Dominant Force

There was a time in my life that I obsessed about everything, mostly girls and women. As much as I adored certain women, reality told me that I was not what they wanted. I had a particular fascination for straight girls. I liked the challenge, and more probable, the safety. I could love them as deeply as I wanted without them ever knowing. My every breath could revolve around them but would never be taken for granted.

I have been involved in the sadomasochism circle for my entire adult life. My natural tendacy is to be dominant in those relationships and I have always felt secure in that role. When I look back on my past I clearly make the connection between experiences then and my roles now. However I wonder sometimes, how much is who I am and how much is trying not to be something that I was.

When I think back on the days of my obsessions, mostly before adulthood, I only remember craving everything that had to do with the women of interest. I recall constructing shrines next to my bed that housed items touched by them; clothes, jewelry, cigarette butts. I would have given anything in my power for their attention. Willingly I would have submitted to whatever whim they had. I wanted to submit. All I wanted to do was please them.

As I cycled through my first few female relationships, my thought process stayed that way. I felt the need to do, all the time. A combination of poor self esteem and the baffling thought that these women might actually want to be with me, led me to assume that without complete and utter attention from me, they would go away. And many times, despite my attempts to be everything, they did anyway.

I found myself hurt emotionally a lot while learning myself. I was happy to lay myself out there but unable to protect myself. As years went by, I found myself putting more and more armor on. I would enter into relationships under the premise that I was in control, I would not do what my emotions told me I wanted to and that the relationship would not last anyway. I wasted a lot of time and energy trying to escape myself within the confines of other people. Naturally it didn't pay off and I relationship jumped as soon as the waters got the least bit hot.

When I entered the world of BDSM, I found the perfect marriage of safety and the ability to control my environment while still being who I was, honestly. I was able to give 100% of me in a way that I was comfortable and I responded to. I was able to incorporate what I thought was a twisted sick side to me with a loving relationship that I needed to have emotionally.

In retrospect I don't think I became the dominant force I am today because I could no longer take the pain of the submissive force I thought I was. I am who I am because I realized the position I hold is not one of take, it is one of give. Giving of myself in the way someone needs me. Controlling and protecting what I adore most. Its not about taking what I want, its about taking what others need me to.

Mornings

I truly hate mornings. Aside from not wanting to wake from my last dream of the night, I cant stand the way my head spins.

I start with my shower. That in itself is horrifying. I don't like what I am feeling and I don't like what I see. There is not one day that goes by where I wash my breasts and don't wish for them to become diseased and fall off. I have often thought of mutilating them to the point that removing them would be the only medical option. I throw my robe on as quickly as possible.

I choose my clothes in my mind before I fall asleep the night before. If I don't have a plan in place for the morning, my frustration levels are immense. There are no clothes in this world that fit my body the way I wish they did. What I want to wear doesn't come in my shape. Period. If I left my clothing choices until the morning, I would try on everything I owned and never be satisfied, not to mention very late. Having OCD I have to have routines in place. If I make a plan, I cannot deviate from it without a lot of stress. I have found choosing my clothes mentally before bed prevents me from being able to change my mind easily in the morning.

Some mornings I feel good as soon as I am dressed. I look in the mirror and although I am not pleased with what I see, I am not completely disgusted. As long as I stand still I don't notice my flaws as much. However, by the time I go from my bedroom to the bathroom that all seems to change. And by the time I finish doing my hair, I am utterly disgusted with myself. I look fat, my boobs are gross, my clothes don't fit who I am, and my illness has caused me to have thin uncooperative hair. I used to just focus on my eyes. They were always awesome. People everywhere would tell me. However now even my eyes look sad and unappealing. My lashes have thinned and my eyes seem dull.

By the time I leave the house I feel completely out of sorts. My mind has switched genders so many times my clothes couldn't work if they wanted to. My body, at 130 pounds feels grossly heavy and awkward to drag around. My sneakers are dirty and that is unacceptable. I look around the house at all that needs to be done. I am overwhelmed. I wish I had some energy. I wish I had something positive happening in my life right now. I wish I could just go back to my dream.

All In Relativity

The funny thing about memories is our ability to change them to suit our needs. Put two people in the same room and they will say they experienced two completely different things. Sure certain parts of the scenario will be similar, but when asked, you would get two different explanations. That's because emotion alters perception. Everything we experience is a product of relativity.

I am in the midst of writing a book. Essentially it is a memoir. In my reality it is an explanation of who I am now and I how I got there. It is chuck full of taboo topics and experiences. It is highly sexual, deviant and sometimes disturbing. It is my past, my experience, and what molded me. However to many, it will just be a book of erotica or otherwise disgusting material, depending on your own life experiences.

If you ask what happened to me when I was a child, I am likely to tell you a completely different story than my mother. We were both there in the same place at the same time. Yet somehow we see things from polar opposites. I know I was a victim, she thinks pretending it didn't happen means not having to deal with it. I wanted to talk about it, she wanted to sweep it under the carpet. I wanted to be empowered by my experiences, she wanted to make sure I didn't humiliate her. Emotion was the only difference in how we experienced things. The experiences were what they were. Undeniable. Ask her, they never happened. Ask me I will give you stories to make your head spin.

Memories are so easily twisted. We have an uncanny ability to use selective memory as a defense mechanism. We have choices in how they effect us and how we allow them to effect our relationships with people. I could have chosen to live the life of a child scorn. To fall back on that excuse for my misfortunes and bad choices. Instead I chose to own my experiences; to use them, learn from them. It taught me how not to behave, what not to do and how people want to be treated. I learned that sex was not love, and those that should love you the most sometimes dont. I also learned that everyone has become who they are by way of how they have digested their past, and that my way is not the only way. When I reflect on my memories I see that I should never have to be obligated to those that hurt me, no matter the relationship.

My experiences are mine. Even those that shared them with me cannot make the rules in what I take from them. I may not be able to alter what they take with them, but I don't have to feel guilty for not sharing the memory their way.

Riddle

I heard a riddle today. Its not a new one. And I'm sure I have heard it a few times before.

"A man and his son were in an automobile accident. The man died on the way to the hospital, but the boy was rushed into surgery. The emergency room surgeon said "I can't operate, that's my son!" How is this possible?"

I admit, at first my mind raced for the possible answers, as I am sure yours may be right now. I thought, grandfather, uncle, brother, anything that would combine male figure and family. Fortunately the answer came quickly, but not from me, from the radio host. The surgeon was his mother.

The conversation turned to the fact that in a study (and yes, I'm sure this was a completely unofficial study), all the adults that were asked this question had no correct answer. When this riddle was aired on All In The Family in the 70's most people would have been baffled, including children. However today, it was the children that had the answer. Apparently 60% of the kids that were asked this riddle came up with either the correct answer or guessed the son had two dads.

This says a lot about where we are today as a society. It shows progression, albeit small. It shows that people will naturally absorb what they are exposed to, or at least children will. Most kids dont know real gay couples, especially gay dads. But more than half of the kids quizzed, thought outside the conventional box. I couldn't be more outside of that box in reality, and still managed to be fooled into thinking inside it.

Our children are listening. They are paying attention. They have the ability to change the world. They will soon be the adults running this country. I have faith in them. If only I had faith in what we give them to work with.

The Other Box

I was talking to my 13 year old the other day about gender. She was questioning pronoun etiquette. She wanted to know if it was OK to ask someone that was obviously crossing gender lines what they preferred to be called. I told her that most people would rather be asked than called something that made their skin crawl.

The conversation then became focused on gender labels, male and female. While I don't openly discuss my gender fluidity with her, I guess I haven't hid it either. We were discussing a gender in between male and female, or one that included both. She piped in with "like you". I was taken back a bit at her observation, but responded with, "yes, like me". At that moment, from a parent's stand point, I wondered if that was an embarrassment for her. If I was giving her one more obstacle to get over. One more thing she needed to 'explain' to her friends.

We spent some time discussing what that 'other' box should say. She cited many example sentences that would make 'other' sound ridiculous or not as fair as male or female. "Other went to the store". She tried abbreviating it to 'oth'. And even in her joking manner, it was obvious even she knew that clearly there was no way to make the 'other' feel as comfortable as the male or female.

We talked for a bit about how different things would be if there truly was an additional gender. And how so many more people would fall into that category if given the opportunity. That people living with the hell of feeling they need to fit into one or the other box, sometimes don't ever find their true selves, no matter what they change on their bodies.

It wasn't a new conversation for me, but it was a eye opening conversation. I was proud that without direct conversation I had raised a kid to recognize people suffering with gender issues, and those that have found comfort in changing what they were born with. I was grateful that through no words, my kid knew that these were sensitive issues that she wanted to know about so as not to offend someone.

And most of all, I was happy that she knew me.

Someone Else's Dream

Its not news that music is seemingly vital to my existance. I gain and release a lot of emotion through music. I have a gazillion songs stored in my brain. I seem drawn to certain melodies and tones but not neceesarily genres. I listen to the lyrics and allow then to provoke me into reflection.

Yesterday I heard "living someone else's dream". I thought, "who's dream could I possibly be living?". Who would choose to grow up queer, after a nightmarish childhood, live with gender identity and mental illness issues, suffer a debilitating auto immune disorder and loathe themselves in every possible way? Who in their right mind would ever want what I have? Who would dream of this?

Then I realized. The people that don't have what I have would. People that wish they didn't go to bed alone every night. People that don't have a home. Those without a job. People that aren't driving a brand new car. Those suffering with real weight struggles, not the superficial ones I project on myself. The people who are already crippled and disabled from disease. Those that were not fortunate to have been born genetically intelligent. People with no ability to put forth their pain in words. The people that have been denied parenthood due to health, nature or law. These are what I take for granted as most people take for granted the things that they don't need to focus on, or work on so much.

We all see things in others we wish we saw in ourselves. Things that make us feel envious or even a little inadequate. However if we spend all of our time looking at what everyone else has, we will never be able to appreciate those that are looking at us.

The Suicide Door

Today's topic was going to be written from a purely selfish position. Although there are always people out there that will relate, the topic itself would have been fueled by me and how it effects me primarily. I decided that I needed to not only write for myself today, I felt obligated to write for others.

Yesterday I commented on someone's post regarding teenage suicide. The topic itself always hits home as I struggled with depression most of my life. As an adult I am more capable of finding ways to combat those feelings. I have more life experience which to draw from and more resources. Suicide kills more young people each year than traffic accidents. We spend a considerable amount of money in this country trying to keep our youth safe behind the wheel. Why don't we spend the same, or more, trying to keep our kids safe from their own sadness?

As I look back now, I can see how things unfolded in my life that created my depression. My friends knew little of it, my family chose to ignore it. I felt I had zero outlets and resources. Dysfunctional household relationships, violence, rejection, substance abuse, self esteem, sexual orientation, gender issues. Likely you know someone that has experienced at least some of the things listed above. Just living through one of those experiences can be enough to trigger an emotional imbalance.

I want to say I don't blame anyone when a suicide occurs, but actually I do. I don't believe for one minute the people that say "we never saw a sign". The signs are there. Someone doesn't become suicidal overnight. Anyone close to a young person should be able to see the signs. Even when teens are so off the wall and ever changing. The key is to 'know' these kids. Really know them. To form bonds and healthy relationships with them so you are in tune with the warning signs. Not all kids will sleep all day, cry all night, doodle dead people on their notebooks. Its not that simple. But they ALL exhibit some behavior that says "please, the door is open, come in and find me". All too often, people walk past the door or choose to ignore it.

The worst thing you can ever do for someone feeling suicidal, is to diminish those feelings. In an attempt to 'kick start' their strength, the most common response is "get over it". Many times all a person with suicidal ideations needs is validation that they are feeling bad. Trying to 'help' them ignore their feelings is the same thing as saying they don't exist. Even trying to explain why what they feel is irrational sends the same message. What that young person hears is "YOU are irrational".

I know from experience that suicide is not the first option you think of, and certainly not the end result you truly want. Its a long process of constantly being invalidated that eventually reinforces the notion that no matter what, no one is ever going to care or understand.

Its not easy to deal with young people these days. Its difficult to understand where they come from. Its distressing to see the world they live in. But one thing that has never changed are human feelings. They have them and they need to be acknowledged. It IS the responsibility of those close to them to learn these kids. To pay attention to these kids. To know when that door is open and to walk through.

Chasing Your Losses

I am not a gambler. But I am fueled by human instinct. And sometimes instinct overpowers common sense. For most people the natural response to loss is to first assess any way possible to reverse the situation. Even if we know there is no way to change the inevitable such as death of a loved one etc.

However we are geared to find the quickest way to find comfort. The path of least resistance. For most people the means trying to get back to where you were before feeling the sense of loss. Obviously we cant do this in many situations, but we do have control over that with others. We do have the ability to attempt to 'right the wrong'. We can try to make amends or forgive. We can pretend it didn't happen, or make promises that it wont again.

This is chasing a loss. Trying to make right a wrong that has adversely effected you. Spending time, money, and energy on an outcome that has already occurred. Sometimes it works. We see it 'work' in relationships all the time. We mess up, we grovel, we put it behind us. We have chased a loss, and corrected it. Or have we? Gambling. Losing money. Spending money in an attempt to recoup the loss. Sometimes it works. Most times it doesn't.

Loss is a part of life. A painful yet integral part of life. Because we are programmed to seek out comfort, most of us refuse to take loss and learn from it. To accept it for what it is. Nature tells us to lick our wounds the fastest possible way in order to 'heal' and move on. We, as a society, have discovered that going backwards is the way to do this. Run to the comfort zone. Unfortunately then you must relive those moments, albeit with variety, and most likely blinders on, to prevent the original loss from reoccurring.

So are we truly experiencing what we should be if we chase our losses? Isn't it better to live in the raw moment and experience life rather than rewinding and playing it again hoping for a different outcome?

Loss builds strength. Essential strength needed to tackle the next situation that may result in a painful moment. To not acknowledge that pain, to seek out comfort only, we deny ourselves the protection we need.

I am a who

An article I read today got me thinking. Thinking about how, even with the best of intentions, I have always come with an attachment of 'what' opposed to an explanation of 'who'.

Straight people don't carry labels that refer to their sexuality or their gender. Bob is rarely referred to as Bob the straight guy. Bob is usually linked to his job, his town or something of the like. Bob from Main Street, Bob in accounting. You get the idea. So why is it that Steve the gay guy is referred to as that? Why isn't Steve's address or job title indicative of who he is?

When people objectify others, even without a malicious intent, it immediately puts the one in reference in a position of minority in a negative way. Similar to referring to someone by skin color alone. It is unacceptable to refer to Barbara as "the black girl" so why is it OK to refer to Steve as "the gay guy"? While not OK in any circle Steve may travel, it seems acceptable as a society to describe Steve by his sexuality as if that is the majority of his makeup.

I am a lesbian. I get described as such often. Many times I think people are trying to show others that they are OK with my sexuality by saying it. It doesn't bother me in that I feel offended, however it bothers me that being a lesbian seems to be the first and foremost thing I have to offer. Its seems my ability to raise children properly, stay gainfully employed, manage a household, and stay committed in a long term relationship take a back seat to who I choose to sleep with. Add to that the knowledge that I am gender fluid and basically all normal perceptions of me as a productive part of society fall by the wayside and are completely unimportant.

If I was lucky enough to spend the majority of my life having lesbian sex and nothing else, I would hope someone would refer to me as the lesbian....you know THAT lesbian. Until then I would prefer to be referred to as who I am not what I am.