I haven’t been writing much about the evolution of Noah and I talking about sex and dating. That’s for a whole lot of reasons. I don’t want to pressure the situation. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. I handled last year tremendously badly on a variety of levels and I can’t absorb another fuck up that big. I’m not saying that I tried and failed so I’ve settled into permanent monogamy and that’s the end of the story. This has not been a good time to push.

Last year blew up for a variety of reasons. I didn’t negotiate for what I needed I reacted terribly to a situation I didn’t otherwise know how to change. I’m not proud and I’m not saying I deserve sympathy. Stuff was happening that I couldn’t cope with and I blew up the boat.

Noah has bigger emotions than he lets on most of the time. I think there was a slow decline in me noticing Noah’s emotions over years. Last year I genuinely didn’t think my actions would hurt him as badly as they did. That was hubris and ignorance and being a selfish asshole.

What does that mean for our future? Well, I can’t have a boy/girl friend.

I don’t think we will be completely monogamous. I think we will go years in between times and people who are ok to sleep with because both of us feel safe.

I think there will permanently be a belief that I have locked down Noah while being overly free myself and… I can’t say that’s completely wrong but it isn’t completely right either. It’s more complicated than that.

When Noah needs a break from being a husband and a father he wants to be alone. When I’m in need of a break I want to go be in relationship to other people so I feel like I have a different role.

That’s part of why I misunderstood pieces of what happened last year. I thought Noah wouldn’t really mind me being gone in the evenings when the kids were going to bed because he wants more alone time than he gets anyway. Only me being on a date is deeply triggering to him. He will sacrifice necessary alone time to go date if I’m paying too much attention to a particular other person.

Which kind of means that I need to sit in my house and Skype with people Noah doesn’t find threatening so Noah can have the alone time he needs without feeling threatened by my behavior. That’s complicated for me.

I want to do kinds of bdsm play Noah doesn’t want to do. That’s going to be rough forever. I want to figure out how to negotiate respectfully with everyone involved to find a way to get some of those needs met without hurting Noah. But if I’m out of his sight I’m hurting him.

I haven’t negotiated with anyone in the last year. I haven’t even hinted at possibilities because I feel so ashamed of leading people on with promises I can’t keep. I don’t know what I’ll be permitted to do in the future. Right this minute very little is possible. I don’t know what will be true in the future.

But Noah has earned the right to have me be considerate of his feelings.

I’m really tired of being in bed for 10 hours and sleeping 3.5 hours. This shit sucks.

Tomorrow I hit 9 weeks. I’m down almost 8 lbs. Of course. I swear to cheese I’m eating everything I can hold down. I feel so sick.

I went to the group “welcome to our maternity system” class yesterday for my medical provider. It was strangely like an episode of “Call the Midwife” without the great accents. It was fine, it was fun. I participated in appropriate, non-rude ways. The lady giving the presentation really wanted questions. No one was asking any. So I got things rolling. I brought up sleep. GUESS WHAT SHE TOLD ME TO DO?! Exercise more.

I did not lead from there into “But what if you have HPA axis dysfunction and exercising too much is probably part of the reason you can’t sleep to save your life?”

See, I was appropriate for the group. I wasn’t self involved. I didn’t lead it into a tangent that doesn’t apply to other people.

I can kinda conform for brief times if I work hard at it.

I wish I could throw up and feel better. But pregnancy doesn’t work that way.

I need to water the garden. I am going to be babysitting for 5ish hours today whether I feel good or not. I need to go to the grocery store again. (I was foolish and I didn’t plan for feeding the friends who are coming over tomorrow. Folks for lunch and folks for dinner and boy howdy do all of them eat differently than we do.)

I think I have scheduled too much again. I feel so dead.

But I hate cancelling with anyone. I waaaaaaaaaaaaaaant to see everyone. Whine.

On Wednesday the 19th I have to drive to Modesto and I’m all kinds of unhappy about it. It’s 86 mother fucking miles away. I’m going to feel so shitty. That’s for a fucking group class where they explain what is necessary for working with the charter school. All information that is on the website but they have to tell us in person. UGHEHGHWGHWGHEWHGRE

Luckily I’ll never have to go there again.

I’m tired of feeling like a slug. I want to feel like I want to get up off the floor. Right now… I’m literally lying on the floor.

Ok. I watered. Damnit. And I made lunch and I did scheduling with Noah and I did food preparation planning.

Productive. See.

Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired.

K- I worry that Aptos isn’t going to stay smallish for long. I remember it quite fondly.

Ok. I need to get awaaaaaay from my keyboard.

Hey, I’ve been doing much better lately. No social media, no forums. I’m not even chatting that much. Yay Skype.

I’m so grateful y’all talk to me. You don’t even know. This pregnancy is easier. I feel so much less lonely for so many reasons. Thank you for spending all this time to get to know me. Thank you for thinking I’m fun to talk to and showing up for dates year after year.

I like talking to you so much.

Gosh I’m struggling with my feelings. I slept a lot last night (for me) and I feel like I overdid the amount of work I did yesterday cleaning. I haven’t been difficult with anyone else. I’m just quietly swimming through my feelings.

Somehow I feel like the dry heaving this morning was strangely spiritual. There’s stuff I need to get up.

I don’t know how some people can be aware of what they are feeling without writing it down. I genuinely don’t know what is going on with me until I read the words my fingers are typing without much conscious thought. Typing is the only way my feelings know how to coherently manifest in a way I know how to understand.

People periodically tell me that I have incredibly high self esteem. I always wonder what they mean when they say that because I spend so much time thinking about what a worthless, mean piece of shit I am. But I think that I’m starting to understand.

I do not react well to people treating me in a way I don’t like. I make my needs and preferences VIVIDLY CLEAR and I expect you to respect my limits or I’m going to walk away. I’m not loyal to people who treat me badly. I will never tolerate abuse again.

And the thing is, it isn’t even just abuse. I’ll never fucking tolerate people treating me in a way I just don’t like again. There are too many fish in the sea and I don’t need to be loyal to someone who isn’t going to respect me the way I want to be respected.

And you know what? My social calendar doesn’t let up. Because lots of people respect me the way I need to be respected. People who have known me for many years and who have concrete reasons they respect me.

I’m good. If you want to demonstrate that you don’t want to be part of my life I can accommodate that.

The door’s that’a’way.

Because as much as I love you and I think you are great… I don’t need you.

If I needed anyone too much I’d be in a lot of trouble. People let you down. They don’t mean to. They do it anyway.

Are there severances that I will mourn every day for the rest of my life? Yes. Absolutely. I think I really should build a grief altar. I think about a lot of stories that ended. Life is made up of stories that bend and grow together and apart. There is no telling who I will know in 20 years.

I hope I will know my Jenny.  I hope I will know my Sarah. I hope I will know my Pam. Those three women are a bedrock of my mental health and happiness in a way that… I would really struggle without them. They are my family, each in their own way.

I hope I will still know pretty much all the rest of you too. But y’all are comets. I love you for the brightness you add to the sky, but I cannot depend on you constantly. That’s not an insult. I treasure your presence in my life. I learn from you and I value you so much.

But I can’t need you.

I’d better fucking be married in 20 years because god damn if I haven’t poured everything I have into this relationship. Fuck.

I expect my kids will have some period in their early 20’s of not talking to me much. I hope that by 29 my daughter will be talking to me again and be thrilled to vacation with me every year. I don’t get to demand that. I hope I will earn it. My kid will be about 27. Hopefully they will want to come too. I would think that was really fun. Next kid… will be right in the middle of being done with me for a bit. That’ll be reasonable.

I wrote a letter to my niece. Now I need to get my sorry ass to the post office to buy stamps. Sigh. So many steps. I’m going to buy like 50 stamps to the UK this time. Last time I bought three. That was not smart of me.

If I have 50 stamps staring me in the face I’m waaaaaaay more likely to get better about sending letters frequently. Via Skype I’m seeing that my niece is in a great developmental window to be receptive to letters/stories. That way we can build a relationship despite the distance. I need to get my happy-butt in gear. That way next time we see her… we won’t scare the shit out of her and maybe we will even be so fun we earn hugs. Ahem. We are just so overwhelming compared to her household…

We are loud.

I’m having feelings about my marriage. I don’t want it to change. I want to learn to appreciate it more.

I really am doing what I want to do. I picked this. I asked for it. Noah has… delivered in ways I frankly wouldn’t have believed possible. He is the correct, perfect, exactly right husband for me. Other folks have different needs and that’s all cool.

Noah and I both have this vast chasm inside us where we neeeeeeeed to figure out how to have a happy family. Not to have pictures of a pretending family–fuck that shit. We need to figure out how to be happy, how to hold space for other people to be happy, and how to teach our children to search out their own joy.

We both have that as a fairly driving goal in our life. Our friends are wonderful and lovely and we love them and we want to hang out with them and do things and see them when it is convenient…

But we neeeeeeeeeeeed to find out what it is like to have people of our blood not treat us with contempt. We need to find out what it is like to just no longer deal with people who treat you disrespectfully.

I have a lot of urges to go do stupid/bad choices for all kinds of reasons. Just about every part of my body rejects the urge to settle down and be happy. That seems like a dangerous and toxic thing.

I think a lot of the reason I constantly search for new, new, new, new, new is to be constantly adding new threads to the story so that when basically every thread that is present now goes away I won’t be alone.

I don’t trust that any of you will be with me in 20 years. Not my Jenny nor my Sarah nor my Pam let alone anyone else. I think there is low probability that Noah will leave because he grew up watching a shitty bad marriage and would put his head down and take it if it happened to him.

I don’t want to be that monster, though. It’s an option, sure. Not one I would feel good about.

Future Middle Child and I keep talking about pausing before you speak. Think about what you are going to say. Are you going to be proud in the future that you said that? When you look back, are you going to think “Yes, I was acting the way I thought was right?”

No one else’s evaluation of your behavior matters. Because maybe they won’t be around in the future to care who you turn out to be. You will look at you every day in the mirror for your whole life. What are you going to do to make sure you like who you see?

Do I think I am better than other people? I have made monstrous decisions. I have hurt people. I’m not in a good position to judge. I think I can look at a specific decision sometimes and be kind of a pompous asshole thinking, “Well at least I wouldn’t do that.” Yeah. I’m that kind of fucker. But that doesn’t mean I’m smarter or better or… It means I have a different set of knowledge/experience/resources.

Mostly folks do the best they can with what they have.

But wisdom comes from making bad decisions. And I’ve made a fuck ton of bad decisions. So once in a while I get to feel like I have a little wisdom.

Is that the same thing as better?

It really isn’t.

Why am I so obsessed with this whole “I’m not better” thing. Well, it’s probably partially because my shrink gave me shit about being “obsessed with being unique” and that’s… true. But that doesn’t mean better. It just means I have a lot of unusual/odd reactions that don’t fit well with peoples expectations and I need to be able to dictate my variance really quickly to people or I have problems.

And being able to advocate for yourself like that makes people think you think you are better than them.

Sigh.

I’m not better. I’m just weird as fuck and I need what I need or I don’t do well.

I would really to do well. Hm. Maybe that is a piece. Other people want to do well too and most human beings, even if they advocated for themselves, would not get what they need by asking for it because they only have the same small pool of people to ask. I uhhh change pools of resources. My friends are disparate. I don’t wear out a social group. I don’t frustrate a circle of people. Hm.

I only do as well as I do at getting what I need because I’m willing to keep walking and ask just about a perfect stranger if everyone I know says no.

So I keep asking. Because it works. But it doesn’t work for other people because the circumstances are different… they don’t want to keep walking.

I think I’m understanding this?

I’m real good at telling my kids, “That is a topic you need to find a different person to support you in. I’m not the right person for this.” Asking and receiving a no is fine. You just need to go try and find other people to ask next.

But if you live in a small place and there aren’t very many options…

Yeah. I can’t even wrap my head around how to cope with that.

Hey K-I got your email. I’m thinking. I have feedback but I need to chew over it in my head first. Thanks for thinking of me. I definitely have opinions to share…

Before I go back to bed, I’ve gotta say that seriously tracking IPs is a wonderful thing. I get to look at the hits on my blog and see that folks I haven’t talked to in a while are checking up on me. It’s pretty easy to recognize the identifying features of many of my friends. I know exactly one person in X city in Y state.

It reminds me that I need to reach out. Because as much as y’all like hearing about me… I like hearing about you. And you aren’t as pushy about putting yourself out there in the universe so I need to come knock on your door and say, “Oh wonderful person, please tell me about yourself.”

Like, Beautiful came over yesterday to tell me stories about her family. Her family is seriously #goalz for me. She’s going on her mom’s 50th birthday trip because she wants to. Because hanging out with her mom is fun for her.

I want that so much. I want to have children who like being around me.

My friends inspire me so much.

I slept for seven hours. This should not feel like a Herculean task.

I’m having a run of good doctors. This is… emotionally fucking with me. I don’t trust doctors and they scare the shit out of me. They have too much power. I haven’t yet met the OB I’m going to be working with but I talked to the lady I already like in the department. She says I have to agree to only two things to deliver with them: IV placement (just in case) but I don’t have to have an active IV bag the whole time, just a line in my body in case of emergency. I won’t give a shit about that. I’m not that needle phobic. The other part I need to agree to is periodic monitoring–at least every two hours. Given that I spent my last labor upset that my midwife was pissy about me asking her to monitor me (she wanted to ignore me and focus on her kids and let nature take its course) that sounds great.

Everything else is negotiable. The nice lady recommended that I try out the dude in the practice. He is the most chill, mellow, experienced person available. I think I shocked the nice lady when I said, “Yeah so many dudes have been around my crotch I don’t care about the gender of a doctor. Whatever.”

I talked about my marijuana usage. She asked why I use it. I started listing diagnoses. She nodded and said, “That seems fine.”

I got to see the one, single kidney bean growing inside me. Turns out I labeled the calendar exactly correctly for my week progression. I counted from the correct sex act according to the date scan. *pat self on back*

So, do you think I should tell Eldest Child that we conceived on her birthday or should I keep that a secret? Ha.

Eldest Child was conceived on our first anniversary. Future Middle Child was conceived when I got back from a rough trip to Portland immediately following a miscarriage. I didn’t have an empty cycle. Lightning was conceived on Eldest Child’s 9th birthday. Easy to remember timing.

SEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP. You don’t know how happy I am. Today we have a whole bunch of kids coming over. That sleep is going to help my mood a lot. It is going to be fun to see the mixed age of kids trying to figure out an RPG. This is Noah’s show and I’m going to be entertained.

I’m really grateful for how involved and interested Noah is in his kids. We have a weird, insular life and if we didn’t pay attention to each other it could be incredibly isolating and problematic. Instead we are all really happy and we have a tremendous amount of fun together. I feel so lucky. I know that there are pieces of this picture that I hold together… but Noah does so much. He gives so much.

I love Noah for being a good father. For taking it seriously that this phase of his life is about helping other people be ok. There are many ways to do that, but I like the way Noah does it.

As much as I once in a while wish Noah would watch a movie or a show with me, I’m really glad that mostly he reads to us and we explore the world of books together with our kids. We are going through Madeleine L’Engle books right now and it’s so fun to share them with the kids.

I like that Noah and I don’t put up a lot of walls between ourselves and the kids. Not emotionally and not in terms of time. Noah has a job and we work to protect his mental space while he’s performing it. But Noah doesn’t have a lot of separate hobbies. He shares what he does freely with the kids. He includes them and invites them. He would do the same with me if I didn’t have such a negative attitude.

For some reason I woke up this morning to dry heaves. It had been over 12 hours since I ate my cucumber sandwich so there wasn’t anything to come up. That was a weird feeling.

If you are ashamed to admit you do something, maybe you should change what you are doing. I’m not ashamed to talk about what I do or with whom.

I’m… going back to bed.

It sure would be nice to get this sleep business under control. Pregnancy is kind of a nightmare. Pregnancy is such a nightmare that Noah keeps telling me that even if I happen to be pregnant with twins he is strongly of the opinion that I will want another pregnancy when this one is over. Because I’m that kind of masochist.

Oh sweet cheese.

What information do you need to have before you respond to people?

What information ought to be offered or it is a betrayal? What can you forgive not being told?

I think it is easier for me to deal with someone telling me something I don’t love hearing than to not be told something I really need to know. Really really really need to know.

On what do we base our trust?

I miss Puff. I keep wanting to wander around the house looking for her. I miss her every single one of the 9,321 times I go to the bathroom in a day. She has been sitting on my feet while I use the toilet for a long time. And now she is gone.

I’m really happy she is no longer crying from pain. That was unfair. But I miss her so much.

I’ve never had a cat who lived longer than three years before her. This feels like a huge chunk of my life is ending.

In 8 hours I have my first groino appointment of this pregnancy. I won’t be meeting the person who will deliver me. I will be meeting with someone who can help me figure out who I can stand to work with. I’m looking forward to it. I am absolutely terrified of disclosing my marijuana usage but the pain doctor said I have to. He’s afraid if I don’t and they randomly screen me I’ll get in trouble. The hospital I plan to deliver at only screens “If someone is a walk in or if they have a reason”. I called and asked.

But he wants me to talk to my groino person because in his medical opinion marijuana is the single best medication I can be on for my constellation of problems. This is the first doctor who has been really certain and I can’t express how that feels.

I’ve got a real fucking problem with needing validation from someone with a god damn set of letters after their name before I believe the experiences I’m having in my body. It doesn’t help that most people with letters after their name tell me I’m doing everything wrong.

Hey, there was a recent study overseas showing that CBD helps bones knit better after a break. Because marijuana is magic.

In five hours I have a phone call appointment with the charter school. Sounds like the kids did make it in. Phew.

I just… want… slightly less responsibility this year.

Today Beautiful is coming over for tea. I feel so lucky.

Tomorrow we are hosting a kid RPG event. I suspect it will go well because Noah has put rather a lot of planning into this and he plans well. The age range could be substantial. I think we go down to four and we might get a teenager. He’s been braced that he will be helping the youngest ones learn the mechanics of gaming. But he thinks it sounds like a fun way to spend a few hours. Before he decides he needs to see if he will sleep through the event–because, teenager.

I get it. Totally cool.

If I could sleep through a day I WOULD WITH NO GOD DAMN APOLOGIES. YOU ROCK RIGHT THE FUCK ON.

For years I’ve been saying that exhaustion is a lifestyle choice for me. Now that I’m essentially being told I have adrenal fatigue that’s… a bad fucking idea. I have to stop. How? This is going to be hard.

My calendar is filling up. With medical appointments. Therapy and other medical support. I have to go back to the pain doctor three times in the next four weeks because going through these test results takes so fucking long they won’t try to give you that much information in one go. Your brain will drop too many important details. So they break it up. Sigh.

I told my physical trainer about what is going on. “At this stage it looks like exercise recommendations are gentle walking and stretching. I don’t know where you fit in.” First: HE DOESN’T THINK STRETCHING IS A THING AND HE NEVER DOES IT. That blew my forking mind. Whu? You are a physical trainer who doesn’t believe in stretching? How does that work. He thinks rolling out with a foam roller is totes enough. Second: with a combination of pregnancy and the need to stop raising my heart rate… where does strength training come in? That’s complicated as shit.

So we paused until I talk to the pain doctor more. We’ll do the last two sessions after we figure out what I should be doing. He’s going to talk to folks he knows in the physical training world because surely they know how to handle this problem. I worry.

Based on the research I’m doing… there’s a big difference between someone who has had these issues for a few months or under five years and… my whole damn life. The pain doctor strongly hinted that he doesn’t know if it is even possible to rewire my system after 30 years of this shit.

If only I had sought medical care sooner.

That sound is my heart breaking.

I’m FINALLY getting a sleep study. I’ve been asking for years.

In my head I keep coming back to “He doesn’t think a better medication exists for me.” On repeat. That has been the conclusion I have operated under for a long time based on my experience of living in my body. I don’t think a better medication exists. Finally I’m not being told that I just haven’t tortured my body enough–surely there is a more “approved” medication I can tolerate without wanting to die. Because it is not ok that I feel good so a medication that makes it feel good to live in my body must be bad.

It is hard living in a body that hates you as much as mine does. And then I keep getting pregnant because I’m fucking serious about my masochism.

I got 2 hours and 40 minutes of sleep.

fuck my life

I need to schedule an appointment to renew my medical card. Bah. One more appointment. Well, at least I’m already driving to forking San Jose a bunch. Sigh.

I got to have breakfast and dinner with friends yesterday. It was a lot of driving. I’m so happy I don’t leave my town today.

We have scheduled Sunday as a bed day. The kids say they would be happy to trade food delivery services for free screen time for a day.

I’m super thinking about it.

Noah and I haven’t had a bed day in…. years.

Rest. Oh glorious rest. And the Sunday afterward… the only thing scheduled is the kids coming back from Aunt Sarah’s. I don’t plan to do much of anything. See, I am resting more than usual for me.

I think I’m going to need to have a rule that I am back in my house by 6pm every day. I can’t go out to dinner with folks any more. By 7pm I need to be brushing my teeth and climbing into pajamas. I just have to. I can read… not on the screen… after that until 8 or 9. I’m not going to enjoy this. But I have to do it if I want to stop being in horrible pain All The Time.

So if you want me to come to your sex party, it needs to end by 5pm, mkay?

I can’t make exceptions any more. I can’t burn the candle at both ends. That candle is out of wax.

I keep seeing references to the idea that recovery from this is awful because when people feel the slightest surge of returning energy they want to “go back to normal” then they fuck themselves up extra. Yeah, that sounds like me. Ahem. Which is to say… even after I start feeling way better I have to keep acting like I still feel like shit.

Next week I only have one medical appointment. It feels like a miracle. There are five the week after. Four the week after that. I’m tired. This week had six. Not all of these are for me (thank goodness) but still.

Being disabled is a fucking job. And I’m barely disabled in the scheme of things.

I told the new shrink I’m working with to be careful reading my book. Do it in chunks and make sure you have emotional support when you finish a section. They said, “Wow. You are worried about me and you are checking my boundaries.” I said, “I don’t really want to be responsible for traumatizing you. It’s a hard book.” They thanked me and said they will read with caution, but they want to read so they can help me more. Sounds like a good approach.

I’ve tried to go back and reread No Shame, No Secrets, No Silence and I can’t because it feels so fucking upsetting. And it’s my life. Yeah, read it with caution and support.

It’s worth knowing that such things happen to human beings. But it hurts.

Privilege is such a funny thing. If you read that terrible, sad, horrifying book it’s kind of hard to say that I’m a person with a lot of privilege. Only I completely am. Even when I was a kid I had a lot of privilege. But bad things happen to people regardless of privilege. It’s orthogonal.

I deleted the birth board forum app from my phone. My hands hurt and I need to stop. I will just have to cope with not getting that kind of interaction. It’s a drama fest.

It’s not like I have a shortage of real life interactions with humans. And if you include Skype I’m deepening relationships with fantastic people who know me who live far away. So I’m not really in a position to truly need the online forum stuff. I feel like I was way more isolated during Eldest Child’s pregnancy. At this point I have so many friends that scheduling with everyone is practically impossible. I’m… in a good place. Now if only I could convince my brain of that.

Shit. This week I’ve had six friend dates and we are having a gathering at our house. I’m not fucking isolated.

I have five social engagements next week too. I’m not hurting for seeing friends. (Have I told y’all enough lately how much I appreciate that you show up when you say you will and you are honest about what you have to offer? I’m so fucking lucky.)

None of this happened by accident. I built and culled a network until I have a rock steady group of people who carry me when I can’t carry myself. I don’t have the biggest network of people inviting me to raucous parties… but I can’t be that person ever again any way. I’m in a solid place.

I’m going to stop for just a minute and think about the fact that *I* built this. It didn’t happen by accident. I was not born into a place and position. I don’t know these people because it was inevitable and mandatory. I know these people because I picked them and pursued them and they reciprocated.

Sobonfu told me I would have to build my own community because I would never fit into anyone else’s. She was right.

My friends are older than me and younger than me. They are a wide range of nationalities and ethnicities. They span the socioeconomic spectrum from filthy rich to barely surviving. My friends are incredibly diverse. My friends inspire me to think that I could be different, because look at the fantastic variety of life they represent. I have so many beautiful models of how to be happy or healthy in my life. They all do it differently.

I never imagined that I would get to this place. I don’t feel this was a slam dunk. This was not inevitable. It’s a fucking miracle.

And now I need to figure out how to internalize that this network really exists. I need to figure out how to calm my body down so I can just enjoy the hard work I’ve done.

I am so very lucky. And in 32ish more weeks, I get to meet Lightning. What do I have to complain about?

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.

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?

Getting off Twitter and being off facebook means that I’ve been… hanging out in parenting forums. Where are my pregnant people at?

I hate pregnancy forums. Very full of “If you need to ask for help you are an incompetent, rude loser who shouldn’t have had kids.” But those same assholes usually have a mother who comes over and offers help and that isn’t rude at all.

I HATE YOU SO MUCH.

“If you don’t have someone in your life who perceives your needs and who volunteers spontaneously to meet them you are an incompetent loser who does not deserve anything.”

READING THIS SHIT IS SUCH A BAD IDEA.

I’m mentioning disability issues (mental and physical) and limits of not-having family. You fuckers don’t get to win this topic without a god damn argument.

I need a better hobby.

But I feel really lonely. I can direct my kids through work. Or I can listen to Noah talk about his work. Or anyone in the house will tell me more than I ever wanted to hear about video games and comics.

I feel really lonely.

I know I’m talking to friends on Skype more and that does help. But I still feel lonely. This is such a big feeling.  Really I’m back to seeing people a fair bit. I see a whooooooole bunch of people… a little.

I can’t ever look for the enmeshed thing with a friend again and that is what hurts. Bonus Mama was my last try this lifetime.

People can handle me for a few hours a year. Sometimes a few hours a month. Almost no one wants to spend multiple hours with me in a week unless they live with me full time. I’m too annoying.

I spend all of my time with people consciously trying to not be too much. Don’t say too much. Don’t ask for too much. Don’t be too much.

Pam and Sarah and Noah can handle full unbridled Krissy. But Pam needs huge breaks. Sarah needs huge breaks. Noah’s fortitude is shocking. Noah can handle me, but Noah isn’t interested in the vast majority of things that interest me. He will tolerate me having huge thoughts and feelings… but he isn’t… there with me if that makes sense. He’s an observer.

I feel like almost everyone else starts pulling away from overwhelm after a few hours. It’s visible.

I’m not mad at anyone. This is my fault. But it’s hard. I feel so bad that I am like this. That I can’t be someone that makes people feel comfortable and at ease and like being around me is soothing.

Instead I am dysregulated and I make other people feel dysregulated and they need to get away from that. I’m not angry at people for it. That’s a good choice. But I feel sad. I feel lonely. I feel like *I* am wrong.

Why do I want to stay in the bay area? For my social life? Oh that’s so messy.

The bay area is littered with social groups where I feel like I don’t belong and I shouldn’t show up because I offend people. There can be one person in the group I had a slightly rude look from 15 years ago and I won’t come back. Avoidance is strong with this one. Or so many reasons.

I’ll never work Dickens again because I don’t want to run into my rapist. I avoid a lot of dance stuff for a lot of reasons. There are chunks of the bdsm community that are closed to me because they cater to rapists or racists.

I feel inferior. I feel like I don’t belong. I feel like other people are better than me and I shouldn’t inflict my presence on people. I feel like the only place I belong is my house and the best thing to do would be to collapse the fucker on my head.

I am struggling with having people “In Authoreteh” give me pats on the head saying I’m doing things “right”. Stanford, CPS, and multiple therapists are all on deck telling me that I’m handling problems as well as they can be handled. I AM doing the hard work. I am saying the things that need to be said. And I still feel like they all just misunderstand and I’m an incompetent loser who is ruining everything and I’m bad and I’m bad and I’m bad.

There is no possible chance on this fucking earth that I am doing the right things as a mother.

I am too globally wrong to be doing anything right.

I think it’s funny that I have to find stupid judgmental strangers on the internet to validate that I’m entirely wrong and bad because I can’t find people who know me or who have professional experience evaluating families to tell me I’m wrong and bad. I really am ridiculous.

If I were perfect I wouldn’t spend so much time crying because I’m a piece of shit.

I got 5.5 hours of sleep last night. It’s funny how it hurts. My body says, “YES! LIKE THAT!! MORE!!” but how much you want to bet I’ll get 3 hours the next night?

Apparently it is the height of being rude to ask people for help after you have a baby. If people offer you should mostly turn them down because if you choose to have a baby YOU DESERVE TO DO EVERYTHING FOR YOURSELF OR YOU ARE BAD AND LAZY. The internet is happy to validate that I suck. Cause I ask for help.

Krissy. You need a healthier hobby.

This house is… going to have trouble meeting our needs as the years go by. I think we could make it work. Noah and I could go back to sharing a bedroom. The older kids could keep sharing. Younger child(ren?) could have the other room. I could partition the garage more for an office for me.

Phew. That sounds stressful.

Dining room table space is going to become a challenge in this house.

The eternal question is where to go.

One of my beloved’s is campaigning hard for me to stay because she will stay forever. But she has a huge house and a big yard and if she needs to take in boarders to feed herself in her old age she can. Like, she can have a wing of the house to herself and rent out the other three or four bedrooms.

I think her house is almost three times the size of my house.

I don’t know that I need that much more space. With the garage we are up to about 1500 sq ft. I could really go for having a house that was 2500 sq ft with an actual garage for storage.

I want more space in the living room/kitchen/dining room. And at least one more bedroom. I would like two toilets again. I don’t care about having more than one bath tub/shower.

God I’m going to miss this bath tub forever.

I don’t want to spend a fantastic amount of money so that means not here.

We are talking about aiming for 2022. I need to have the loans paid off by then so we can decide where to go and what to do next. It is so far away and yet it is going to come hurtling at me like a rocket.

My body feels all the hate for me right now. My body says, “You bitch. You took me to Fresno. Fine, fuck you. I’ll get even with you for DAYS.”

I am, how do we say, uncomfortable. I woke up every hour or so last night to have violent diarrhea as my well cooked carcass tries to evacuate every orifice. I have spent the last 12 hours wondering when not if I will vomit. (Although if I’ve gone this long… maybe I won’t.)

The quinceañera was lovely. It was really special to get to see a little girl I knew growing up be delivered into the next part of her life. White people suck because we don’t have beautiful transitions like this to help our children be ushered into more responsibility. Instead we are the kinds of assholes who spend a lot of time on the phone with high school and college teachers trying to prevent our children from ever taking on responsibility.

I felt a little funny because I haven’t seen this family since we moved away. I was kind of surprised to be invited. There were only two families invited from the home school group we used to hang with.

I studiously maintain: I never came back after the road trip because of pain associated with driving. Only a few people in the group ever heard about drama. I think that is for the best. It is true that after the road trip I could no longer physically handle driving 45 minutes each way to sit in a park when I can walk for 20 minutes and go to a damn park.

It’s kind of nice to be able to say with complete truth: I rarely leave my city more than twice in a month and I mostly leave for medical appointments.

It isn’t that we stay in our house, we don’t. But we stay close by. Our world has shrunk. I like that part a lot. I’m so over driving.

Driving for 6 hours round trip yesterday fucking wrecked me. My hands hurt. My back and neck hurt. I only drove for 2.5 hours. That was too much.

One of my children was on restriction at the party for reasons I won’t discuss. I was quite impressed with how respectful they were about it. They didn’t argue and whine they just observed stated boundaries. Well done.

I don’t think I will be making it to SF for pride today. I feel like warmed up shit. I got almost 4 hours of sleep last night after 2 hours the night before. The sleep deprivation is catching up with me in incredibly painful ways.

I’m losing my ability to digest properly because my body is so exhausted. This doesn’t feel fun. But I seem to still be pregnant and all. This is a tough little parasite.

Today has literally nothing on the calendar. We only get such a day every few months. I may spend it sleeping.

I neeeeeeeeeeeeeed sleep. So I took a second dose of pot last night. I slept 7 hours. And the heavenly chorus sang Hosanna.

We decided camping in Fresno in 104 heat was not ok. We will spend 6 hours in the car in one day for the party instead. This means my cat will not miss so many doses of medicine because we could not find anyone who wanted to hang out with my cat all weekend giving her drugs every 8 hours.

I am… still deeply confused as to how to handle a problem.

I keep people. I have a lot of people in my life from 20 years ago. I don’t see them all the time, but we pop up in one another’s lives.

I have problems with some people. But given the number of people in my life… I struggle with a fairly low percentage. Most of my struggle is with my internal ability to perceive what people mean by behaviors or words. I struggle to believe that people like me unless they are standing in front of me saying, “I like you.” If you said it a week ago I’ve already forgotten.

It’s not nice of me, but it’s real.

We are changing some things about how we school. We will have some outside oversight so that I’m not in this position of All Powerful Person anymore. That’s not working for me. We need it to change.

But we don’t need the kids to go to school for 30 hours a week. I genuinely believe (and I’m backed up by professional evaluation) that my Eldest Child would have major problems in traditional school. But we need something slightly different than what we have been doing.

I ain’t God and it’s bad for me to be in a position like God.

I am appalled that charter schools exist. I think that if you want to home school it should be your deal. But charter schools exist and we are now signed up with one that will give me $1800/year/kid for classes and educational materials. $3600/year is going to alter my budget. That sounds fantastic. Because the school will cover their classes and stuff for a year (including giving them a laptop) I can put most of my kid budget towards baby shit and paying for the birth.

Oh god. A birth will be expensive.

Money is giving me fits lately. This is a horrible year for money. My end of year review is going to be baaaaaaaaad. I’m already feeling anxiety and it’s only fucking June. Owning a house sucks.

I do still love my bathroom. It’s worth what I paid for the bathroom. But all the other shit that went wrong and cost extra money… like cleaning the black mold out of the wall of my bedroom…. It adds up.

My bank balance is lower than it has been in many years. I’m scared. Nothing else can break soon.

I talked to our delightful local mechanic about how the Prius is misbehaving. In his opinion the smartest thing to do would be to trade it in *now* before it finishes breaking. We’ll get $1,000 or so on a trade in. It’s in terrible condition and we’ve repaired the front end twice from accidents. (I fell asleep while pregnant on 880 & a deer landed on my car further south on 17. 880/17 hates my car.)

We decided not to camp in Fresno for the weekend at 104 degrees. Instead we will drive down for the party, sleep in a hotel, then drive right home. A hotel is $50 more than camping for the weekend would be and I don’t have to suffer through not sleeping in the heat while pregnant. Seems smart.

I’m having a hard time with how many people are moving away. L, I know I was a total loser and I didn’t visit you over the last year because of the remodel but it sucks that I can’t come visit you now that things are settling down. You are so wonderful.

I like where I’m sitting and I don’t. I don’t like that it is changing and my friends are leaving.

Pam keeps telling me not to leave the bay because someday she will come back and next time it’ll be for good. But she will live across the valley in an area even more expensive than this and I do not share her certainty that rich people will find a way to save the bay from global warming issues.

I’m reading a book named White Trash. It’s not the same kind of book I would have written. It’s better. It’s historical. It goes through the history of disposable white people in this country. It is fantastic. I’d love to discuss it with people. One friend is reading it already. Anyone up for a book club?

Stuff and stuff. Stop typing, Krissy. You hurt.

This is the weirdest fucking pregnancy.

(Side note about swearing: recently someone [can’t remember who] pointed out that swearing is often used in place of words that would be differently offensive: such as ableism. Swearing is thus a choice to move who you are offending. That reframes whether swearing is good or not in a way that really works for me. Anyway.)

I have the feeling in my body like I had when I was marathon training. I can feel my body eating itself. My weight is staying strangely level. I’m not eating 2100 calories every day and according to the fitbit I’m burning 2600-2700 most days because I’m exercising like a fiend. I feel myself gaining muscle (which weighs more than fat) and I can feel my body shifting the eating-fat-storage around.

When I was marathon training I got used to this particular feeling where a fat deposit would start hurting and then shrinking. That’s going on right now in my body. Particularly my upper belly. The fat deposit that is over the diaphragm/stomach portion of my torso is aching in the way that usually means I’m about to have a flat stomach again. Only this is a bad time for that.

I’ve attained a flat abdomen for a few individual months of my life. Then I gorged on ice cream till that shit ended.

Being thinner is NOT A GOAL.

It’s fine if you care about losing weight. Your body is yours. I’m done with the abusive cycle of dieting and acting like my body is anything other than a mighty tool which needs CALORIES, MOTHERFUCKER.

I want to constantly be on the phone with blacksheep asking nosey/weird questions about how her body feels while exercising but she’s busier than a one legged man in a butt kicking contest.

I highly suspect that I’m going to be in perfectly good shape to run a 10k while 6 months pregnant. Like blacksheep did. At the time I told her she was bizarre. Now I feel like a huge giant terrible asshole for implying that what she did was wrong. She does what her body needs. It isn’t usually similar to what my body wants and I need to get my head out of my ass.

Goodness. There’s been a couple of times lately where I’ve had cause to do the sit-back-and-evaluate-your-parenting thing lately.

Do you know me? Do you know my kids? If you seriously thought I was abusing my kids I would hope to god you would turn me in to authorities. My children deserve that. Even if it would be traumatic for me.

I am not the best parent ever. Far from it. I’m too mercurial. I’m not consistent enough. I’m not good at facilitating what it means to be “normal” or teaching people how to fit in. There are a lot of mothering skills where I just flat fail. But I’m not sure if I do so in a way that is abusive.

I make different choices than most of the people I know who parent. It’s not because I’m better and it’s not because my children are turning out better. Neither are at all true. I know a lot of mothers who manage to juggle jobs and independent lives and their children and they do it with aplomb. They don’t need to spend this many hours a week treating being a parent like being a job with constant high effort training.

When I talk about how many hours I put into this job I’m not doing it to brag about how superior I am. I’m not superior. I’m trying to develop an honest perspective around the fact that it takes this much work for me to be good. Not great. Not the best. Good. I have to treat this as a full time job in order to not tank completely.

I am proud that I can teach myself so many things and I can instruct my kids. That doesn’t make me a better mother than someone who had a good mother and who parents from instinct in a way that is respectful, kind, and loving. I just can’t compete. That is more healthy. That is better. But I try to convince myself that if a piece of shit can improve… that’s something.

Ok. Now it’s a new adventure. I just signed the kids up for a home school charter school. I’m still going to be the primary teacher, but they will have oversight from someone other than me. Accountability to someone other than me. Oh it sounds glorious.

I saw my therapist yesterday. We did EMDR, as usual, this time it was different. When pregnant they don’t do the fast, emotional upset causing stuff. She keeps the rhythm slow and soothing. She wanted me to think about the baby that is coming. She kept asking, “How do you really feel about the coming baby?” She wouldn’t accept, “I’m excited.” She kept pushing for negative emotions.

I’m scared shitless of how I’m going to handle a child with THIS MUCH ENERGY but beyond that… I’m so excited.

She wanted me to think about how I’m going to have to get over my shit about white men/boys if this child is as loaded with testosterone as I suspect given my physical state. (Not that all people who have lots of testosterone and/or a penis are men/boys but there is a strong chance.)

It is true that I need to spend a lot of time processing my shit around this. I cannot take out my rage on my son.

Just like that woman I wrote about yesterday took out her rage at every white teacher and administrator and whatever on me she came here.

I am not throwing stones. I am not better. I have acted out just as much in rich white peoples houses. I’ve broken more shit in temper tantrums. I have gone off on people much more personally.

Seriously the big insult she could throw against me was that I was a control freak. Uhm, yeah. Given the recent autism diagnosis it makes even more sense than usual that I am a control freak about a lot of things in my life. I’m rigid in order to cope because my body gets overwhelmed by a lot of stimuli. That’s true. I get why it triggered the shit out of her, but I asked over and over how to accommodate her needs and she’d smile and say, “Oh I’m fine” until she lost it because she had never been fine.

That happens. Part of the reason I think about it so much is because I don’t feel victimized. She didn’t hit me. She didn’t hit Noah despite getting inches from his face and screaming at him about how she was going to get him. Because he looked at her.

She was completely and totally flooded. She wasn’t capable of rational thought or evaluating if we were threats. Our very existence is proof of an existential threat against her people. I don’t deny that even a little.

I’m not angry at her. I’m sad. I’m sad that no matter how much I work in this life I will always be one of the oppressor class to a lot of people. No matter what I do. No matter how much I help. No matter how patient I am with them as they tell me that every person who looks like me is equally culpable for the suffering of her tribe.

It’s ok that she feels like that. She’s not wrong.

But it’s hard that we are representatives of opposing races instead of people who can know one another. I’m not exactly one to say, “Nuh uh. White people aren’t as bad as you think.” Yeah, we are. As a group, collectively… white people are as bad as you think and probably worse.

And I’m white. So what does that mean about me? Maybe she was totally right to shun me the way she did. To go on ranting about how terrible I am because… for a few moments while she screamed at me in public I shut down like she was my mother.

I absolutely admit that I have the white fragility thing like whoa. I will crumble if you scream that I am bad in public.

I didn’t fight back and argue. I said, “Ok. If I’m so bad when do you want to leave?” And then that became another oppressive thing I was doing. Because she wanted to scream at me and stay and have a nice time that I paid for.

Hey buddy, even I have limits. If you are screaming at me that I’m terrible… you don’t need to stay in my house longer. And no I’m not going to keep funding a spiffy vacation for you and your kids. Because I’m going to avoid being in a room with you. And then that became one more reason white people are bad.

There was no way for me to be anything other than a monster.

I know.

My shrink yesterday asked me about my sleep. I told her I’m getting 3.5-4ish hours of sleep in a night. (Yesterday I got a 1.5 hour nap in the afternoon. I was so glad.) I told her I was considering adding one more dose of pot in a day so I can sleep. She said, “How tired are you? Maybe you just don’t need the sleep. Humans go through periods of elevated (I’m blanking on which hormone she cited… I think I remember it starting with a c but I suspect not cortisol…) and they don’t need sleep for a while. People go on 2, 3, or 4 hours of sleep when they fall in love, when they do a big project… it happens. Don’t take more pot.”

But if a psychiatrist wanted me on a heavily sedating medication she would urge compliance. But more pot administered because I think it is a good idea… that’s not ok.

Sigh.

I was not willing to drive to Oakland on how much sleep I’ve been getting. I rode my bike + bart. It was fucking exhausting. Oakland scares me so fucking much on a bike. Too many cars + hills. That was awful for me. I’m kinda mad at Lightning already. This kid is… taking over my impulse control center and I’m doing shit I NEVER FUCKING DO and it scares me really bad. I’ve never been a bike person. It’s never been a good idea. My family gets hit on bicycles. This is such a bad idea.

But I feel like I NEED IT OR I WILL EXPLODE FROM EXCESS ENERGY.

I have never exercised this much in my life. Not even training for the marathon. I’m putting in more hours right now. I’m cross training like never in my life.

Having this much energy means I hear words in my brain even faster than usual. That’s a little terrifying.

Do you know how much specific, conscious effort I put into creating new voices in my brain? I hear blacksheep when I’m exercising. Her gentle, loving expressions, “You can do this. I know you can. You are strong.” I hear Sarah, “Oh you can do this. I’ve watched you do amazing things.” When something is deserving of derision I hear Patti, “uhhh…. what?” said with just the right inflection.

I hear so many of the people who have been lovely enough to come to my house when I’m calm and talk to me when I’m capable of imprinting your lovely voices over the mean ones in my head.

I hear Pam. I hear Beautiful. I hear Claudia. I hear Jenny. I hear Erin. I hear Taylor. I hear my submissive. I hear Miss Vicki. I hear Valia’s glorious laugh.

I am so blessed. I could keep going all day listing names. I hear you. You changed me. You made me better. You made it so when I meet new people I can’t wait to find out how they will be the same or different from the fantastic people who motivate me to keep trying.

Hope is not dead as long I hold you all in my heart and mind.

I think of the woman who came last summer. I think of that Taylor Swift song “Mean”. I wonder if she has ever started understanding that she is never going to be the weakest man in a room again.

I was not the weakest (wo)man in the room when we were both freaking out last summer. In a whole bunch of ways that are systematic and completely unfair. When I had more like that amount of power compared to the people I was in a room with… I used to lose my shit over and over too.

I can’t be angry at her. I have to see her as a deeply wounded person who is lashing out because she has been stomped so thoroughly. I’m not mad. I’m sad. Because I liked her. I wanted to be of help. Only I wasn’t. I hurt her. By existing.

I can’t act like she was mean to me. She was defending her life in a blind fight because that is where she is in life right now. That’s not about being mean to me.

I was not a victim. I hope I did not victimize her. But it was a really sad thing. I don’t know that I could have done anything to make it go better. I’ve been thinking constantly for almost a year… what could I have done differently.

She needs to find community with non-white people. White people upset her. That’s ok. It’s not wrong. I support there being space where white people are not welcome because we bring our much with us. That’s ok.

I’m really proud of myself for deescalating things when she was screaming and physically threatening Noah. I did manage to get her to calm down enough to see that neither Noah nor I were going to hit her. Even if she had hit Noah, I would have restrained her without hitting.

She’s been hit enough in this life.

Many of us have been hit enough. Too much. We don’t need more hitting.

We need more crying together. But tears are only available to white women, I’m told. I saw her cry. But she denies it.

That’s so complicated.

It’s not fair that we had a fight and she gets to go back to her life of suffering and I get to go back to my life where 70% of my suffering is manufactured by my brain. (I do have a bunch of legitimate pain stuff….)

I don’t go hungry any more. I don’t have to worry about feeding my kids. I don’t have to fight with the government for my children to receive services that they need. I just pay. I can fix my car when it breaks. I have a forever home that is just a handful of years away from being fully paid off.

I don’t get to act like a victim in this situation. It’s not victimization. But it is a severing of friendship. It is a divorce. It’s sad.

I’m trying to figure out what to learn from this going forward. My shrink wants me to learn the lesson that I should stop trying so hard with people. She says I should never open my home again to people with trauma because look what I get.

Do you know how many of the people in my life have trauma? If I stopped inviting them over I’d stop having human contact and that’s not ok.

I didn’t forcefully eject the friend who called me an evil drug pusher either. He was reacting to stuff in his life. I told him I understood why he was struggling and lashing out and when he was ready to get over it I could forgive. It took five years but he came back. He did apologize. He was going through shit and he took it out on me. Yeah, that happens.

I forgive you. I’ve done worse. And in this world I can’t really afford to throw friends overboard willy nilly. I need your voice in my head convincing me I should not die.

I reject people who look like a threat to my children. Beyond that… I can deal with a lot. I’m not an easy person and people come back to love me. I can love you even if you aren’t easy. I don’t need you to be easy. I need you to be real.

I like to say that I wasn’t looking for a life of convenience. I am looking for a life of intense connections. That’s going to lead to some big explosions.

That doesn’t mean you stop trying. That doesn’t mean you decide “People aren’t worth the trouble–I’m going to hermit.” At least that isn’t what I have decided. You do you.

(Side note: in the background I have youtube playing a bunch of videos of FTM folks singing pre and post transition. It’s a really neat background. People change so much based on relatively “small” hormonal changes. This is so fascinating and wonderful.)

I am alive in the time period best suited to me in all of history. I can meet the most variety of people. I can learn so much. I am blessed beyond all measurement.

There were times in my life when I was a victim. Those times are long gone. Unless I am suddenly attacked by a stranger… I’m not sure I’ll ever be a victim again. Bad things will happen, but that’s not the same thing.

I have reached a freakish plane of existence.

There are times when I think that one of the best things that happened to me as a child was the severing of my bond with my mother. If I had maintained that bond most of my life wouldn’t have happened. I would have stayed closer. I would have kept up the abusive patterns that reign in my family.

Is my life perfect? What does that even mean? I have strife. I have conflict. I have challenges. But I have more luck and safety than most.

I’m a genuine good place. My bitching is kind of ridiculous.

3.5 hours of sleep. That’s how much sleep I’ve been getting every night. The only way I get more sleep in 24 hours is if I nap. This has been going on for days.

I feel really overwhelmed with sadness. I don’t belong. I don’t fit. I am not part of a group larger than the nuclear family I am creating and that hurts. I’m not denigrating my family, I’m grateful for them. I’m completely certain I’d be done without them.

I don’t fit in a community. I “know” I have friends. But the fact that most people can bear a few hours per year of my company because I am so terrible…

I don’t see a lot of good in me. I see that I am bad.

I am starting to feel worried about being extremely depressed throughout my pregnancy partially because I am refusing to allow myself to take much pot. That’s so complicated.

I am having a hard time with how much exercise my body is demanding. Yesterday was so hot we barely moved. So by 7pm my legs ached and burned and I finally said, “Let’s go walk through an air conditioned store.” I NEED a level of exercise I don’t usually maintain or everything feels so bad I want to scream and rip my skin off.

I’m having a hard time with the whole “neighborhood friends” thing. People keep moving. It’s hard to keep trying knowing that it will take a whole bunch of energy from me and then people won’t reciprocate because they’ll move.

I feel pointless and stupid. I feel so sad.

My kids are in an intense sibling rivalry stage. Probably the most intense of their lives and I’m struggling to not be an explosive bitch.

I’m struggling with the fact that most of the people I know don’t want to spend time together unless you are out doing something expensive together. I have this visceral feeling that spending money all the time on entertainment is toxic. So I opt out of things that we could technically be invited to and then I feel alienated and alone. Because I opt out. Because people really don’t want to spend time together without a separate distraction/focus very often.

I miss my mother.

I miss Claudia.

I’m worried about my cat.

My mama could make a good time last all day and only spend $5.

I feel like who and what I am is inherently bad and nothing I can do will change that.

I feel like I am most interesting when I want to be abused and when I don’t then I’m just too much fucking work.

I’m not eating that many calories either. I’m not hungry. Tracking on the fitbit makes me crazy. But I know I’m going to have to argue over whether or not I deserve to have food while overweight so I need data.

I feel like I have an extreme form of cabin fever. But I don’t really want to go anywhere or talk to anyone because I feel like I am a terrible piece of shit who should not inflict my horrible presence on anyone.

The kids and I negotiated that they will go to the part time charter school operated through the district next year. We need a little more space. It’s only a few hours a week (under 10) and I feel like that’s a wise transition for my children with ants in their pants.

Someone recently told me to just send them to school and make them adjust. I think Stanford was right when they said that my kids would have severe emotional and behavioral difficulties if forced into a standard classroom right now. They are so distractible. They have so much energy they can’t stop moving.

All of us do a lot of flapping/stimming. I think it is kind of funny. No one shames anyone in this house for having weird tension outlets. I don’t really want to send them to school so they can find out how “weird” they are.

Why do I feel so ashamed of myself I want to curl up into a ball and cry for years?

I don’t fit anywhere. I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not good at making Noah feel loved and that’s one of my main jobs in this life. I can’t seem to figure out how to convince my Future Middle Child that their life isn’t a shit sandwich that must be reviled. Your life may not be 100% perfect, but I struggle to see how it is that bad.

I can’t imagine being them and having what they have. I’ve never in my life been loved and cosseted the way my kids are and it still isn’t enough. What I have to give is not enough. I am not enough.

Maybe I know a little bit about how my mom felt. She was never enough either. Lately I feel really ashamed of myself and I wonder if I was as ridiculous as my child is. Was I similarly demanding about how nothing was good enough no matter how good?

I wanted a home and to live with my mother and my siblings full time. I wanted to go to the same school for more than a year in a row. I wanted to have people in my life I knew for longer than a few months.

My mom couldn’t provide any of that. It wasn’t her fault.

I feel like it is all my fault my child isn’t going to have a more consistent set of people in their life forever. I chase people off. Folks can only stand me for so long before they wear out. Because I am bad.

I’m only 5.5 fucking weeks pregnant and I’m already having a hard time wearing some clothes. They are too tight in the waist and they hurt. I’m not going to be able to wear most of my pants-that-fasten past 7 weeks. I can tell. I haven’t gained any weight at all. Things are just shifting. Like they do.

I’m going to go walk before I talk to Jenny.

It’s 3:40. I’d love to be asleep. I got 2.5 hours of sleep. I went to bed at fucking 8pm. It’s been a long night.

I didn’t manage to talk to my family about the phone call yesterday. I will when they wake up. I heard back from the therapist we met with last week. This person seems to ‘get’ how I do therapy. They are encouraging us to set up relationships with therapists for most of my family members and a family therapist. In their opinion it would be good to have an intensive 2-3 months for “getting to know one another” then back burnering the relationships until a crisis hits.

I love this therapist. I think that is precisely the correct way for someone with my problems to do therapy. I need help sometimes. I can’t figure out what to do on my own. But if you try to meet someone during a crises… that doesn’t work well. You need to establish contact during a time of relative calm and get to know one another and establish trust. I can’t establish trust if I’m hysterical. I don’t trust anyone then.

This is going to be expensive. But it will help me get where I want to be in 20 years.

The family therapist will work with all four of us sometimes and hopefully sometimes just me and Noah.

All four of us get to spaces in an argument where we have trouble listening and hearing someone else’s point of view. Outside intervention helps that process.

I’m happy that this therapist is very concerned that Eldest Child not is acting like Future Middle Child is The Problem. That’s not true. Ok, so FMC (how’s that for a new nickname?) is very explosive and has anger issues that need to be worked on so they stop hitting their sister… but that’s not the same thing as being The Problem.

It’s more complicated than that. It always is.

They are recommending somatic work for me. I’ve done primarily talk therapy my entire life. I have never worked with a somatic therapist. I think that it is a good suggestion to focus on what is going on in my body with my emotions in the moment instead of always trying to talk/process old trauma. That seems like it might have some genuine value. Especially while I’m pregnant and having ALL THE EMOTIONS right now. This embryo, soon to be fetus, needs me to calm the fuck down.

I’m thinking a lot about my brother Tommy. My mom cautioned me against a third child because… look at my brother. Tommy was born after 45 minutes of labor and he didn’t stop running until he was hit by a car at 12. He was an alcoholic and drug addict. Yes, by 12. He was sensory seeking to a degree that my mother truly could not cope with. Given how I’m physically feeling since this pregnancy started (I mean for fuck’s sake… it’s been like 2 weeks and my body has EXPLODED with energy) I am already thinking ahead to a highly sensory seeking child. Given that I’m god damn tired already from dealing with children for 9 years… oh goody. I see why Tommy threw my mom for a loop. She was tired too. Tommy and Sissy are about as far apart as EC and Lightning will be. And my mom started at 19, not 27.

I keep feeling like we should move away from a city. I feel constant anxiety about all the things I could/maybe should be doing. I should find a way to fit in more cultural experiences. More activities. More socializing.

But I’d kinda like to be boring as fuck and live my life as a home body in the woods. I went back and forth from cities to the woods as a kid. I always liked the woods better. I like people in cities… but I get so overwhelmed. Too many options. Too many decisions to make. I’m too exhausted to face my social calendar by the time I’ve made all the decisions I have to make in order to decide what things to do.

Wouldn’t it be nice to come “into town” a few times a year and have a lot of experiences then and go home and… just live.

I really like being outside and exercising with the kids. We are getting seriously into our bike rides. Yesterday the kids and I did 6.3 miles. We are prepping for this summer when we will ride our bikes 3 miles each way to the water park. (I love our tiny, dinky little water park. Two big slides. One circular/lazy river thing. One pool. One toddler splash zone. It’s small and usually not crowded.) In order to handle the 6 mile ride round trip, plus swimming, plus their daily PE classes… we have to work up to that before we get started. That’s going to be a lot of damn work.

But it feels so good.

I’d love to take my kids hiking in the woods more. But the drive to get to woods kills me.

I like how when you live in the woods it is a lot easier to get up and just do your thing. There are fewer bright, shiny distractions. I’m a reader. I like making shit. I never run out of things I want to do. I don’t get bored.

Only boring people get bored.

Sometimes I get restless and that’s a cue I need to switch activities… but that isn’t truly boredom. Boredom is forcing yourself to not pursue change.

I’m never going to stop having friends. No matter where I live. I spend most of my time with my friends on the internet anyway. This week I had a Skype date with my Sarah and we both cooked dinner at the same time. It felt *wonderful*. It felt loving and tender and fun. We got to talk about what we were separately making and everything else in life. It felt validating and inspiring. I love my Sarah so much. I’m so glad she likes talking to me and helping me puzzle through life.

I’ve been talking to my Jenny weekly on Skype. I’m getting to see my newest niece a lot, granted slightly pixelated but whatever. That feels really nice too. We are so different in personality but we like each other. It feels like family. This relationship feels like, “Even though you get on my nerves I still love you.” Specifically I usually feel like I get on every nerve Jenny has. I’m way too fucking argumentative. But she loves me anyway. Even though I’m difficult and irritating. She’s loved me for almost 24 years and counting. Only 6 years to go before she is the longest relationship of my life.

My Pam is checking in on Skype as she can. I find it funny that one of the things Pam believes is most true about her is that she’s a bad listener. But she’s one of the best listeners I know. She is so curious. She is so interested in finding out about why things work the way they do. She is absolutely determined to be part of change in this lifetime. I respect her so much. I love her. I love how she laughs and the stories she tells. I am endlessly grateful that she shares her family with me. Her sister is a delight and a joy and I’m glad I get to adopt her too. Pam’s mom is really awesome too. She used to bring my kids over to hang out with her grandmother before her grandmother moved back to Taiwan.

My children are very blessed.

Many other people are checking in on IM services. I’m having long conversations with many people who love me and whom I love.

My existential loneliness shit is… not because I’m actually unloved or abandoned or ignored. It is about brain chemistry.

I miss Twitter. But I’m going to get over it.

I think that if I moved to the woods, where it was cheaper, I’d fly to visit friends a few times a year and otherwise be ok.

I don’t know about my family for sure, but I think they’d adapt.

Do I want to leave my bathroom? No. But if I could sell this house for serious bank I could move somewhere else and build an entire house to my specifications. I have ideas. I have stuff in my head. I should start sketching just because.

Since I won’t be traveling the world with my family… what should we do instead?

My real dream is to buy a piece of land that is zoned for multiple houses and build a main house and a bunch of smaller houses so my friends could follow me if they wanted to. Or I could find people who are local to whatever area and make connections. I’m adaptable as fuck.

I would seriously love to be responsible for essentially a whole housing development of weird houses. Because you know that my designs are going to be wacky.

And by housing development I’m thinking 5-10 houses.

But that was yesterday’s random fantasy. Who knows what will happen.

I feel less self hating today than I did for several days. That’s good.