I’ve been thinking a lot about Part 2. Meaning the next stuff after Part 1 of the autobiography. (Already available for sale here.)
Part 2 is really two books. Because there are two different things going on. There is, first and foremost, what I want my children to know about me so that if I ever get hit by a bus they can understand who I am, where I come from, and maybe they won’t take my crazy so personally. Then… If I’m honest at all I’d like to write a tawdry little one-handed reading story that really explains the useful things I got from bdsm.
I grew up in the bdsm community. I was there from 18-25. That’s what I did with my time and energy. I learned how to be a pervert.
The thing is… I feel like a lot of the lessons and interesting things I learned in the community are things that you really don’t have to know “my” whole story to get value from. You don’t have to know Krissy Gibbs to be able to learn from the lessons I experienced.
Really this comes down to the fact that I’d like to have a Part 2 I can hand my kids and one I can say never never read this book.
It’s not for you. Because you can never unsee what you have seen. You can never unknow what you know about your mom.
I sorta think that the not-for-kids Part 2 doesn’t even really need to be about me. It needs to be about what I learned. I’ve been thinking really hard about whether or not I want to write it as an autobiography anyway.
The lessons I learned were complicated and layered and took a very long time of being whacked in the head to really get to where I was going. A book will have trouble conveying that. A book needs lessons that happen with a frame and an arc.
I was talking to my friend Tay about why he isn’t getting into the Outlander series. It sounded like complaints Jenny has made about the same series. I told him to stop bothering. It’s not going to be for him. Outlander doesn’t have a point. She isn’t telling you a story so that you can learn about Scotland in the 18th century. There isn’t a point. It’s just happening.
If I wrote Part 2 about the bdsm community and I did it like I did No Secrets then it would be… weird and kind of boring. It really wouldn’t be hot. If I want the kinky Part 2 to work… I sort of think this will need a frame. This will need a narrative hook. This will need to draw in people who have never known me and who will never know me.
I wonder if I will have to leave the abuse out entirely. Not abuse by my Owner–I mean my childhood stuff. Which will… substantially change the story. If I leave out all the “why” stuff from my childhood… I will have to come up with entirely different character motivation. That’s kind of wild.
I asked Noah the other day how he knows I love my mother. He said that not very many people are capable of hurting themself the way I have since childhood out of a desire to not have my emotions be a problem for people around me. Clearly I have strong feelings. He says it is obvious that it is love. I am less convinced that it is obvious.
What possible motivation would someone else have to behave how I did in a Master/slave relationship? That’s kind of hard to come up with. I feel like if I leave out the cutting, self-mutilation, eating issues and various other self-harm stuff I deal with then it won’t make sense why I needed to learn the lessons I needed to learn. Why in the fuck else was bdsm so much better? Why was getting my boyfriend to slap me in the face better than what I had been doing?
I’m not sure how to tell the story without making it clear that what I did with my Owner was better in every way compared to what came before. And still make it hot.
This will really not be a book for my kids. Which means I’m thinking really hard about what I will say in Part 2 for the kids. I had a four year long relationship with a man. We lived together for three years. He was really nice to me and he encouraged me to finish college. Eventually I broke up with him because I wanted kids and he didn’t.
I mean… that’s what happened, right?
Don’t tell the kids that “very nice to me” included locking me, while naked, in a wooden crate on the back deck. It was raining and freezing. It included sleeping in a 3’x3’x4′ steel cage. Because he thought it was hot. I had atrophied neck muscles from the collar that was locked on me. I deformed my calf muscles wearing high heels. He broke my arm during a bondage scene. I had the casting technician put in attachment points.
No wonder I have back problems.
If you treat someone like an animal for enough years there are consequences.
Why in the fuck was this so much better?
It was. It really was. He was honest with me. How do I make it clear to my children that sometimes you have no good choices and a bad choice is a good choice. While not making it sound like a good idea to go try that sort of shit.
I got into an argument once over Moll Flanders. Someone was very critical of “how dare she make those choices”. I get it. I mean, the book was written by a man and I think it shows, but I get it. I get why people become hard and make choices that seem unthinkable to other people. I get it.
Moll Flanders is not respectable, likable, nor particularly good. She is instead heart-breakingly real. People suck.
My bonus kids have been here for almost 24 hours. I get to keep them till tomorrow. This is very exciting. We are getting along really well this time. Last time was great too. We are learning how to be together. We are growing into one another. We can anticipate one another’s needs and quirks.
This time… Bonus Middle Child tickled me. I’m not sure that has ever happened before. His early visits involved a fair bit of him hiding behind my bed with a blanket over his head because we overwhelmed him like fuck. He was used to being the loudest one in his house. (Now he has a sister. Ha.)
He is so engaged. He has asked to play a bunch of games. He negotiates and talks. He can talk about things other than space. This is huge progress. When the girls are picking on him he says, “It hurts my feelings when you call me that. Please stop.”
My kids are doing better too. They are giving space better. They are less aggressive with, “Everything has to be my way.” I’m not sure I have had to say “Who is the mama here?” even once.
I want four kids. I don’t ever want a baby again. I am so forking grateful that Bonus Baby is almost not-a-baby. She is talking so well. She has so many questions. She wants me to describe everything she touches. It’s a lot of fun. She lights up when she leans on me to say, “Krissy, what this?” She is so excited that I am happy to answer every question. She is annoyed that she has to enunciate. Life’s rough, kid.
She is very very upset with me about enforcing “Inside voice” but I can live with that. When a kid starts screaming I take them by the hand (or pick them up, whatever is necessary) and I move to the back yard. I’ve stopped negotiating or reminding. You aren’t in trouble. I’m not punishing you. I’m helping you build the body memory “I only scream in the back yard.”
By “very upset with me” I mean she cries every time I put her in the back yard for a minute. Maybe two. Then she gets over it and goes back to playing.
I like playing with kids so much. Today we planted milkweed because my neighbor gave me milkweed seeds. I sure hope they come up. I will give them to neighbors all over the area.
Let’s coax some monarchs.
It was really fun to garden with the Bonus Kids. They have eleventy-billion questions. My kids aren’t questioners. I remain convinced that my kids don’t ask “Why” because I already overwhelm them with information. I am sad and proud.
Chiropractor says I’m very enflamed. What are you doing?! Err… being me. Clearly this isn’t a good idea.
25 days to go.
This week we must go to the park with the home school group for the year book picture. I’ve been with the group for most of the school year, even if I’ve been kinda flakey. I want representation. I’m not opting out, yet. And Shanna insists that she wants to go to the park for the selling-things day. So we have a couple home school things coming up. (Selling things is in two weeks.)
We also have a birthday party with the group this week. I hope it goes well. The person hosting is completely unaware that I’m having issues with folks. So I’ll smile and nod, like I do.
This week I want to take the van in for more work. I have four spiffy new tires. They were not able to do the air breaks that day. I also want to get an oil change. Just because. During the oil change I will have my friendly, cheap-as-heck, super competent mechanic check absolutely everything else.
Next week I get a hair cut. Then Shanna gets a hair cut. She wants her hair dyed with pink and blue vertical stripes. Uhm, sure.
Some wonderful friends will let me hide in their guest room for three days at the end of May. I will have quiet time. Otherwise we have dinner with one set of friends, see Pam twice and that’s it.
We are almost done with socializing and checking in with people. We will miss a lot of people. We’ve made the rounds. I have lots of time for putting spoons in drawers over the next three weeks.
I am ~75% packed. I will be completely done by the end of May. My theory is: if all that shit can’t sit in my van in my driveway this trip just won’t work. And I don’t want the back strain of trying to pack in a hurry. I’m doing little pieces as I go.
I’m scared. This is probably a fucking stupid thing to do. But I want it so so so so so so bad.
Go slow. We’ll make it.
Only one more swim class before we leave. Only nine more visits with the babysitter. Boo hoo hoo hoooooooooooo. That is the hardest sounding one.
I fucking love our babysitter. But Portland is calling my name. I should probably call Aunt Cookie today. I wrote her a letter. Then changed the dates after I sealed the envelope and neither sent the letter nor wrote another one.
Ok, that’s all the kid-off time I will be getting.