Hyperbole: one of the hallmarks of many of my psychological problems is black/white extremist thinking. I struggle for balance over months and years. I won’t get there in individual posts much.

My children continue to be my favorite people.

I think I wish my friends acted more like boy/girl friends, Noah. That’s the problem.

I’ve gotten errands and chores done today! *pat self on back*

I’m seriously struggling to not manifest that I feel like a worthless piece of shit. It’s being hard.

Noah thinks I am learning that I deserve better treatment and I’m noticing that some of his treatment of me over the years hasn’t been all that great. Maybe?

I don’t know what expecting better means.

It is incredibly hard to not check Twitter but I’ve pretty much told myself to stay off it till after the Florida trip. I need to break the habit and see if I actually get value from it.

I won’t be going to Dore Alley. Sad face. Babysitting canceled. But! I support them taking care of their health. That needs to be the priority.

Noah has already relaxed visibly from the strain of waiting to see what I’ll do next. Not much. I’ll hang around the house. I’ll do chores. I need to finish painting this damn kitchen. I’m trying to move on with remodeling fuss.

Hey time to wander off.

Today was a bit of a scream fest in joint therapy. The therapist got to the point of saying, “I’m hearing this as non-negotiable.”

I’m trying to figure out how to talk about what is non-negotiable here and historically speaking I have not been willing to talk about it at all so the fact that I’m getting to the point of being an asshole and maybe saying more than I should is complicated. Historically the problem is that I won’t say enough about this topic. When I start arguing I’m being nasty.

I don’t know how to have these boundaries.

I have not been good at saying no to sex I don’t want. I have not been good about saying, “Yes today is a good day.” I’m shit at this. Beyond picking up a new person or avoiding them… I’m utter shit at these boundaries.

It is hard to not feel like our sex problems are all my fault. If only I could communicate better then it would be easier for Noah.

I know things have improved. I know you are trying. Yeah, trying doesn’t cut it when I still sustain damage.

I don’t think Noah only has terrible sex with me where he is selfish. I really don’t. I have not tracked these things largely on purpose. I don’t want to see him that way. If I could have tracked, once upon a time, that 70% of our sex life was really crummy for me that would have been super duper hard. At this point it isn’t 10% of our sex life that is shitty. I know. I know it has improved. I know you are trying.

“But it only happened once this month and I worked so hard at getting you off the other times.”

You did. And I sound like an ungrateful bitch.

After years of not knowing what I was going to get from sex, whether it would be pleasant or painful and awful, I don’t relax for the first several minutes of intercourse. I’m tense and paranoid that it’s going to be over in under two minutes and I’m going to be left with a sticky ripped up cunt and that’s what I get.

I know you have been much better for a long time. I’m still scared. Because only happening once a month means I can’t stop being scared. Intermittent reinforcement is a much better teacher than constant reinforcement.

It isn’t fucking fair that I’m so wounded by all this. But after so much sexual assault the fact that a lot of my marriage has involved a ripped up cunt…

I’m not handling this any more. I’m just not.

It isn’t fair that this one issue is so big for me. It really isn’t. I know how hard Noah works to support me in a variety of ways. I feel like the biggest ungrateful bitch on the planet. Does it really matter so much if my crotch burns and itches? Really?

Yes. Yes it fucking does.

It does. It does. It does. If I matter at all it fucking matters that I should not have to submit to sexual contact that hurts me.

Noah keeps telling me that if it would make me feel better I could hurt him sexually. No. No that wouldn’t make me feel better at all.

I’m angry and resentful and all kinds of other feelings. I may feel some desire for revenge in a way… I definitely think I’ve been stomping my feet and screaming, “My sexuality matters TOO” in a way that has not been kind or considerate.

But what I want is more pleasure for me not more pain for Noah to get even. Even the idea of that makes me so sad.

It isn’t fair that Noah can get me off 24 times in one go round of sex and that doesn’t make up for the times when he fucks me without warm up. It isn’t fair at all. It should make up for it.

Noah has gotten way better at noticing, “Oh shit I shouldn’t have started” and he is withdrawing without completion. Which is awesome for the itching and… does nothing for the burning if I’ve already torn.

So he’s trying. He really and truly is. He has made steps towards greater consideration that are not about me stomping up and down and screaming and saying be considerate. I see that.

But it still burns. And after 32+ years and counting of my cunt burning because men want access to it…

I’m so broken.

I have no more give left. I am out of consideration and patience. I’m out of forgiveness. I need this to god damn stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

I feel like somehow there was something that changed in some substantial, structural way on the road trip. I had such an extensive break from sex I didn’t want that it changed how I felt. I wanted sex I didn’t get on the trip. The sex I had with Noah was great. When he was with us on visits we had as much sex as we could arrange and I’m not complaining about how that went.

And then I came home and it happened again.

And I fucking lost it.

And I started fucking everyone.

And Noah fucking lost it.

And here we are.

I know that part of this change has to come from me. I have to find words in the most small and scared place I have in my mind. That is excruciatingly difficult.

Know how I have a torrent of words most of the time? I did that to myself. I overcame the desire I had to be silent because no one wants to hear from a loser whore anyway. Now I have to find it in me to believe that when someone wants to have sex with me and I don’t want it I can say no in the moment and not be raped.

I don’t think there much of my subconscious that is ready to take that risk.

I don’t say no.

There is this huge problem in needing to know that the person you are married to can rape you.

Now I know.

I know.

I’m scared.

Should I be scared?

Cue hysterical shrieking laughter.

I’m a monster married to a monster. I know what I did to myself.

But he’s the nicest god damn monster I’ve ever met. I consider my life to be supersaturated with monsters so I’m actually doing some comparing and judging here. Hell, I think Noah is nicer than most “nice people” I know.

He’s something.

Noah is nicer to me than any other person on the planet. I feel like an ungrateful bitch for complaining about him. But the sex without prep has got to god damn stop.

Well it is a week. I feel drained, exhausted and weary. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I feel like a fuck up of the first order. I feel like communication is pointless, tiring, and futile. I feel like if something could be good, I will wreck it. Because I exist. I guess that means I’m not a narcissist.

Noah keeps telling me that all he wants is to be with me. I keep coming back to: but I am so selfish, petty, and small. Why?

We are lost children together. Lost children aren’t usually nice, not as a rule. Lost children are brutal, nasty, and cruel.

That has been my personal experience at least. I’m sure someone else will say no: children are sweet and wonderful.

Sure. Maybe to you.

It isn’t helping that there have been non-dating upsets in the last month too. I feel like dog shit.

My therapist was trying to be cute when she told me that marriage is about doing what your partner wants sexually for the rest of your life. I freaked her out a little bit when I started screaming and flailing THEN WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOESN’T THAT INCLUDE DOING WHAT I WANT?! WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOES BEING MARRIED MEAN I HAVE TO BE A FUCKING FLESHLIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!? She decided it was time to invite Noah to a session after all these years.

I’ve tried to communicate about this issue. I’ve had calm and reasoned discussions for years. I’ve cried. I’ve explained in great detail how much physical and emotional pain it causes me. And 10 years in I get, “Well I guess I just need to get better at foreplay.”

Burn.Everything.Down.

Recent conversations involved Noah telling me that yeah, part of my initial appeal was that I didn’t have a normal girl’s boundaries. I didn’t say no to things that other girls said no to, because I was habituated. Just yesterday I was paging through a sexual assault recovery book and one of the chapter titles was, “If It’s Painful, It Must Be Sex.” I wanted to put my head through a window.

I am so tired of having my cunt hurt. So tired. So tired. So tired. So tired. I am so tired of being a hole.

My most recent attempt to deal with this was through having sex with other people. Because if I am more regularly stimulated by a lot of people it’s easier to get me going even if the sex is kinda shitty and then it doesn’t hurt me.

But that attempt failed in a big fiery crash.

I am freaking out.

And I’m going to have a hard time with the fact that for the next few months the entire narrative around sex is going to be hurry up and get off so that your cervix is more open for sperm.

Oh. I. Feel. Sexy.

I am not just a hole. I am an incubator who has to hurry up and provide service.

I want the baby. I even like breeder fantasy shit. I’m a sick motherfucker that way.

I’m still having a very hard time. I’m having a hard time with the fact that for most of my marriage my pleasure has been an afterthought at best and often not thought of at all. I’m here to serve his pleasure.

I’m not wired to think that is hot. I feel empty. I feel like I was the child of rape created to grow up and be raped for the rest of my life and it really doesn’t matter how I feel about it.

I’m feeling incredibly sad that I’ve wanted this baby this much for this long and now it will be created under these circumstances.

Shit.

I feel like a fucking asshole because my life is pretty close to perfect. Other than the fact that I have a ton of sex I don’t want and don’t enjoy. It hurts. It hurts physically and it hurts emotionally and I don’t shake it off. Because I owe it to Noah in exchange for him doing chores and being nice to me and the kids.

It’s not like I do other things in trade. It’s not like I’ve managed his money for years. It’s not like I do his laundry or ensure that his car is maintained or clean his house or homeschool his kids. The deal is I owe sex.

And I feel like I am the stupidest whore ever created because I set my rate so low. I give up so much of myself for this. I feel like someone built a bird roost right over my soul. So that I can be shit on all day long as everyone takes flight off to do more interesting things.

I know this sounds melodramatic.

I’ve been struggling with the sex stuff for a very long time. Everything I’ve tried to fix it has failed. Because I can’t make someone else be considerate or care. That has to come from them and Noah has used up his consideration and care outside of sex.

I get what he has to give. This is what there is and he’s doing his best so say thank you and don’t be ungrateful. Don’t you know how much he has done for you? Shut up if your pussy hurts.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

It’s just a pussy. How much can it matter anyway.

I’ve spent a lot of years trying to suppress how much of a problem this has been for me. Really my whole life.

I know how to bed hop and find people who will be nicer to me. I do not know how to inspire it in someone who already has used up their nice putting up with what a fucking bitch I am.

I feel like I should figure out how to be ok hiding in a small dark place then only coming out when I feel like I can behave. And when I’m there I really need to stop smoking so much pot and typing. Because baby.

Just shut up and stop making people feel so fucking inconvenienced. You are too god damn demanding. You want too much. You want a partner who cooks for you and gets you off? Get over yourself you fucking bitch.

It’s not like you do enough to deserve that.

He does get me off sometimes. When I catch him in the right mood and I’ve born enough constant unsatisfying sex that he has some lasting power.

It’s my fault if it goes quick because I haven’t been putting out enough lately. Duh.

If I can’t get off fast enough, that’s my fault and my problem.

I know.

I feel really bad.

The trouble is this resentment builds up and it impacts all the time. It is hard to appreciate Noah’s company when I’m seething or hurting or both.

It doesn’t help my feelings of resentment or seething that I know that if I go too far out of bounds I will be scared until I stop. I am angry that I have been asking to not have someone bang the wall next to my head to silence me for ten years and it is still happening.

I know I’m a contemptible bitch. I put up with the screaming. I put up with a lot of having to agree all the time that you are right and I am wrong and I am wrong and I am wrong. I know that it is the deal.

But I’m fucking tired of the wall hitting. It is scary as shit. You are going to fucking miss and you are going to fucking hit me. The last time was what, 6″ from my head? Don’t fucking act like you have control of this, motherfucker.

You have escalated a lot in your desire to shut me the hell up.

If you need to not hear me so bad get up like a god damn adult and leave the room.

Stop scaring me into silence. You want to find out what it feels like for me to hate your fucking guts? Keep doing what you’re doing.

Yes. You win in the moment. But every battle you win that way loses you long term trust and love and affection.

I’m not saying I’m doing well in how I’m trying to figure out my side winning some of these battles. I’m being a fucking asshole. I know it.

I know I’m scorching earth I need to use to grow crops. I know I’m hurting myself. And so are you.

I don’t know what to do right now.

I’m not talking very much. I’m writing less than usual and after today I shouldn’t write anything big for days again. I’m crying a lot. Like the loser white bitch I am. Recently I was reminded how completely contemptible I am because I’m another crying white woman.

I feel like shit.

Fuck everything.

Today I see a general doctor (talk about eating problems and sleep problems), an acupuncturist (holy shit my back hurts), a high risk ob/gyn, then we drop the kids off in Oakland and go into the city to try on our fancy clothes at Dark Garden. When that is over we come home for a group date.

I leave my house at 8am. I get home around 6. The date is due to start at 7.

I got lots of sleep last night. I was in bed for eleven hours and I think I got almost eight hours of sleep. It has been a long time since I slept that much in a night. I guess my body was serious about wanting me to prepare for all this tramping I’m going to do.

I’m going to do so much. I’ve agreed to put this urge back in a box for years after this month. Because it hurts Noah. That seems fair. It is nice of him to suggest this month. Very nice of him.

I’m feeling weird about calling it Mardi Gras because that has a meaning and I feel like I’m appropriating.

I feel kind of guilty in advance. I’m going to push this month. I really am. I need to put this back in a drawer after the month? Ok. Then I’m going to be seriously slutty. This has to tide me over I don’t even know how long.

I was thinking that I would stick to the people Noah feels safe with. I would stick to mostly group play. That was what I was thinking. But I’ll resent the shit out of that long term. No. If I’m going to do this I need to do it.

Luckily I’m the kind of slut who can pull this kind of thing together.

I think I’m going to go to a swinger party alone. The number of folks in that crowd who have already hinted they’d like to play is high. Given that Noah asked that I only play with him at the first swinger party we are going to this month… I think I’ll go to a second alone.

Because I’m that kind of girl. I don’t know of that many sex parties these days. I’ve kinda been restrained for a few years here.

I am nervous and excited. Time to get dressed and do chores before breakfast and heading out for the day.

Noah is looking at me while I type. We are making eye contact. This is one of his favorite things. He likes that I keep typing while looking at him because my hands have a journey of their own to be on.

I like that Noah likes me so much. Yeah, I’ll come home at the end of the month and that’ll be ok. We’ll figure out how to make this work.

I love you so much.

Do you know why I repeat my schedule so much in writing? Because otherwise I have the bad habit of forgetting appointments and not showing up. I do this so I don’t fuck up. It helps a lot.

A lot of the reasons I’ve been such a selfish asshole lately are because of resentments. Things I do or put up with or don’t get and I resent it. I feel there could be another way, but I get what Noah is ok with me having and tough shit.

I don’t think I have a bad deal. I really don’t. But I’m still a resentful person. Not all the time. Usually I can squash it.

But sometimes it overwhelms me.

What would feel like an actual rebellion? What would feel like it was making up for the resentment? I think that’s kinda what I’ve been trying to do and it is failing.

It’s failing for so many reasons in so many ways. I’m still such a resentful piece of shit. I’m… falling more into line but I feel this simmering cauldron in my chest. Will this long term be abated by group play?

Do I still want to be married?

Yes.

Do I still want to be married to Noah?

Yes.

But I also hunger for feeling like I am something other than his.

Recently I was talking with someone who is completely opposed to being (name) & (name). Even if this person dates or has sex… they don’t do relationships and they never want other people to know about the interactions. It all has to stay secret.

That’s not me.

I’ve probably had a maximum of five years of my life where I didn’t have someone in the “person I’m crushing/loving on” position since I was five years old. So about thirty years of that now.

I’m never just me. I don’t exist that way. I’m always Krissy & _________.

Always.

As a result I’m pretty damn good at conflict resolution which is amazing given how pro-conflict I am. Anyway. I can find relationships. Keeping them is harder.

Dealing with long term resentment is hard. I resent the motherfucking shit out of the years of not getting off. I know it was mostly about me and my hormones and whatever, but I was gritting my teeth through pain so you could fuck me. For years.

I feel so much resentment. I feel owed and angry and I don’t know what.

And that is a terrible attitude to have. How is that going to get me anywhere? But I fucking feel that way. I feel so fucking mad. I don’t know what I expect him to do about it.

I want to scream and break every glass object in my house. I want to scream and scream and scream and scream that I am tired of my sex life not being about me.

Which will cause Noah to turn and say, “Hey I’ve been trying harder lately. See we’ve been keeping track on the white board and now that I have that hanging over my head you’ve had a bunch of good days so what are you complaining about?”

I know.

I feel so angry.

That was the price of my safety.

That was the price of help.

That was the price of not being ignored.

I got good god damn return on all the putting out I did. I don’t know a more attentive husband. But I’m having trouble bearing it.

I think I should schedule some pushing-my-luck dates. I really should. Only doing sanctioned stuff is going to piss me all the way off. Ok, I’m only going to do sanctioned stuff. But I’m going to do some stuff that I can only do this month that will be off the table going forward.

I’m so frustrated with trying to be good and still failing so much.

Noah is giving me a way to blow off steam. If I don’t use it and I stay mad at him… that’s shitty too.

I’m feeling… like I already used up Noah’s tolerance and I don’t get more. This coming month I’ll play a lot but almost entirely under Noah’s watchful eye. I’m feeling pissy and whiny about it but I know I earned it.

Noah says I don’t think he has an inner life and I think the problem is actually worse than that. I know he has one. I’ve been restricted by it for years. I’m pissy about it. Which really sucks of me because I am far more controlling than him.

Noah’s upset that he feels he needs to watch what I’m saying to someone. But I apparently can’t trust that boundaries are in place six years after setting them.

Complicated.

I have never continued to slip with a given person after years of reminding. I slip with other people in other ways… yes.

Complicated.

I’m not in a position to be holier than thou. But Jesus Fucking Christ if I turn around and observe the boundaries Noah is setting, sorta, for a while, then tell the person “Oh I think it’s been long enough.”

I’m not the only asshole in this relationship. I’m not ready to take all the blame for fucking up lately.

I’m not actually going to get much of a Mardi Gras “month”. I’m sticking to stuff that is well within Noah’s comfort and I’m not pushing boundaries. I’ve done enough of that for a while. I’m not off leash. I’m pretty firmly on leash in what I’m doing and I’m feeling cranky about that because the attitude is that I’m getting to do whatever I want.

No. I get to do what you are comfortable with. That’s not just because of Noah. Other people have their own boundaries too.

But I’m feeling pissy.

Everyone is going in their “safe for Noah” box and I’m just fucking cranky about it.

Which sucks of me. I’m being outrageously, disgustingly selfish here.

I know.

What an ungrateful bitch. I have quite a few dates planned. I’m bitching that they all exist in the acceptable zone.

Grow up, Krissy.

I feel so tired of being good.

Yes, sweet submissive, I’ll be taking a lot of frustration out on you. I’m sure you’ll love it.

I want to go to a party alone, do drugs, and fuck whoever walks by.

I used to go to sex parties where there were pitch black rooms. When you walk in you are basically consenting for people to attempt to initiate sex and it is up to you to go as far as you want. I always brought condoms in with me.

I want to crawl into someone’s head. During sex with strangers I like to ask personal questions about their childhoods, religion, friends, hobbies…

I don’t like boundaries.

I want to be pushed and have to say no. I want to say yes. I want to try and find out, “Whoa not for me. But thanks!”

And I really don’t see it happening. Not for a whole laundry list of reasons. Valid, good reasons that are pissing me off anyway.

I’m so fucking tired of being good. That is what it all comes down to. I don’t want to be good.

Honestly it is kinda like slapping my daughter. I did it one time. I didn’t do it hard. I did it when I felt completely out of modeling good.

That road trip was too long.

I didn’t hurt her or damage her. But I fucked up. I wasn’t good. It’s been a lot easier to be good since then. I don’t think I need to do that dance over and over with her. I think I will break in other areas. I think I found that limit within myself. Hitting her makes me feel like a steaming pile of dog shit. I don’t need that feeling again.

But sex with other people. It’s like pizza. Even when it’s not that good… it’s good. So this is not the same thing as slapping her. This is so much more potentially toxic to my whole life.

I think with my cunt.

I know there is an element of wanting to bury this in wanting a baby. But only a very small piece. Mostly I just want a tiny head nestled to my breast again so bad I ache. Attachment Parenting is giving me the mandatory reason to bond and learn how to work through conflict. I have different things to learn from each stage.

My Eldest Child is starting to pull away. Barely. She’s reaching both hands back to hold mine as she walks away so I’m kinda being dragged with her. But it is starting.

My day needs me.

Hands hurt wicked bad. Want. To. Type.

Made painting progress, a little bit at least. Need to do more. So much more. Ow.

Tired. Whole body hurts. Hurts like spiking up to 7 hurts. It sucks.

I should water the yard.

I’m struggling with wanting more pot than I want to be doing. I’m trying to titrate down because I can’t bring it on the cruise. I’m crossing international borders: no drugs. I’d like to be sober for a week or more before I go so that I’m not doing all of the adjusting on the plane/cruise. My current usage rate may have me running out a solid two weeks before the trip. Whine.

If I take a solid month off of pot… that might help with tolerance. But I’m going to be kinda psycho. Wheeeee. I anticipate more of a weight drop. I wonder how low I will get this time. I’m at 155. Normally that’s a weight where I look hollowed out and skinny and my pants fall off. This time my hips are spread wide and I have clear extra fat.

I feel very weird about my body. I truly do not want to be a thin person and I’m heading that way.

I was 145 lbs at age 14. I saw the upper 140’s briefly in my early 20’s when I was very sick.

I have liked being fat.

I was 165 lbs by age 16. I’ve been much happier there.

But 185 lbs is my favorite. I’m barely fat but I count. I like how I look.

Sigh.

I’m having feelings about this Mardi Gras month and the fact that it is actually being quite limited by Noah’s boundaries. I… don’t have a way on option to actually go be a shithead this month even though that was kinda the point. I’m kinda heading back towards “being good”. We are going to do a lot of group play.

I’m really looking forward to kicking the shit out of my submissive. That’s going to be a rollicking good time. He is very generously offering to let me take my frustration out on him. I should say yes.

I have a whole shiny box of scalpels. I may not be able to have everything I want in life. What I get to have is pretty fucking mind blowing. He wants me to carve my name into him. Surely I can find a way to make a buzz from that last a while. I mean oh my god.

My life is unreal. I need to revel in gratitude instead of being a pissy bitch.

Noah is initiating a lot more hypnosis. Which is a big deal after this many years of asking. I think it helps with my sleep trouble. I think it will help with pregnancy and labor. I begged. He didn’t want to practice with me last time. He took no initiation at all during labor and just… kinda went limp. It sucked. He promised to help. Then… he got scared and quiet. It was shitty.

He’s… setting the stage long before pregnancy even gets started this time. That’s a big deal.

We are talking intently about the M/s stuff. That’s been on the back burner for ten fucking years. It is hard to keep waiting. But I don’t want my kids growing up with a subservient mother. Why do I want this relationship dynamic so bad? I just do. I want to belong to. I want to have to follow orders. I do. Not just anyone’s orders.

Just Noah’s.

Even when I resent the shit out of them.

But as a mom I don’t think I should do as I’m told. I think I should stand up and say no to things that are wrong.

So it’s complicated.

My last yee haw for a while. I’m having ambivalent feelings. It isn’t what it was advertised as for a lot of reasons. But it has to be good enough. I have to get my attitude in line. This is what I get for filling my bucket for a long time.

We are going to keep negotiating and I am going to fall in line. Because that’s the deal. I’ve been a very disobedient pet for a while here. But I need to get back on leash.

That’s the deal.

I am feeling self recriminating. So I had self hating thoughts about how I could go validate that I’m a piece of shit. (There are after all websites that spend a lot of time talking about how shitty I am. I stopped checking a long time ago to see how the conversation is ongoing. I just know that it… probably is.)

But I laughed to myself. No. I’m not going to look. They are entitled to their opinions. Just like I’m entitled to sit here in my garage and shake my head and call them motherfuckers. It’s ok.

I am at a magical place when it comes to the intersection of privilege. It’s really fucking hard for someone to hurt me. So it doesn’t matter if they hate me. They can’t take away anything I care about. If I had their positive regard I would probably dislike myself.

I’d rather know that I’m doing the absolute best I can given the hand I’ve been dealt in this life. It has been quite a god damn adventure. I have seen a lot of things and been a lot of places. And I don’t plan to stop having adventures any year soon. Well… 2017 we are staying home. Even though it means I won’t be in the direct path of the solar eclipse.

I’m tired.

I adventured. I adventured far and wide and nearby. I adventured with my kids and I adventured on my own sexually.

Ok. I can stay home again.

Things will be different this time. Even though my shrink believes that it is just how life works that people must be alone or at a job… bite me. We often have differences of opinion and I can cope with that. A therapist doesn’t exist to tell you what to think. They exist to help you figure out what you think. Sometimes you do that by disagreeing with advice.

I am a highly resourced individual. Don’t underestimate me.

For one thing I have a charming next door neighbor who is house bound. Ha. Our kids play frequently.

I won’t be alone this time. I am connected to my neighborhood now and I wasn’t during my previous pregnancies. I met people with talking kids.

I needed chaperones.

I needed them to define my role with people. I know that is chicken shit and I should just exude these boundaries on my own but I don’t.

God I love home schooling. It is a way to hide myself in plain sight in the world. In relationship to my kids I know how to keep myself safe. Because their safety is my primary goal. I will walk away from escalations. I will defuse when I want to engage. I will back off and retreat. I… don’t really do that for myself.

I will god damn keep my body safe until they are adults. I owe them that.

Which is complicated. This need to see myself in relationship to other people at all times in order manifest things in my behavior… that’s really hard. That involves trying to consciously change my reactions and behaviors at full speed.

I worry about the amount of suppression in my life. It means my uhh more instinctive reactions pop out every so often.

I assume this works this way for everyone. This is the development of the Superego. (I know Freud is a quack but I like the frame of his theory enough that I continue to kind of use his words.)

My problem is that I’m not willing to be conservative. I don’t stay well within the boundaries in the obviously acceptable areas. I need to find out how fucking far the boundaries go. I have to know.

What will happen if I  _____________?

I have to know.

It is 7am. Today I should call contractors, paint my kitchen, talk to my neighbor, and go to martial arts.

No more typing.

If I am going to stick to boundaries better than I have been then I need a variety of plans in place for how to handle various problems.

Do you know how I handled my overwhelming anxiety during both previous pregnancies? I spent 8-12 hours a day researching. I spent an obscene amount of time bonding with other nervous parents on mothering.com. (Some of whom have gone on to hate-follow me for years. Cheers, motherfuckers.) I actually met the Bonus Mama and the oldest Bonus Kid through mothering. So it wasn’t all bad. The wonderful lady I stayed with in Duluth was from mothering. I lent my timeshare points to a mama from New Zealand because that was the only way they could come to Disneyland. I’m not sad about my time there… but my time on that forum is over.

Do you know what I can’t do to manage my feelings this time? Type all day. I’ve fucked up my arms. I need to work on healing damage and not causing any new damage so I can god damn hold my baby.

I’m going to have to schedule in person time with people. Luckily some folks have signed on to the Wonderland calendar and maybe I’ll see people at drop in hours. We’ll see. I think I should start asking for video-date-chats with friends and putting those on my calendar for a couple of times per week. It doesn’t have to be a given person signing on for lots of time. Luckily I know a fuck ton of people who love me.

Goodness I’m blessed.

Noah is talking about setting up a schedule with me. There’s a bunch of stuff we need to be more serious about doing. We need to get our exercise to a more regular and predictable level. We need to be stretching more. We really both do better when we meditate daily; it helps.

We need to get our sleep cycle more regular. Pregnancy is going to be rough if I’m this under slept. I’m talking to a doctor about a sleep study on Friday. I’m also seeing the high risk groino on Friday. Friday is a frightfully busy day. It goes as so: general doctor to ask about sleep study and introduce various complex issues (Fremont), acupuncture (Milpitas), groino (Fremont), drop kids off (Oakland), Dark Garden fitting for Noah (San Francisco), Dark Garden fitting for Krissy (San Francisco), date with a sweet sweet Deity (Fremont). Driving starts at 8am and ends around 6pm. The date starts at 7pm.

Woof. I didn’t really think about how intense that would all be. I… I am not smart in my scheduling. But! It’s all stuff that Needs Be Done.

Once I see the groino Noah is going to schedule surgery. Eeep. This feels so insane. Why are we having more kids? Because we want to so so so so so so bad.

As my (current) Youngest Child says, “We want another bundle of joy.” The kid beams when saying this. My children believe that they have been a source of joy and happiness in life. They perceive that having more people around like them will be a blessing.

I couldn’t agree more.

We’ll figure it out. Honestly there has been some interesting movement in conversation in our house over the past few days. I know y’all are only getting some high/low lights.

I feel… more settled and ready to step back into the traces. I have my lovely Mardi Gras coming up. I only have three, maybe four solo dates scheduled for the month. Otherwise we are having a pretty intense amount of group sex. This’ll be great. Then we go on the cruise. Then he comes home to surgery.

Oh.

Ok. Yeah. I can step back into the traces then. I’m getting some exquisitely clear guidance on how I will have to tow the line going forward to earn the future privileges I want. Noah is consciously making choices about not being more aggressive about stepping out right now because he knows he would make mistakes and we don’t need to try and fix them right now. That’s… awfully generous of him.

I’m feeling magnanimous.

No… I’m feeling like I’ve fucked up a really lot lately and Noah has been quite patient as I’ve been a selfish shit head.

It is helping that Noah has said repeatedly that this is so hard because it is such a departure from normal. Normally I’m rock solid with my boundaries and that’s why the last few months have been so hard. I don’t do this to him much.

Oh. So it isn’t that I need to live up to a completely unattainable perfection. I need to… go back to holding boundaries more like usual instead of being so fucking muddy. But I needed things to change and I don’t know how to make things change without breaking things.

Our boundaries are not where they were six months ago. They have changed dramatically. There has been a lot of push and pull to get to where we are today. I would say that mostly… I’m to a place I’m thrilled about. I can kiss my friends again. We can have group sex. (No promises on during pregnancy.) We can do bdsm play with friends.

We have opened up a lot. But we are figuring out where our limits are on that. Outside solo dating freaks us both the fuck out. We have a loosely stated goal of re-discussing that issue around year twenty, but it’s not a good thing to bring up before then because we freak out. Group dates. Group dates sound awesome.

We aren’t polyamorous.

Also, I was doing some of that charming carping that I do so often and Noah listened and…. I think we have found a positive solution to one of our ongoing marital sexual disputes. For a solid decade now we have tracked our sex life. The big variable we haven’t ever kept much track of… me getting off. Even though I am incredibly orgasm focused. We can add a new data point to our records. That’ll uhh, maybe help both of us recognize when things are and aren’t going so hot there.

Kinda a simple solution, really. Plus if Noah is counting how many times he gets me off… he works harder. Bonus.

And dinner is on the table.

When I use the word veto it means a complete ban of a person. I think there is a big difference between asking for a break, or asking for stringent boundaries and… vetoing a person.

I have vetoed two people. I did so because the first person was specifically telling Noah, “Lie to Krissy” and… I don’t play like that. The second person was sending Noah emails telling him to drag me to the hospital for a D&C after my miscarriage “whether I liked it or not”. You don’t get to try and tell someone to manage me like that and touch my life. Fuck all the way off.

If you are someone who believes my consent about what happens to my body is negligible and I should be managed by people who know better… Fuck all the way off.

But it’s looking like I may be earning my first veto from Noah. Because *I* said shit I shouldn’t say. Not the person. Me.

It’s feeling different. It’s not the person’s fault. It’s not about their behavior. It’s about me and my shitty boundaries. I will accept it if it decided because that’s the deal. But I’ll feel bad for the rest of my life that it is my fault this happened and not theirs.

I’m on five week timer. If I can get my shit together, maybe no veto. Maybe. If I don’t get my fucking mouth under control… if I don’t exercise better boundaries period….

I hurt myself.

It has been kind of weird to like Lemonade so much and know that… I’m the problem in my relationship and I have no moral high ground upon which to stand. I’m the one hurting myself. I’m the one who should be sorry.

Fuck.

Why is it so much easier to have boundaries with some people than others? If I knew the answer to that I’d probably be able to get rich.

Noah speculates that part of the attraction is that I’m not being held to my normal boundaries. I’m sure that factors in. I have agreed to a lot of fucking boundaries and they are chafing. Are they chafing? I don’t even know. They are and they aren’t. I… I feel guilty because I know that when I step back on the pregnancy-nausea-roller coaster I’m not going to feel like my boundaries chafe in the same way. I feel like I want to go hide from this biological imperative to hunt for new partners.

I’ve always been allowed to love people. There were just boundaries around kissing, sex, and bdsm. Those boundaries happened because we are assholes to each other when it comes to watching boundaries when we have new partners. It isn’t just me. One of us will do a shitty thing and be taken to task only to find five minutes later that the one taking to task has also done the shitty thing. Like, right now.

We do this to each other.

Unless we are both actively involved in the conversation to keep beating the drum of our boundaries… the other kinda loses track of them.

So we closed down so we would stay married because neither of us feel good about this up and down.

Then I didn’t handle that permanently. I’m not good at keeping it in my pants. I’m a complicated person. Having sex with only Noah for the rest of my life is a fairly narrow slice of my sexuality. That’s not true for him. It is true that he has interests I don’t share. But not that many.

Noah is rightly defending his end of enmeshment right now. We need to have a whole lot more experiences together because we still suck at maintaining a model in our heads of what our partner would want in a given situation.

Why do I need such an extensive cast of people in my life? I really have a somewhat obscenely large cast of characters. Because everyone fulfills different needs. Everyone has different things to offer. Jenny and Sarah are not interchangeable. 

I know that Noah is the base layer of my life. Every other layer has to fit around him for the rest of my life. I didn’t just agree to be his wife. From day one the plan was to work towards a Master/slave dynamic. That… changes a lot of how I ought be negotiating. I know I’m in countdown days till I’m under contract. That’s going to change what I can go out and get in my life.

I almost sorta feel like I’m trying to stack the deck because over time I’m going to be restricted more. People who are grandfathered in will be important. New people won’t be possible anymore. Noah’s really rather out of patience with me.

My luck is a bruised and battered thing from how much I’ve pushed it lately.

I’m… having internal conflict around the fact that I’m resetting the clock on doing incest research full time by at least ten years. That means another whole decade of my life where what I am is a wife and mother.

Why in the fuck do I have such a diverse supportive cast? Because I need to have a lot more fucking people perceive me as something other than just a wife and mother. My shrink told me that other people get to have that by having a job.

Hey, the vast majority of the people I love I don’t fuck. I’m not making sex my job. But connecting with people kind of is.

I’m having this really strong internal struggle with the idea of appropriate vs inappropriate vs not inappropriate but not right for me.

What does inappropriate fucking mean anyway? It means “I don’t like it.” There is no such thing as a universal way of viewing anything. There is no such thing as a universal right way to be a human being.

Appropriate is about “it works for me”. Or about “it fits conditions”. Who sets the conditions? That’s a fucking long digression and my arms hurt.

I pick people because there is something I need to learn there. I always justify this in retrospect and can’t explain it while it is happening. I’m a shithead like that.

I think I could sleep again. I should try.

One of these days when I’m bored I should go back through this tag and clean up these entries. Sigh. Fingers tired of pressing buttons.