a pack!
Sleeping on your young adult child's pull out couch is strange
Toy boxes draped with material make great coffee tables
Cars should have cruise steering
The drive home is always the longest
There is no place like home
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Tide
Yesterday I was walking in the ocean. The chilly temperatures kept me from getting any further than up to my thighs. I realized how much I love the raw power and unpredictability of the ocean, but how much I absolutely hate the beach. The beach is full of people. That in itself is an issue for me. As much of a social butterfly as I appear to be, I don't like people. I am fearful of them and their judgments. Since the weather was cool, the beach was scarce and I was pleased.
As I stood in the water, I watched the ocean. Each time I thought I knew what it was going to do, it simply didn't. I tried to square myself up where the small waves would break, however that was ever changing. I spent a considerable amount of time 'feeling' the ocean. Since I was only up to my thighs I was able to feel the pull of the water as it receded back into the vast ocean. I like that feeling. That push and pull.
As I was walking back toward the beach with numb thighs, I couldn't help but see an inspiration for writing in the moment. As I approached the beach, the water, behind me, passed me. Each step I took was matched with the ocean filling in the space I was trying to emerge from. As I took a step toward shallower water, it seemed the water came in and kept me in its depths. The beach looked so close, but ended up feeling so far away. I felt as though I was covering very little ground.
I began to relate to the water. I found a connection with it. The tide, so very much like me. A constant battle to achieve something, only to be sucked back to where you came from. The walk, so familiar. Trying to get somewhere only to have the same things fill your space. Distance defying logic. Changing a little differently each time I take a step.
I don't know what my goal is, perhaps it is the same as the ocean. Just keep trying. Trying to get to somewhere you weren't one small wave ago.
As I stood in the water, I watched the ocean. Each time I thought I knew what it was going to do, it simply didn't. I tried to square myself up where the small waves would break, however that was ever changing. I spent a considerable amount of time 'feeling' the ocean. Since I was only up to my thighs I was able to feel the pull of the water as it receded back into the vast ocean. I like that feeling. That push and pull.
As I was walking back toward the beach with numb thighs, I couldn't help but see an inspiration for writing in the moment. As I approached the beach, the water, behind me, passed me. Each step I took was matched with the ocean filling in the space I was trying to emerge from. As I took a step toward shallower water, it seemed the water came in and kept me in its depths. The beach looked so close, but ended up feeling so far away. I felt as though I was covering very little ground.
I began to relate to the water. I found a connection with it. The tide, so very much like me. A constant battle to achieve something, only to be sucked back to where you came from. The walk, so familiar. Trying to get somewhere only to have the same things fill your space. Distance defying logic. Changing a little differently each time I take a step.
I don't know what my goal is, perhaps it is the same as the ocean. Just keep trying. Trying to get to somewhere you weren't one small wave ago.
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