Monthly Archives: July 2017

My new cult: boring

I mean to post links. But I’m so tired. I’ve read a lot about the HPA axis in the past 24 hours. Some of it even official-ish shit. I am eager to see the results of the blood tests. This does sound intensely interesting. This offers more hope than any other possible diagnosis and I’m going to grab on to that hope with both hands.

There is the chance I could teach my body how to stop being in pain.

It is going to be hard to do. It’s going to take years and it is going to come in painful inches. I need to become boring.

I need to start defending my sleep schedule with a pitch fork. I have dinner plans today and after today… I need to not accept plans this late at night… again.

I’m done partying at night. Completely. Invite me to brunch.

Speaking of which it looks like we are going to be inviting some folks to a brunch soon. Future Middle Child has birthday wishes.

Brunch brunch brunch. The only meal of the day I’ll be able to muster up social for. Maybe afternoon tea. Those’ll become my meals.

I need to stop raising my heart rate. Do you know what that should probably include?[redacted horrible epiphany I should share and can’t bear to.]

Exercise is going to be complicated. I shouldn’t really raise my heart rate when I don’t need to. Walking. Stretching. Walking around the lazy river isn’t so heinous.

But I need to stop pushing my body on exercise. And that’s… an about face. I’ve worked so hard to get to my current fitness level. I’m in really good shape. I could go walk 8 miles and not flinch. I’m not in running shape and I haven’t been in a while… turns out that’s good anyway. I need to be super gentle on bike riding.

I need to stop causing my body stress. Even exciting stress.

This system is connected to everything. Digestion, sleep, pain, depression, anxiety… the whole system.

I could stop being in pain. It is theoretically possible. After 30 years of pain.

I need to try.

End of pain

I hadn’t realized how much anxiety I’ve been carrying around about Puff suffering. I hadn’t realized how much I was listening all the time for her to cry and need me.

That feeling is gone. She isn’t hurting any more. There is nothing more she needs from me. She’s done being in pain. I have given her everything I had to give. It was enough to take her from having her eyes closed to having her eyes close.

My baby is free.

Suck

In an hour I see the pain doctor. In 4 hours I see a shrink for somatic work. In 7 hours my cat will die.

I slept for 3 hours and I can’t eat. I feel so bad.

eta:  pain doctor says I need to go home and research HPA axis dysfunction. He thinks that’s what’s going on.

Respect

Noah wants me to write about why we need a rule in our M/s contract requiring that I speak to him respectfully. The first and most obvious reason is because I have a tendency to be rude as fuck. I’m selfish. I’m self absorbed. I have explosive emotional reactions to a lot of things and it is a constant struggle not to take that out on the people around me.

A recent conversation with my kid about exploding at “safe people” comes to mind.

The thing is, Noah believes that if he requires respectful speech it will mean that I am respectful in my mind. We’ve spent a lot of time talking over many years about how our marriage can survive a lot of dips and valleys in intensity but it won’t survive contempt.

If I don’t show contempt in my voice will that effectively keep it from my mind/heart? I’m honestly not sure I believe that. Which makes this rule somewhat complicated from where I’m sitting. I’m not saying it is a bad rule, but I’m not sure it is going to do what Noah has stated as his goal for the rule.

I stole Mollena’s rule about how the slave should take care of her own mental/physical well being before anything else. I think I’m still going to be shitty at advocating for myself in a lot of situations. Like the “take one for the team” sex thing. That didn’t take care of my mental or physical well being. I encouraged/allowed a situation that damaged me. For years. I think in part because I’m so used to being damaged that… it’s normal. It is what I expect from life. Isn’t that what I was put on this earth for? I’m a worthless whore who exists so people have someone to abuse so they don’t hurt nice people who deserve to be treated well.

I’m following the rule about only masturbating/orgasming with permission. It’s complicated. I get up to 2 not-asked-for-in-advance-but-I-have-to-notify-him chances to get off when he’s not available to ask. (Like about half an hour ago when he was asleep. Hey Noah, I beat off.) This is mixed for me. I’m at a weird place with my sexuality. I feel helpless and hopeless and like I will never be a person who gets to decide when I feel good in my body. Which is obnoxious because I do have some agency and I have had periods in the past where I went and did what I wanted.

I am supposed to be respectful in both my tone and my facial expression. I kind of feel like this is just telling me that I need to work on my lying. I am required to manifest a level of respect I may or may not feel. Oh.

It isn’t that I have no respect for Noah. It is that it fluctuates. There are times and places and topics where… I don’t have a lot of respect. I believe for reasons. But shut up.

I used to make people in Master/slave circles really angry when I referred to M/s as a game. It’s totally a fucking game. I don’t care how “real” people think they are.

And I’m supposed to bathe Noah once a week. I like the grooming stuff. That’s fun.

My experiences as a teacher taught me that if you demand a show of respect you haven’t earned… you lose ground in the long game. Which feels complicated in context of my marriage and current attempt at M/s.

Noah has earned respect in a great many areas. Noah has earned kindness and consideration across the board. He’s a ridiculously considerate partner.

But I worry about having more reason to double down on lying.

Internal conflict about fucking up about other peoples identifiers.

So… I’m feeling kinda ashamed of a thing I’m doing. But I’m not sure if it’s bad. During this pregnancy I’m thinking a lot about Future Middle Child as AFAB. (Assigned Female At Birth) I’m doing this because the physical sensation of my current pregnancy is so different from my previous pregnancies and I’m sorta obsessed with wondering if it increased testosterone.

So I care about the chemical soup I am floating in during pregnancy when a set of genital configurations were present.

I know that it doesn’t tell me what my kids gender will be and I know that they may or may not grow up and keep whatever set of junk they are born with. That’s all totally cool.

But when I’m pregnant and trying to figure out my place in my story… the AFAB part seems relevant because if this currently growing child is AMAB that means this pregnancy probably is partially different because of that part of chemical soup and that’s interesting for my future medical treatment.

But I feel like I’m reinforcing a binary view of my kid. I don’t believe they will always be as femme of center as they are right this minute. I think they are going to have a complicated life. And I’m on board.

I’m just… thinking about the chemical soup I swim in while I’m incubating.

I wish that didn’t make me feel like I was erasing my child’s identity. I know you are nonbinary. I will help you in whatever way you need on that journey. But there were these few months where we shared a blood stream and you were my me-not-me and you changed me and I’m trying to understand how that works in the larger scale of my chemical soup.

I’m wondering if testosterone supplementation is something I should consider after I finish having kids. I’ve flat been offered it by one doctor in the past. It would mean a drive to San Francisco but… I could take bart. And visit Sarah.

I don’t think I am trans even slightly. But I think that testosterone might be something I could use a wee bit more of.

Processing

How do I talk about this without talking about this. The CPS call is really… intense. The specific phrasing that came up “Kids explore. Kids try games. Kids make choices we really wish they would’t make because they have to learn.”

I’m trying very hard to turn this into a reparenting moment for myself. I did stuff that was worse than what my kids have done. I was also younger and acting upon the explicit directions of my parent.

This feels like one of those life moments where I really need to forgive myself. I was five when I raped a little boy. I didn’t know what rape was. I didn’t know what consent was. I thought I was supposed to do that to everyone. Kids explore. Kids try games. Kids make choices we really wish they wouldn’t make.

A lot of my friends have spent over a decade trying to talk me into believing that I’m not a terrible, horrible person because I fucked up so completely when I was five. I have not been interested in nor able to absorb their words.

Am I more ready now? CPS didn’t come down like a ton of bricks. There was no blanket condemnation. There was a resigned sadness to the fact that kids do shit and it doesn’t make them beyond redemption it just means they need concentrated extra lessons on why they can’t do it again.

I was up half the night thinking about my father. I genuinely don’t know how to feel about him. I was also thinking about my mom.

I’ve spent most of the past couple of years feeling guilty and ashamed for breaking contact with my mom. I owe her.

But even though my mom only beat me a few times and even though my mom was “unaware” of the sexual assaults… My mom told me to my face that marriage meant becoming someone’s whore and never having a choice about sex again in your life. I was young. I was what, 12? 13?

That’s fucking up my marriage in some complicated ways. Growing up to believe that sex is supposed to be painful and my enjoyment is… not the point anyway… I’m a hole to be filled.

That fucks up a marriage.

Because I want to change it. I sure as shit don’t want to model that horror to my children. So what does that mean? I no longer want to believe that being married means I’m a whore who owes sex in exchange for the roof over my head and the food in my belly. This is hurting me so much.

I’m not saying this came from Noah. I walked into this marriage with the belief it would be that way. Noah didn’t object to the idea that it would be ok for him to have sex when he wanted regardless of how it felt to me.

That became a problem. Which isn’t his fault but seriously alters our relationship anyway. Because if that is all I am in this relationship then I need to go have other relationships where I am not this because I cannot bear the mental load of deserving to be fucked painfully for my whole life as just what I deserve.

If what I am in this house is a whore who owes service for my food and board then I need to have relationships where that is not what I am. Because I need to be something different. I need to not just be a worthless whore for my whole life.

Yeah, I blame my father for this. It seems legit.

I need to “get over” so much. I need to get over feeling haunted by the fact that I was brought into this world because a rapist wanted to hurt a woman he viewed as a whore who was getting too uppity. My existence is a punishment.

I was not brought into this world in love or joy or desire. I was born from hate and malicious intention. I was born because my father wanted another whore to rape.

It is incredibly hard to feel like that isn’t my burden to carry. It is hard to feel like it isn’t my fault. I am evil. I was brought into the world to be a weapon and a victim.

My mother wanted to abort me and she couldn’t for religious reasons.

Just about 36 years later that shouldn’t matter so much. But I’m still crying.

I’m tired of being told that I am rude and disgusting for asking my friends for help when help should only come from family. If I asked for more help from my children that would start crossing lines. It would be getting close to emotional incest and no that’s not an acceptable trade for “not being rude” to my friends. I’m needy and I’m pathetic and my friends are willing to put up with that.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the folks who broke off friendships with me in the last year. I love them very much. I’ve put 7 and around 12 years of effort into those women. But the thing is I’d say the rude, judgmental shit I said again. I don’t think I was wrong. Even with the consequences. So I get to feel sad about the fact that there are consequences for actions and I don’t think there is another way for this to work out. Life is like that.

I was talking to a friend about the people I have problems with in the bdsm community. The funny thing is… if I did get along with the people I actively avoid… I would know for sure that I wasn’t a good person. I would know for sure that I was scummy and low.

I don’t want to know that for sure about myself. So I’m ok with having large conflicts with some people.

I don’t believe it is ethical to “mentor” an 18/19 year old and line up your nasty old men friends and tell the young person now they have to fuck all these people “in order to learn”. I don’t need to get along with people who will act that way. That’s disgusting.

I don’t have that many conflicts with people. Not considering how many people and communities I know. I feel like I mostly have conflicts for good reasons.

The thing is, my friends don’t hesitate to tell me when I’m fucking up because they want me to be healthy. My friends call me on it when I’m too harsh with my kids. They tell me to be nice to my husband. They tell me to be nicer to myself. They judge my choices and tell me that some of them have a poor chance of working out.

I want that from my friends. I wouldn’t want friends who watched me set my life on fire and they sit around “minding their own business”. That’s not a fucking friend.

If you hate me because I say in front of you and your child that hitting children is wrong and indicates that an adult is out of control and the ADULT needs to be removed before they cause damage…

I can live with that. I don’t feel bad even a little.

Even though you hate me for “shoving my culture down your throat”. I will cheerfully shove the culture of “don’t beat your children” down EVERYONE’S THROAT AND I WON’T FEEL BAD.

I feel bad that I exist because I am a weapon and I’m intended to be a victim. I don’t feel bad about most of what I do with my agency while I happen to be alive. Despite my extreme dysregulation… I think I make a lot of good choices. Not alllll of my choices are good, that’s so true. Which is why I’m glad I have friends who watch me and say, “Krissy you are fucking up. Stop it.”

I have a really hard time with the fact that most of my life, most of my measurable “success” at anything in this life is going to be my motherhood.

I really wanted to be bigger than that. But I’m not really.

I’m not a real sex educator. I organized education for a convention that people flew to from all over the country, but whatever.

I’m not a real teacher because I hide at home and educate my children but my efforts aren’t any more substantial than “all mothers think constantly about their children” so what I’m doing is just… nothing.

I feel worthless and pointless and I’m in so much fucking pain.

Pregnancy is really shitty. And this is my easiest pregnancy ever.

None of the reading I do matters. None of the work I do matters.

I don’t matter.

Even if my fuck up when I was five was kind of understandable. Even if I can forgive myself for that action (which I really don’t know if I can do it or not at this point) I don’t know that I can forgive myself for being born. I shouldn’t be here.

It’s interesting talking to the kids’ therapists about ancestral trauma. That’s a real thing. My kids carry within them the weight of all that happened to me and all that happened to my mother and my father and my grandparents. Some truly horrendous shit has happened to my family. And my kids carry that in them.

How can I help them feel like they are not a weapon and a victim?