Tag Archives: sex

He was my grown up

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I’m having terrible thoughts. Did I need him to die so I could finish growing up? I definitely am struggling with all the tasks I’m having to learn at speed. I handled money once it entered our family bank account. He couldn’t handle paying bills–it freaked him out. But he did the accountants, and lawyers, and financial advisors and immigration stuff. I’m having to notify all of these people and explain my abject ignorance and lack of knowledge for how to move forward.

Did you know that people who earned close to 6 figures from working with you are very nice about writing out a primer that even my ignorant, autistic, immigrant self can follow. Money well spent. They know that I am helpless and pathetic and they are taking mercy on me. This is going to be expensive but it’s worth it to make sure I don’t fuck things up with two governments. Right now I am close to the end of the first cycle. There was a massive list of companies to contact. I think I only have one more that needs first contact and it’s another joint account.

Now I wait and send in documentation when demanded.

I don’t think there is a lot more I can push forward right now. So of course I was twitchy and difficult with the kids. That’s not nice. I was going to lose the ever patient ability at some point.

But I feel like I have more information to go on. I feel like I can see a shape we can learn how to fill.

The Crown has informed me that they do not believe a jury would rule in my favour so they are declining to prosecute my sexual assault. That means I don’t need to plan my whole year around making sure my kids have months of 30+ hours a week in child care.

Oh.

This makes the second government who has decided that I am an unrapeable whore. When men rape me, meh it doesn’t count.

Scotland is better in many ways. In other ways it is just the same. It’s not worse. But in some ways it is just as bad. Hey, fewer guns!

It means I don’t have to keep trying to force the Council to accept my obnoxious request for placement of high needs kids. I can just stop. I can accept help from people who offer it. There are a lot of retired grandparent-like folks who are happy to help us. I need to say yes. I need to start having standing dates for kids around town with folks so they develop relationships.

I also need to fundamentally alter how I react to the idea of scheduling my life. I need to be building in massive buffers of nothing because we are going to have times when we just fucking can’t.

I suppose it is for the best that I am still an unrapeable whore. I don’t have to waste my year on being a good victim. I can work on being a good mother. I won’t be distracted by being a good wife. That was such a massive time commitment in my life. Making sure I paid enough attention to Noah was a serious priority and his desire for attention was vast.

I am starting to realise that I have been going harder than I can sustain. I thought I was pushing until school started. Nope. I’m just… doing this. I need to push less. I need to rest more. I need to cuddle more.

Today’s task list included:

  • 2 calls with solicitors
  • 4 emails to solicitors/lawyers
  • 1 call to obtain old tax returns from old company
  • 1 call with 2 accountants to work towards streamlining my tax situation going forward
  • filled out the monstrously evil forms for a bank and insurance company. ew much words.
  • emailed and messaged with 2 people trying to obtain cleaning assistance
  • sat on chat for 48 minutes in order to figure out how to tell one bank Noah is gone
  • uploaded a fuckton of documents to banks, insurance companies, government websites
  • got the plumbing bill and paid it
  • finally responded to a WhatsApp message after a week
  • physically filled out a bunch of forms for kid-things
  • there were a lot more messages and emails about various stages. Most of these things took multiple iterations of coming back to it. I have a lot still in progress.
  • I negotiated poorly then less poorly with the kids.
  • We got absolutely plenty of housework done.
  • poked people who said they wanted to do stuff with kids but haven’t set it up yet.
  • decided we really need 3 at home days a week to counteract the 4 we have to leave the house

How in the fuck did I think my kids would adjust to school? They barely think a 3 day weekend is long enough to handle 1/4 the stimulation of school. Our life is so very bespoke. We do stuff. We just don’t like a lot of background noise or interference or interruptions. Without Noah’s piano the house is so quiet.

Mostly what I do is try to keep my bursts of sobs to a minimum. Keep moving. There is more to do. Also: I have to rest or I’m going to hurt myself.

Balance is tricky.

I need to build time with local friends into every week. It needs to be a priority. I cannot only be with my children. That’s insane. I can’t only be with their friends–that’s unhealthy. I will say things I shouldn’t because I won’t be able to help myself from loneliness. I need adults to talk to. And not just online or on the phone. I need Meat Life. It matters.

I am so scared and so sad. I miss Noah. I want to wake up from this nightmare. I miss him so much I feel like my heart will crumble into dust.

I’m not doing enough to take care of my exercise needs. It is part of why I am getting pissy. I restart yoga tomorrow. I’ve been to one climb so far. I have cycled 20 miles in the last 7 days. That’s not nothing. I’m not eating enough vegetables. I’m struggling with sleep regulation. I’m waking up super early because then I can masturbate and cry.

Like, this is the most sad, pathetic masturbating of my life. I think of Noah and cry. I feel like I can’t get off. Sometimes I couldn’t until he finished and that is what it feels like all the time right now and he is never going to finish in me again. That feels so unbelievably bad. I keep reaching for him in my sleep. Please be there. Let this be a terrible, vivid dream that shows me how badly my life could go if I am stupid enough to ask you to go ice skating.

Please come back.

You can’t. I know. I have your rings. You only took them off for a few minutes at a time and then you hurried to put them back on. You were so happy to have two. We had a marriage that was a blend of my cheap ass practicality and your highfalutin ways. You insisted on the fancier rings. You said they were my insurance. I have them. They aren’t worth enough to smuggle my family out of the country so I don’t see what kind of insurance they actually are. Not that I’m looking t o get out. I’m just sayin’.

You wanted me to have the experience of walking into Tiffany’s and having the salesclerk go “Oooooooh, that’s real.” I did not know that was a thing that could be determined at a distance. You were elated. You referred back to it many times over the years. See. You put your mark on me. Fancy people look at me and go real. Ok.

Only I will never feel entitled to wear your rings again my love. I am not your wife. I am your widow. It makes me feel so sad. I want you with my whole soul. I want to hear you giggle and see your glee. I want to feel happy again. My love I don’t know what the future is going to bring. I’m scared.

I’m doing all the grown up things you usually do. I’m trying to keep notes. I should go put all of this in your Dropbox. I may fix your shitty organisation finally. Now that it feels less like a really invasive version of needing to face all the bills in your wallet. He was a “searching is faster” guy. I was a “I worked in libraries pre-computers” gal.

Dad did most of the first level of cleaning up Noah’s room. I am so grateful. I went through paperwork. We haven’t fully cleaned it out or changed it for a kid. I think I would specifically like to wait for a day past the one month mark.

This is so much and so little and so hard and so awful. Life will never feel fair again. There is no fair here. Noah, I will miss you for my whole life. You were right that I am not ok without you. I feel like a walking corpse.

The walking part is the important part. Hey, now I can get therapy. Ha, ha, ha.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life

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Noah’s funeral was yesterday. It went fine. People were kind. Promises of help were made. Offers of commutative friendship were made. Single parents offered help learning the ropes.

Today I am quiet and withdrawn. I’m scared and I feel like I should be able to jump into action. I can’t. I am exhausted. I have gone totally limp. I need to start the process of becoming unpopular at two schools. I’m going to show up with big asks and schools love that in the middle of the year. I have been that kid a lot of times.

I am so scared that my babies are going to have another rough entry. I think that tomorrow I will send an email in the morning to both schools as a follow up. I can’t today. I really literally can’t. I am so overwhelmed.

I am processing the layers of my loss in fresh waves of horror and grief. Oh goodness Noah, what am I going to do without you? You were the sun I revolved around. Now I have to care for myself instead of off-loading that onerous task onto you. I would much rather look after you in trade.

A fucking broken ankle. Like that’s good for my ambient paranoia about injury.

I feel like I am not able to consider other people very well right now. I feel like my entire theory of mind evaporated. I can kind of do it with the kids, as long as its not all day because then I get overwhelmed. I put on a front and I smiled and hugged everyone at the funeral. I thanked everyone for coming.

Now I am empty and hollow and I just want Noah. I want him to hold me and tell me I did a good job. I want him to tell me that he is proud of me. I miss sex. I miss the way he specifically fucked with my head to make me feel like I was a very good person because of our sex. I feel like I have lost the ability to feel good. Now I feel empty. Not just my vagina. I feel empty in my mind. There are clearly still words, but instead of 6 screens going in the drive through there’s one and the picture keeps flickering and the audio is spotty.

I think my weight is at a plateau.

I was happy I could physically wear the fancy wedding rings Noah insisted on buying. He meant these expensive gestures very well. He wanted me to know that I was worth an investment. I think he was silly. I think we could have paid off the house like five years faster. He wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted on the gestures.

It’s not a set of rings I’ve ever enjoyed wearing every day. They are heavy and they hurt my hand even on the best of days. I am still wearing the plain band. I don’t know when I will take it off. I did fulfill the contract: I stayed until death parted us. I wanted so much more time. I’m scared. I’m scared of who I will never be because I don’t believe in me as much as he did. I’m sad about the things I won’t do because he won’t be there to do them with me.

I am sad that he will never be inside of me again. That was such a massive part of our relationship. I didn’t have very many hours in a day where we didn’t touch each other. We were so excited that this amazing person is willing to let me touch them! I need to prove it again. Over and over, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, decade after decade. The magnetic attraction between us never waned.

I long for Noah with every cell in my body. It’s hard to believe that I will ever feel ok again. I’m having a hard time believing that I have a future that is going to feel like it matters to me. What could ever be important after losing Noah?

What was important to me outside of Noah? I can’t remember. There’s got to be a reason that folks are lining up to take care of me for a year. None of them are coming here because they feel they owe it to Noah. I feel pretty fucking good about insisting on maintaining relationships now. I’m not as stupid as I look.

Walking past little old couples wrecks me. I will never have that. I won’t get to fuss at Noah to stop getting distracted and hurry up.

I feel so empty.

Keep moving

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Waking up for the 12th day of Noah being gone. It’s a weekend; the last weekend before I have to sign the kids up for school. Middle Child is very confident they are going to ride through the rest of secondary school because getting qualifications will simplify later life. Shortie isn’t sure about school. She is scared. I told her that we are going to try through the end of the next school year and if she has not settled, then we will discuss a return to home education. Eldest Child has plans and he is figuring out his forward facing routine. He is scared but ready to figure out his future.

The older kids are scared I will sell the house. They are really overwhelmed by this idea. That means I need to be careful with that option. It has to be only at absolute last resort. I think I am going to need to work very hard to keep this house. I think the kids are going to need that stability for a long time to come. This was our final home with Noah. Leaving here is choosing to leave him behind. I’m not sure we will ever be ready for that. We will make the decision in two years but the kids are acting like it would be a problem if we left. I need to consider that.

I love him so much. I am going to have a rough road. Missing him is going to be a blessing and a curse for the rest of my life. I’m going to know how much I was loved and I am going to know how much I lost. Even if it isn’t my fault it is my loss to deal with. It is a loss for my children to deal with. I am going to have to push my babies forward alone with no one adding to my bucket.

I feel bad because there are so many thoughts in my head that will never be spoken again. I won’t ever believe anyone cares. It makes me feel lonely in my soul. Sure, yeah, I will talk out loud to Noah but it’s not the same. It’s going to make me feel very disconnected from life that I am only safe talking to myself alone in a room.

Tomorrow is when we were supposed to wake up to go on our holiday alone after the aborted negotiation with TB. I don’t even know if TB is in the country. I don’t care. He poisoned that well this year when he told me he didn’t need to be upset about me being raped because I wasn’t his wife. That’s disgusting and nauseating.

I really do wonder if I am going to turn into my mother and just give up sex. Either that or I will cause problems. I struggle with believing I will find a healthy medium. I’m used to having sex every day, often two or three times a day. I can feel in my body that it is not happening and my body is not pleased. I would be literally pawing at Noah by now if for some reason I hadn’t jumped him already this morning.

It is hard going back to bed after my early morning trip to the bathroom. That’s when I would get excited every single morning because I could wake Noah up for sex. He would warm me back up from the chill of the bathroom and the process would lead into melting together.

Yeah. Last night was the last night a person who snores can be in my bed. I love you with my whole soul Pam but I need to be able to go back to sleep at 1am. I can’t lay awake for hours listening to snoring and thinking about how much I am scared. It’s not healthy. I need to be able to go back to sleep.

I had someone who wanted to know about every weird gurgle and blip in my body. Someone who wanted to know every discomfort because maybe he could help. He could help in so many ways. I am overwhelmed with sadness. I want to take care of him. He was so delighted with the ways I am confident. He made me feel special. Pam and Dad are trying hard to get me to feel special.

It’s not working very well. I feel like I failed the boss level at life. I didn’t protect Noah. I hurt inside my soul. Noah, I am so sorry. Noah I am sorry for every time I didn’t do what you deserved.

The only way I can continue in his service is to give our kids a good life. That starts with the building block of sleep.

Shortie and I were talking about that last night. She was annoyed because all the grown ups are harping on her to go to sleep. She was complaining about how it is stupid because sleep doesn’t do anything anyway. I told her she was so wrong and I started explaining what sleep does for your brain and body. It’s necessary for learning, growing, and healing. She asked a lot of follow up questions. She is so clever that it is really uncanny at times.

I am scared that she is going to end up being the kid who is most like me. Middle Child is firmly in the PDA camp with me and I’m absolutely certain beyond all measure that Shortie is too. When she is asked to do something she responds with snarls and a vicious physical retaliation if you physically try to push her into something. I’m going to have to talk to the school. She always comes back and apologises for these rapid bursts of emoting. That’s not how she wants to act it is just instinctive and utterly compulsive. If you have compassion for her and deescalate without taking it as a challenge then things can smooth right out. She is not mean or vindictive or unwilling to help. She has a really strong automatic anxiety reaction to being ordered about. I can’t judge.

She has also taught herself to read at 6. My other kids did not do that. She’s far further into maths than her siblings were at her age because she finds it fun and engaging. She is more than halfway through the elementary curriculum set I have. I’m a little worried that she is going to be advanced enough to really struggle in school. Or maybe they will let her read like I did?

I’m scared on so many levels. I’m scared of so many things. I’m sad. I feel this horrifyingly swelling well of sadness and depression. I want Noah and I will never have him again. Noah was my life, my happiness, my home. This house is just a building for me. My home was him being inside of me. It was the only way I ever felt fully secure. That is gone. I never get to feel like that again. I miss him.

I will keep going though. I have to. The older kids are processing in waves what it means that their dad is gone. My baby is flailing and uncertain and having all the feelings. I can’t be mean to her about the way she is feeling. I love the bones of her. That’s a thing I’m worried about–she is losing weight and that’s not ok. She’s already extremely slender. I can’t give on the candy front because she is super compulsive but I need to massively bend on controlling her food. She is so much like me and she struggles with digestion stuff because her diet isn’t varied enough. Right now I need to give her a lot of leeway around picking stuff that can give her what she needs. Mostly I need to stock my kitchen with stuff she is welcome to have at any minute and encourage grazing. She’s not great at meals.

It was worth arguing over when it was our biggest issue. It isn’t anymore. Survival is. I’m not giving up on the process of helping her learn to eat more food but I am going to push less.

I have to go limp in a lot of ways. A lot of things I would normally correct or criticise I can’t for the next 6+ months. I am waking the kids up every day and having chats with each of them or singing a cheerful song. Everyone gets a private moment with me to start the day. We are also touching base later in the day for directed attention outside of group stuff.

I have to take care of them. I am who they get to have. I think that sucks for them and is really unfair but it’s true.

I’m struggling with my shame around having chosen to have kids when I struggle so much with mental illness. When I had Noah to cover my fuck ups it felt more justifiable. Now I have to regulate myself more than I ever have in my entire life. That’s really hard. I have to do it while struggling with the worst things that have happened to me in decades. I believe they are worth the effort and I need to put my money where my mouth is.

I know that it isn’t healthy for me to spend the rest of my life living for my children. I’m pretty sure it is healthy for the next year. Maybe that’s all I can handle thinking about right now. Maybe I am not able to think past that to what will come in the next chapter of my life. I don’t actually want another chapter. I liked the one I was in. Noah. I miss you, Noah.

But it’s over. Life isn’t fair. There is no such thing as fair. No one gets what they deserve.

For a time I had Noah. It was really wonderful.

There is only pain, there is no hope.

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Today is the 9th day I am waking up without Noah. It hurts so much and I feel like I will explode with pain. I am grateful that Pam and Shortie are still sleeping with me but someday very soon that is going to probably change. I need to start getting up and getting moving in the morning absurdly early in order to have breakfast on the table before the kids go to school. Breakfast and dinner are big events in our house. We all have intense dietary needs and we take care of one another by sharing meals of good food.

Good here is going to get increasingly neurotic because I can’t get sick and my kids need to be able to be physically well enough to withstand school and we have to cook for ourselves because very few places around here put vegetables forward in the ways we require. We are all losing weight; it’s clear as the nose on my face.

All of us improved our relationships with Noah over the past year. The older two got a lot closer to him in 2024 because he had so much time for us. He played with Shortie every single day. He and I alternated between having uncomfortable conversations and having the best sex of our lives. I really felt like we were growing together in a way that would have paid off for decades.

Noah, how could you leave me? I am freaking out. I keep walking in circles flapping my hands and beating on my chest. Noah, how could you go? You said you wouldn’t leave me. Noah I need you. You are right. I will never be ok without you. There is no one but you for me. Yeah, I wanted to fuck other people for momentary distraction but no one ever crawled into my heart and mind and soul the way you did. Now they aren’t a distraction they are a reminder that I can’t have you and I don’t want anyone else. Not really.

I mostly wanted to think about other people because the end result every time was being grateful for you and feeling extra lucky because you are so much better than everyone else. Smarter, kinder, more diligent, more devoted–Noah you were the best of everything and my body cries out for you night and day. My hand moves under the covers to find the body next to me then recoils because it is not you.

I no longer think the phantom pain in my vagina is a bad thing. I hope it lasts forever as my payment for not being a good enough wife, for not taking care of Noah well enough. I want to be in pain every single moment I am alive. It is all I deserve for not making sure Noah survived longer than me.

I don’t believe I deserve to feel good ever again. I lost Noah. He was my reason for everything. He is why I worked so hard to be better; because Noah believed I could. Noah spent a lot of time doing hypnosis on me trying to change my brain. How am I ever supposed to feel good again when the thing that made me feel like I was good was putting my mouth on Noah’s body. I could kiss his hand or his foot and I felt like I was good. It was even better when I put my mouth in other places. His joy was my joy. His happiness was my happiness. I am so glad that I pushed for all the sex we had towards the end.

I am freaking out about my future now. It’s been hazy and cloudy and unclear for me for a long time–I had nothing to work towards. Now that feeling is magnified times a billion.

I actually had a lot I was looking forward to. Noah was growing ever closer to me and we were spending so much time together. We fit like perfect pieces in a puzzle with our kids. We created a world together. We traveled the world together. We had so many adventures yet to come. We were such a happy family. I’m really scared that it all came from Noah and that time is over.

Noah was an avid photographer; I am not. I am going through 20 years of photos and only finding a few hundred of him while there are many many thousands of everyone else. That made me feel really bad for a few minutes but then I realised: the reason we were always smiling so big was because we were looking at Noah. He was the one who wanted the shrine of pictures as motivation; we just needed him. Him being part of the family was enough to keep us working and pushing forward.

In perfect love and perfect trust I tried to take care of him. I failed. If I had not been so depressed lately he would have opted out of ice skating. He would have said it would be no fun for him. But he wanted to be there to support me. I feel so ashamed of the way I only focused on our daughter and not on the pain and distress he was feeling. I feel so guilty that I wasn’t with him to help him not fall on the ice. I should have been. I knew he wasn’t comfortable and that the boot was already hurting his foot. There was too much pressure. I should have told him to sit out the activity. Jenny’s husband did. Why didn’t I fucking tell him to go sit with the other dad and not participate?

Because I am selfish and stupid and I thought I knew best. “Exercise is good for you.” Maybe it isn’t always. Noah wouldn’t be dead if he hadn’t gone ice skating. I’m not in any way upset with the friend who invited me. He came because of me. He wouldn’t have gone on that generic family outing if I wasn’t such a pathetic crybaby that he came so he could take care of me.

I’m having a hard time being around people. I’m not comfortable around people. I believe I have no value to anyone outside my family so being out in public is a rude thing to do. People don’t want me here.

I know it is actually a very small percentage of the population that is anti-immigrant and anti-American but they are pretty fucking loud. I got asked to leave the bike group over the summer. I’m now freaked out about any other community stuff I’ve been doing.

2024 was a fucking brutally hard, nightmare of a year. And it’s going to be the last good year of my life because I had Noah.

I’m going back through stuff Noah has been writing lately, Jesus we are both obsessed with our death being imminent. His actually was though and it is horrifying looking at date stamps and seeing how much it feels like we fucking knew it was coming. It is making me shake to the core of me. I felt like I didn’t deserve to have him. And I lost him.

It’s an accident. It’s fate. It is the only inevitable outcome of life.

It is not fair.

There is no fair.

Ted never predicted that I’d have a long happy marriage. He said I would win in court; he said I would never be poor again. Maybe it was not in my destiny to deserve Noah for more of my life. I wasn’t good enough at cherishing him when I had him.

I am scared of the ways I have hurt myself in the past that were blocked by Noah’s presence in my life. Without Noah the chance that I will go do stupid stuff is really high. The chance that I will put myself in a dangerous position is stupidly high. This is absolutely terrifying. Noah has been taking care of me in a lot of ways. He has done a lot to keep me safe in the past 18 years. I am deeply afraid of what I will do without him in my life.

I am expecting to be celibate until my youngest is close to legal age here. It would be deeply unwise for me to get into any kind of NRE situation before then. It would not be great for my parenting. I would act like my sister and that’s not ok. I need to reiterate this to myself a few thousand times. I never get to act like my sister.

I am so scared. Noah, I have only been ok because of you.

I wish we had put the Santa Barbara painting in your room instead of down here in the apartment. You should have been looking at this. I am sorry.

I am sorry for a trillion reasons. I was never as good to you as you deserved. You earned so much more. I am sorry. I am sorry for my pettiness and selfishness. I am sorry for my neurosis and depression. I am sorry I spent any minutes thinking about anyone but you. I was really enjoying the way you were specifically crawling into my head to try to change that part of me at the end. You finally felt like you had the right.

Noah you are right, I will not be ok. I will be a husk. I will be an empty shell, all that is left of a cockroach.

I miss you. You were everything to me. I will get the kids launched into the world. I will do that. I will help them build the kinds of networks we built, the relationships and friendships that carried us through. I will feel empty the whole time. I wanted what we had. I loved how much time we spent together. I loved being ever more enmeshed with every passing year. I loved that we were stunted trees that leaned until we found each other and then together we reached for the light.

Noah, I don’t want to feel better. I want to be feeling shitty but be doing it next to you. Noah don’t leave me.

How can you be gone?

Thank cheese for a good day

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I’m really grateful that Noah and I had some good talking yesterday. I am glad that we hugged and touched each other in mellow and non-scary ways. We are both going through a ridiculously hard thing. It is really important to remember that this is a terrible thing that is happening to both of us. More to me, but he’s getting whacked hard too.

My brain is being a giant asshole right now and it means that mostly I’m only remembering the hard and scary parts of my marriage and my relationship with Noah. I did go very far out of my way to find a Big Bad Wolf.

He’s really not a terrible person. All of the shitty things he has done have come with the halo of consent. It’s been a fucking trip. When I say I deserve things that he does to me… well… he and I discussed doing it and then we did it so I guess in the most literal sense of the phrase, I do deserve things that we say we want to do together. It’s a complicated thing. No person arrives at the decision to do a thing completely unshaped by the life experiences they have had.

Noah observed that what we are expecting of ourselves and of each other is quite literally inhuman. People don’t do these things. What we want to be to each other is not standard. I get that. Like, that was not really enough sleep last night because sex after a while of no sex was a lot more important. It was good sex.

I wish that means that I woke up today full of resilience and definitely over my depression. I didn’t though. I still feel shitty and stupid and it takes a very small comment from a teenager to set me off. Teenagers are assholes. Teenagers are trying to create a reality in which they don’t need their mother anymore and that’s pretty fraught for me. The point of my job is to work myself out of a job. I am working towards my sole future occupation: Noah’s companion.

There’s this way his cock gets right before he nearly comes. I notice it best when we stop having vaginal sex and switch to oral. The head feels really tight and swollen and like it is about to explode but most of the shaft is actually fairly soft, it’s nothing close to his most erect. Details like that are going to be most of what I think about in the future. Savouring that feel and texture difference in my mouth and in my hands.

I used to tell my mom that I wasn’t going to be able to be successful as an adult because the only thing I was good at doing was reading fast. I’m really good at making Noah’s dick happy.

It is hard for him and it is hard for me that it doesn’t feel like enough. I’m not saying that I have to suck other dicks. I am saying that I don’t do well when I feel disconnected and unwanted.

My day job is in a complicated place where 2/3 of my primary charges now resent and scorn me. I’m just counting the days till number 3 joins in. I know that Noah sees this with impending glee: soon he will have me all to himself.

Given what happens to me when I try to make friends it is a mixed bag from my view at the moment. I am really upset and sad that I am scared to make friends now with the idea of sex being entirely off the table. That is feeling dramatically unsafe. It also makes me question the sex and friendships of my youth.

I don’t think I am going to stop feeling depressed and frozen and scared until the trial happens and that feels dramatically unfair to my family. I go to sleep every night angry with myself for not getting more done and I wake up every morning feeling frozen and stuck and unable to move because I will be wrong. It was really hard to eat this morning.

Today will be less perfect. That’s ok. There are brighter days to come. My local garden store had plants 50% off because they are going out of business. I have some holes to dig. Let’s see if I can get off my backside. Ugh.

The path is really dark

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I get the impression Noah wants me to snap out of this. I was lying in bed this morning between Noah and Shorty and the cat waiting to have a positive emotion. I tried to feel loved. Naw. Instead I lay there with my teeth grit waiting for the fucking claws to rip apart the tendons in the sides of my knees. I was not disappointed.

I feel like I don’t know how far down I was slapped. I hate myself on pretty much every level and I am struggling to get anything done.

During the daily blow job, which is sometimes kind of fun and sometimes a dissociative nightmare, I realised Noah was starting to get close and I haven’t wanted sex lately so I asked him what he wanted to do. He wanted to put a towel down (period) and fuck me on the floor.

Fucking. When two people are fucking each other it’s a lot of fun. When one person is fucking someone it can feel pretty awful. It doesn’t help that I spent months talking to Travel Boyfriend about all the love making he wanted to do and I’m reading a Gabaldon novel where the deeply romantic lead always says that he wants to be with you.

I just get fucked. Even when it hurts terribly and I’m gritting my teeth and waiting for it to end.

That’s what monogamy means. I am a hole for Noah to use how he wants and what I want out of it is not very important. Me enjoying myself is not the point, never has been, never will be.

I was invited to a party for this afternoon but they are extremely covid conscious so it will be 100% outside and it’s raining cats and dogs. It’s also more than a half hour of riding hard away. I will be soaked to the skin before I arrive to stand around outside. Sounds fun. (I do actually like this family. They are other crazy Americans.)

I feel frozen with horror. It wouldn’t even be safe for me to stop my frothing self hatred. If I stop then Noah will think I think too highly of myself again and he will hurt me again. I need to make sure I feel like I want to be hiding under a table all day. That way I won’t get uppity.

I feel like I would turn and run if the dad in the family came over to talk to me alone. No. I’m not allowed. I might look like I’m cheating again since that’s all I do. Funny how knowing that if I even look up from the floor I might get in trouble again kills my sex drive. Dad’s been gone for almost 3 weeks. I’m not interested in sex. Sex is this terrible thing that wrecks my whole life. It isn’t life affirming.

Sex is this horrible terrible thing that was forced on me until I learned to respond and then I was punished for it. I hate sex so much. I wish I could cut the part of me that ever wants sex out of me.

I hate my body so much. I want to kill it.

Social media is a bad place for a break down

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I feel like one is starting and that scares me a lot. Alebeard is talking me down. This is a strange universe.

Ok, next day. This is good. Noah and I talked a lot. This is a hard space. A lot of what is going wrong right now is not about one of us being malicious. We are both feeling highly traumatised and that’s not a great thing. Noah doesn’t feel like he can get support from anyone because when someone hears about how I acted after being raped they will tell him to divorce me.

I can’t publish the transcript between the rapist and myself before the trial. I will afterwards. It will be in the public record how horribly I acted because then Noah won’t feel like I have a dirty secret. I’m a dirty whorish piece of trash. I never advertised otherwise.

After being raped I proceeded to do a really good surface demonstration of falling madly in love and being willing to toss my whole life aside for this man. I gave every sign of whole-heartedly embracing my new destiny as his partner. I was cruel and dismissive towards Noah and him knowing that I said those things is causing him a lot of intense pain. He’s sharing that pain with me. Fair enough. Maybe I do deserve this part.

I deserve to have everyone who hears about my behaviour tell Noah that he should get away from me because I am disgusting. I know I am.

I feel like this stupid rapist is the natural and inevitable follow up for what I did in kindergarten. I have been chasing people to give questionably appropriate blow jobs since I was 5 years old because my lizard brain is deeply aware that I exist for this purpose.

That hurts and scares Noah a lot. It is existentially threatening and terrifying to him that I have this programming in my brain.

Most of the time in most circumstances I have it well under control. I’m not handing out blowjobs for a fiver in a parking lot. But it feels like an overarching threat. I could. That feels like a threat inside of me to me. I assume it feels worse for Noah.

Compulsion. The fact that this stuff is compulsive and difficult to control if there are specific triggering events. Knowing that I have this cascade of behaviours living in me is a mixed bag. This makes me feel dangerous, like a gun. Like I am the threat.

This is part of why it feels like I am the problem. I am the threat. I am the one who is going to cause the pain. I am inappropriate and reactive to things Noah wishes I didn’t react to in any way shape or form. “Things” she says as if men are things. Noah’s not afraid of me leaving him for a woman, which is a bit funny, but holy heck any guy is a potential threat. I suppose it is flattering that he perceives me as being so desirable but I’m pretty sure I’m never going to be successful enough as a slut to be able to have every man.

Dale Estey’s gentle 1989 novella The Elephant Talks to God takes a whimsical jab at such a thought experiment. Immanent in nature, God appears as a cloud or rock to converse with the inquisitive elephant. The elephant wants to know: How is it that nature, which is so giving, can also be so rude? What does it mean to be an elephant, and not an ant, for instance, or a tree? Is there one truth about the world, which presents itself to all of them so differently, and how would someone find it out? Why is there fear, and what’s the deal with love? What happens in death? Why is there such a thing as “if” — that is, choices and possibilities? How tragic is it that a butterfly, so beautiful, lives only through the summer?

“Butterflies don’t live a season,” answers God. “They live a life.” The elephant protests. “They’re gone when it’s their time,” replies the cloud. “To a butterfly the season is their life, they expect nothing more and fulfill their existence. To the trees, your life is brief…. Seconds or hours, long shadows or short, it’s all the same kind of time. The butterfly feels he has as long a life as you.” Then pondering how such limits could be more gift than theft, “God spoke to the elephant, and called him by his name, and filled his heart full of his beloved butterflies, and they soared through his blood, wingtip to wingtip, until he understood the power of their life.”

www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/do-elephants-have-souls

What is the value of a life? What is the purpose of life? My purpose has been tied to sex in ways that are challenging and difficult. Noah’s fear of my sexuality is a big issue for us. Noah has terror about my sexuality.

If I were better able to be monogamous this would be no problem at all. I could lock it up in a box only he gets to open and everything would be fine. The trouble is my sex drive tends to be mostly “on” or mostly “off”. I can channel it when it is on but most of the time if monogamy is the requirement it is better for it to be turned off. I wish I could perfectly wish away/turn off my sex drive. I’m sorry for every time I can’t. It is turned off most of the time I am around my kids. That’s been part of why I don’t have a lot of spontaneous desire sitting around the house with my family and why Noah feels so threatened when I have it outside the house. If I’m not feeling it sitting in a room with Noah and my kids I must not want Noah very much.

I wonder on and off through the years if I shouldn’t go back on something like an SSRI because it will eliminate my sex drive.

Me wanting sex is a problem. I don’t want polite, legal, appropriate, monogamous sex. So it’s better that I don’t want it at all ever and I simply endure it. I am a big problem when I want it.

We’re All Mad Here

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I was reading an article that included the phrase “Mad Pride” about how mental illness has been perceived by society (mostly the US/Canada/UK) over time. It made me stop and think hard about how much my life has changed. I am in the closet now in a way I was not in California. There were times in my younger years where I would keep some things under wraps (I was militant about limiting sex life conversations with some groups of people) but mostly I didn’t hide any aspect of myself to such a degree that anyone and everyone couldn’t find out if they tried even a tiny bit. 

There is a big difference between “I don’t share personal stories about my sex/romantic life with students or homeschooling parents but I write about it explicitly on my public blog” and “I took my writing private so that someone would need at least a basic understanding of the internet archive in order to find out anything about me, I stopped writing about myself publicly on any topic that might be controversial and I no longer bring up or mention most things about my past and I am actively evasive with every person who does not have connections to my former life.”

It’s different. I am feeling more comfortable in the community. I feel like I probably do not have to remain quite this guarded permanently but I feel intense gratitude towards myself that I allowed myself this runway of time to have a place in the community where I am already seen as stable and competent and fairly well educated, especially in topics that are not well understood already here. I am starting to have that boost to the ego experience of having people say, “Oh Krissy I wanted to ask you about something. I don’t understand why ____?” When that something is often related to an aspect of interpersonal communication. I’m also getting more requests than I can take when it comes to organising level responsibility for different community groups or associations. And folks are asking me how I have taught my kids (thing). That’s definitely one of my sweet spots for feeling like I am not an imposter who should shut the fuck up.

It’s not that I think everyone should do what I do… that would go poorly. What I really appreciate is when people are interested in the process of how I figured out what was right for me because understanding that process is the bit that can help other people. They will have a different right answer in the end, but maybe seeing how I made decisions that align with my values will help them crystallise what their own values are so they can feel confident in their own choice. I like talking about parenting philosophy, not parenting choices. Because we are going to make different choices and that’s absolutely great. It’s mandatory. It’s as it should be for there to be the delightful variety of folks that this world needs. But the philosophy behind parenting is a place where you can discuss motivation and intentions and you can learn from each other without getting into a pissing match about technique. 

Technique is hard because it’s a minefield of traps for not understanding your own privilege when you frame what you do. Noah says that society has as much justice as it can afford. It’s complicated because often a family has as much justice as they can afford. And from family to family that is such a complicated and loaded concept that oh goodness just no. Can’t.

Anyway. The article. It goes through who is allowed to be mentally ill in public now. Who benefits from hashtag campaigns and public awareness movements around mental illness? It’s a short article but provocative in a way I agree with. I am so deeply aware of the privilege I enjoy at this point in my life. 

But this privilege comes with costs too. Costs I could not have imagined when I was on the far side of that particular privilege slider. 

I’ve been watching a lot more sci-fi/fantasy shows and movies recently. I am particularly drawn to things that are depicting ways that people live with an understanding of there being completely opposing truths/narrative/existanses existing all at the same time. 

So, I like to talk about money. If you have been here for a while you have seen the arc of that from poverty to (I think) fairly substantial wealth. When you are new to a community you only really exist from the moment they meet you. Your past is invisible and unknowable. Ok fine with google they could look me up but they don’t. I write all over the fucking internet. I have one handle I use on every site and I am so trackable it is definitely what a security expert would frown upon and give me a lecture for. I am consistent in part because that is my absolute only talisman against being called a fraud. My story is too whack-job. But I gots receipts, bitch.

I have suppressed so much of that over the past few years. I have been so very silent. It is taking a toll. 

The pendulum is going back and forth on so many different dynamics in my life. In one way I feel like my kids just got out of a big disequilibrium period (or at least some combination of them) and I am slamming my way into one with full force and fury. There are a whole bunch of things that are not working and I need them to change. 

I say over and over that disequilibrium is a necessary feeling for everyone because without it you probably won’t grow. You will get complacent and comfortable and you won’t want to face the terror and uncertainty and pain that comes with change. I have to get angry to have the force to demand change. I have to feel like I will wreck big things if the change doesn’t happen.

I am doing a med change. Amitriptyline and Lisdexamfetamine are not working for me anymore. There are enough negative symptoms with using them that I just cannot. Sex just hasn’t been happening. I’m not happy. I’ve been intermittently explosively raging for quite a while and it’s just not ok. I don’t like me. I need Patience, and I don’t mean the drink made with a whole lot of bourbon.

It feels silly to say this but I want to drink less. (It’s silly to say because Noah and I both have recently put in MASSIVE orders of alcohol.) I got variety. I got stuff that I want to invite other people over and say “I have x and y for you to taste test.” I want a social gambit, I don’t plan to consume much of it myself. I is making friends. 

I have a teeny tiny bit of regret about buying this house because it is huge and has been really rough to repair but I can’t tell you all about it because a Shorty has just informed me that there are gingerbread pieces waiting to be made into a house and I am all out of time.

Rest

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The big kids are in school. Her Sweetness is napping on her dad. I rode my bike to the post office to send out business mail. Now I am sitting alone enjoying a cup of tea and reading a book about sexual response so I can change my approach to my love life.

I used to think being “sex positive” meant saying yes as much as physically possible. I am trying to change my thoughts. Maybe being sex positive means saying no unless I really really want to say yes.

{tmi} squee!

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I closed!  I had sex on a first date!  *happy dance*

Want to know why I like having one date with people?  Because they do things like use a little boy voice to tell me how "nummy" I am during sex.  I felt like a pedophile.  But he was good at the physical parts of sex. 😀  Three times! 😀  

It's weird knowing that I got exactly what I wanted… and that means I won't be back.  I feel like a big meaniehead.

(tmi) I’m going to need a score card.

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12/8: first date. okcupid person.  excellent long emails.  we've been conversing for a couple of weeks.
12/9: spending time with a friend followed by a hot date at a womens bdsm party.  I win.
12/12: first date with person I know through mutual friends.  This may be the most intimidating thing on the agenda.  
12/15: first date. okcupid person.  few messages but his profile sounds like he may be exactly what I wanted for a one-night stand.  

I uhhh probably shouldn't go out on another date before Christmas.  I didn't mean for them to all get bunched up like this.  Goodness.

Finally!

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Oh man. I totally got laid last night. More than once. By more than one person. It felt really really really good. It has been a long time since I’ve been that kind of frisky. I really miss that kind of sex. What kind of sex you might ask (if you are a nosy bastard like me that is)…

Oh man. I went and had the kind of night where I had to remember how to signal, “Hey! I am interested in SEX!” I didn’t go to the sort of event where you are supposed to pick someone up immediately, but that doesn’t seem to stop me. It’s easy to pick someone up if you show up knowing they are interested. And if you know someone is interested it’s a lot easier to feel interesting and broadcast the kind of signals that say, “I’m interesting. You should come talk to me.”

I’m going back and forth about how much disclosure is appropriate. I live my life very publicly, but I don’t cause drama. Sex is one of those things that people get upset about. But it was really good sex. The kind where you show up saying, “I remember you being very very good at fucking me and it’s been a long time since I have had sex as good as that.” Then I kind of rub legs for a while. Then you get to the part where I explain, “All your standard cheesy lines should just go away. Because they are delaying us having sex. I could happily go do that right now.” We didn’t. We waited an hour.

It’s hard walking the tightrope of aggressive sex that isn’t painful. It’s really nice to find men who are up to the job. I’m at a spot right now where I am not interested in painful sex. I kind of have enough pain in my life. Even though I don’t want to be bitten hard, even though I don’t want to be hit, even though I don’t want to be pinched… I still want to have sex move very quickly through the steps (sometimes) because oh my god I love the feeling of someone wanting to fuck me right now. I miss knowing that someone is overwhelmed with the desire to fuck me really hard.

It’s kind of hard to find the time and space to be overwhelmed by sex as a parent. You can’t ever get too into the sex because at any second one of the little… people… are going to wake up again. Ugh. But last night I went out! There were no little kids to worry about. And I was fucked gloriously.

I missed this.

Oh man tired

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Last night we went out on a date, thanks to Paula and Andrew. After Shanna was born I pretty much lost the ability to orgasm. It was really really terrible. Nearly traumatizing. I discovered last night that you get me into the right scene and it’s back!

I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN I WIN

I’d rather get laid, well, all night long than have a stoopid mothers day breakfast. 😉

Whoo hoo!

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So a few years ago I did an interview as part of a documentary about Insex–one of the most explicit bdsm porn websites in existence. I got an email from a friend this morning saying that I was the first voice in it. Now I have to actually watch it. 😀 The documentary is called Graphic Sexual Horror and I’m super excited to see it. I find it kind of hilarious that the last bit of my baby-waiting period will be spent squeeing about being in a porn documentary. (Uhm, I’m just a voice. I was still teaching at the time and I wasn’t comfortable having my face filmed.)

Sex!

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So a while back Noah and I uhhh took advantage of Shanna being the life of the party and we snuck off to the bathroom for a few minutes. No one could hear us, we didn’t leave a mess, and no one needed the bathroom in the time we monopolized it. The house owner saw us leave the bathroom together and was rather upset. Fair enough. Noah and I have talked about it a fair bit and given our personal value systems we don’t really have any issue with the idea of someone doing the same thing at our house and we are curious how widespread in our overall social group our opinion is. Thus, a poll:
Continue reading →

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(part of the question redacted to preserve the anonymity of the asker)
“Speaking consensually of course, what sexual experience do you think of as the hottest you’ve had? And to be balanced, what sexual experience was the biggest let down/least hot?”

Hm. Hrm. Man this is where my shitty memory causes me problems. It’s a good thing my lovers don’t tend to have thin skins because they could get their feelings hurt by how badly I remember. This is something you aren’t supposed to admit in public but really it has to be sex on drugs. There have been a couple of uhm, altered, experiences that were so incredibly intense and overwhelming that straight sex has just never been able to compare to. I know it’s not pc and all… oh well. My memories of it have to keep me warm while my body is out of commission for such activities. 😀

Although if you want a (mostly) sober experience there was that time in Carmel with Noah. It was the first time we were dating [uhhh, before I dumped him and all] and he got me fairly drunk and introduced me to the wonderful world of anal sex. That was completely hot and wonderful and scary and overwhelming and fun.

If I reveal the biggest let down I’ll hurt someones feelings. So yeah. I’m skipping that one because despite popular opinion I do occasionally have tact. 😛

You can ask me a question here.