Monthly Archives: July 2016

Oh god, no

Last night I had the most vivid nightmare I’ve had in years. I have mostly managed to get rid of my nightmares. My sleep problems are usually more related to digestion than nightmares. But last night… last night was horrifying.

In my dream Noah leaned over and told me that he was going to kill me. I told a few people but mostly blew it off. Later in the dream… he killed me. Slowly. By inches. Laughing the whole time.

And I feel very much like I don’t deserve comfort. Like I would deserve it if it happened.

I don’t think this is my magic pill.

Med symptoms?

Folks are noticing that I’m surprisingly impatient. My body feels incredibly stiff. My boobs hurt like a motherfucker. My boobs hurt like engorged with milk hurt. Oh man. Apparently Latuda stimulates prolactin and can cause lactation. Oh joy. While it does that it prevents pregnancy.

Just where I want to be heading.

Something has to give.

I can’t keep all these balls in the air forever. I’m going to lose my mind. I’m tracking so many disparate things with regards to the remodel, like how many people I have to keep track of and talk to: new contractors, old contractors, lawyer, engineer, evaluator for arbitration, roofing company and companies for ordering parts. That’s a lot of keeping folks organized. We should sit down and write up more for the lawyer this weekend. Sigh.

My medical stuff sucks. I’m tracking a lot of appointments and a lot of kinds of medication. I start first thing in the morning and have a growing-in-intensity night time routine and stuff I have to do in the middle of the day. Taking care of my body is kind of a job and this isn’t even including exercise, meditation, or eating/bathing/general body care. Oh god.

Death sounds so restful.

Homeschooling continues on. Both kids are making dramatic progress scholastically lately. Eldest Child has erupted onto the reading scene and Youngest Child said, “Hey I don’t want to be left behind” so I think that the kiddo will be caught up soon. Handwriting is improving in a variety of ways. The form is neater, the lines are straighter, and the content is growing so fast I can’t keep track of what she knows.

Younger Kiddo doesn’t want to write yet. I’m told “I’ll start when I’m seven.” Ok. I’m down.

I sure as heck didn’t make your sibling start before she was ready and look at her go. She has caught up on years of school work progress in about three months. I would guess that at the beginning of seven she could write on par with the average kindergarden graduate. At this point her writing looks second/third grade. I think she caught herself up. I haven’t tried to formally evaluate her to count the word rate or anything and I’m not an elementary school expert… but based on the standards and her content… she’s plugging along.

It’s really cool to watch.

Noah and I are touching a lot all day long. We are trying to reestablish our bond. I can feel why he was so anxious. No, I didn’t really do this when I came back from the road trip. Yeah. I am just coming home. That’s gotta suck.

Who am I and what can I be? I don’t know.

Who am I allowed to be?

I think I figured out the last bit of transportation I was worried about with regards to the upcoming trip. I found a very economical way to get the ten of us around. No problem. I think I was sorta hoping someone else would do the scouting but they are busy as fuck too. So I did it because I wanted a better idea of how to handle this.

I’m not going to show up in Florida with a group of ten and try to wing it on transportation. We’ll end up spending an insane amount of money. Nope.

I’ve had an interesting thought lately about why folks don’t like white men. They pay for everything. They have the money. So everyone resents the shit out of them. Because when someone is paying for you, you don’t generally appreciate it you resent the fuck out of it. It’s not just white men though. It’s anyone who pays. But in terms of overall society… white men have the most money. Period. So it’s mostly them. This is occurring to me as I am the one who can pay now. I’m hated for it too.

I think that has to be ok.

I have reached a point in life where I have an obscene amount of privilege and money. It’s ok that people hate me for that. I understand. It isn’t about me. It is about how fucking unfair this life is. It is that I am a fucking bitch and I don’t deserve to have an easier/better life than anyone else.

It’s ok to hate me because things are easier for me than they are for someone else. That’s ok.

Even if it hurts me. Clearly I am not the person who matters in this exchange. I get that. I actually do. There are ways in which I can lean into that and ways in which I need to just stand still and let you do your thing. Because I’m not going to fuck up my life such that I lose the money and power I’ve acquired. Oh hell no.

I’m as selfish as the next.

I’m going to squirrel that shit away. I’m going to get more of it if I fucking can. I’m going to continue to invest. I’m going to continue to try and accrue a fortune that will keep me and Noah safe come what may in the future. I owe my provider that because he has provided so god damn well. I could squander the money. I could give it all away and damn us.

You know who won’t help me in the future? The folks who fucking hate me because I’ve had this period of time having more than them. I’m going to be on my own.

That’s ok.

I won’t be on my own. I’ll have Noah. And…. yeah that boy was born with fucking privilege and an attitude and an ability to acquire more privilege. God damn white men.

I swear I didn’t pick him for that. I didn’t know where he really came from until after he asked me to marry him. He’s smart.

Noah started off in a better-than-average place and then he had ten years of being married to me with me kicking him to do better. He’s tripled his salary in ten years. Our net worth has…  I think more than tripled. We are a good damn team. Neither of us could do apart what we do together. We work very symbiotically.

I don’t stay because of the money though. I just want to be realistic about it. I want to figure out how *I* think I should behave because of the money. I don’t want to be unthinking. I’m ok with being an asshole. I just want to do it on purpose instead of through unconscious behaviors.

I stay because of how he listens to me. I know that I get very angry when the talking doesn’t create the changes I want (ahem) which isn’t… fair? Appropriate? I don’t think I explode all over the place when I don’t get my way on minor matters. I am pretty darn sure I’m flexible about most things.

Not my cunt. Not ever again.

It’s so complicated.

Shiny change of topic: my garden is gorgeous. This is by far the most beautiful year my back yard has ever had. I fall more in love with my sanctuary by the day. And I’m not spending very much time out there because I’m working inside. Life is Not Fair.

Apparently being told I’m not allowed to direct energy outside the house is what needed to happen to get back to reading. In the past threeish weeks I’ve read six, seven books? Fiction and nonfiction. Some rereads, some new.

Three on ADD. I’m convinced my whole house has it. Why has this never hit my radar before?!

I’ve typed this super slowly. I shouldn’t be typing at all. Not being on Twitter sucks. I feel existentially lonely. But also relieved. I took Hangouts off my phone so I’m only sms typing. That’s helping.

I have a gorgeous milkweed plant this year. So I’m sharing seeds with neighbors. My neighbors all seem to be very happy I’m back and they wish I was feeling more sociable with them. Ugh and urf. I love you all.

I’m so tired.

Why can’t I sleep? My body just felt icki. Anxious and fussy. I’m sad and I’m not.

I am thinking about my sister all the time. I saw her in a restaurant recently. Both of us had prepared plates of food before we saw one another so neither of us walked out. We just carefully looked at the floor instead of making eye contact.

She lives in an RV and rides a motorcycle. She’s aged a lot. She looks 20-25 years older than me instead of 13 years older than me.

Do I really get to complain in any way about the hand I’ve been dealt in life? My sister has had it much worse.

As an adult, I mean.

I guess this settles the question of what I will do if I run into a family member: look down.

I didn’t start a conflict. I kept my mouth shut and didn’t draw attention. I was a grown up.

I hope that counts for something. I am not trying to cause a big scene. I just want to get through my life without being abused. I am beginning to hate this word. What does abuse mean anyway?

It means my sister telling me I was unwanted and my life makes the lives of everyone around me worse. And then her telling me again. And again. And again. Until I believe it like I believe my eyes are brown.

Noah and my kids wrap themselves around me like clinging vines. And still I cannot shake this pervasive, permeating belief that I should die because I hurt everyone near me just by existing. I do not know what could change this feeling in me.

Over and over in my life I have evaded this feeling by falling backwards into the arms of a new person to see if I damage them. It has got me far. It has gotten me to here. It is how I try again and again and again with people.

But doing it now hurts Noah. So it isn’t doing what I want it to do. The well is poisoned.

Shit.

I don’t know how to change this feeling and I must if I am ever going to break the suicidality I live with.

I don’t think this is something a pill can fix.

Latuda is the current anti-psychotic I’m taking. After four? nights of taking it I would say that it is making it so that I have less energy to do anything about my suicidal/self harming thoughts but they are sharper and clearer.

Yes. I am a disgusting whore who hurts everyone. But folks knew what they were getting into so fuck ’em.

I’m not sure this is improvement?

I feel more numb. Woo.

Love. My. Brain.

I kinda feel like I don’t deserve the relief of cutting. It would distress other people and I’m not allowed to be selfish like that.

I’m not sure this is an improvement.

The last several years of medical treatment attempts all seem to be aimed at schizophrenia. Are a series of doctors trying to tell me something very slyly? How many schizophrenia medications have to make me sick before doctors stop acting like that is the way to treat me? Apparently all of them. And they are always coming out with new ones so it’ll never stop.

Wheeee

27 days until we leave for the cruise. I now have bags that are exactly the right size for carryon for this airline. We are bringing clothing that we recently paid an arm and a leg for. We aren’t checking tens of thousands of dollars of stuff. Not with the TSA. Oh god no.

We don’t live in a world where such a choice is smart. I’ll keep my stuff on my person or in my sight, thank you.

It really isn’t like Noah and I to spend this kind of money on clothing. It’s downright out of character. But we are going to look ever so cute and now we have impetus to do enough exercise to be able to wear these clothes for the rest of our lives. I had mine made so that I can wear most of it through a fifty pound increase from where I am. Hell yeah.

I’ve been in this body a while.

We will have to find places to wear this shit. I will plan the rest of my life around getting to wear pieces of this dress.

It’s kind of ridiculous. But whatever.

I guess we’ll have to learn Regency dancing?

I’m down. We can be terrible together.

Noah wants me to get all of my feeling of love and acceptance from him. He gets it from me and I’m enough. I feel really bad that I don’t… get enough from him. This feeling is so so so so much bigger than him. I feel like if I tried to use him to fill this hole I would consume him and he would die and then where would I be?

I like Noah. I like being around him. Except when I need to go talk to myself. Hi, self. How you doing? Better than when I started, thanks for asking.

Thankfully today is Saturday. Fewer people I should pester. I’m so tired of this forking remodel. It is so depressing and demeaning to keep pressing on. But we really have to. The permit expires soon. Have to make progress to extend the date. Shit.

The kids said since we have unexpected days with them we should have dates. Sounds lovely. We are, once again, Team Virgo. Kiddo wants to pick up Subway (“I haven’t had any Subway in so long“) and go to the park. Sounds like a lovely date. I can do that.

Team Gemini will be eating sushi and playing Minecraft. I like my date much better.

Eldest Child spends a lot of time drawing pictures of all four of us sitting at computers and writing impassioned pleas like, “My dream come true would be all of gaming together.” Snort. I don’t need new computer hobbies. No.

Ow. Must stop on that note.

Random

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

My children continue to be my favorite people.

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

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

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

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

I don’t know what expecting better means.

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

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

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

Hey time to wander off.

Layers

I know I make it sound like my sex life with Noah is awful and it isn’t. The vast majority of our sex together is terrific or I wouldn’t be so loyal. It’s just sometimes awful. And the sometimes is a significantly decreasing percentage of our sex life as the years pass.

But there are a bunch of layers to this.

I’ve been sustaining genital injuries during sex for over thirty years. I am no longer able to react to this moment when stuff like that is happening. I can’t. I get in the forever-place where this will never stop and I should just die to get away from it because nothing I can ever do will make people stop hurting me this way.

I do not pretend it is rational. I acknowledge that it is happening. Bodies aren’t rational.

Trauma living in the body is a well documented phenomena. If you don’t believe me you can do your own damn research. I’m satisfied.

I think there is some validity to “You’ve been safe for 10 years so you’ve finally been able to mature to about 13 and that means you are rebelling and individuating in asshole ways.”

I think there is validity to the point that was made last night: I had my first six months off from genital pain during sex during my lifetime on the roadtrip. There is the possibility that my body started to feel like, “Hey wait… maybe that doesn’t have to happen.

know it is happening much less. I only have two clear memories since I’ve been home from the roadtrip. So that’s way decreased frequency.

But if you look at dog training, intermittent reinforcement (negative or positive) is a much more effective teacher than constant reinforcement.

I’m fucking paranoid every time we have sex that this time is going to be another time and it takes me a while to unwind and get into sex and that’s hard for Noah. It makes it much more difficult to relax and get into anything.

The last date for slut month? Cancelled. Guess why? Illness in the Bonus Family and he is sick too.

I guess that’s… meant to be? Ha.

If I have to be monogamous, at least it is with Noah.

He’s a ridiculous amount of fun to have sex with. When I’m not paranoid I’m about to be a fleshlight.

(I have been feeling annoyed about the canceled/cancelled spelling distinction lately so I looked it up. Given that my audience spans countries where both spellings are valid I figure I will just go back and forth between the spellings forever. I don’t need to pick a side here.)

I suggested to Noah that for a while maybe he doesn’t initiate penetration at all until I verbally say “I’m ready.” This is going to be a stretch for both of us.

I think part of the reason I hide behind sex with new people is: it’s not hard to have boundaries with them. I can tell a new person “no” all day long. Once a relationship gets more complicated… my ability to say no kind of evaporates.

Hanging out with my kids full time is quite the adventure. I have to have boundaries with my closest people. But they aren’t sexual. I mean, the boundaries are brick wall clear and not ambiguous and I never have to wonder about how to enforce those kinds of boundaries. That’s the easy part.

I have placed an unfathomably unfair problem on Noah: I will not tell you no and you need to figure out how to not hurt me.

And I keep score. And I get bitter over the years.

Fuck I’m such a fucking bitch.

Not fair.

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

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

I don’t know how to have these boundaries.

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

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

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

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

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

You did. And I sound like an ungrateful bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Yes it fucking does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m so broken.

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

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

And then I came home and it happened again.

And I fucking lost it.

And I started fucking everyone.

And Noah fucking lost it.

And here we are.

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

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

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

I don’t say no.

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

Now I know.

I know.

I’m scared.

Should I be scared?

Cue hysterical shrieking laughter.

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

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

He’s something.

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

Love/hate

I am not a person who accepts influence well. I note things about the world then go home and reflect on them and course correct to include things that I felt inspired by… but if someone says, “You should” I repel off them like I’m playing a video game.

Bounce.

I move through life with all the force of a speeding train doing what I’m doing. I can’t course correct for the whims of other people. I’d crash. Why do I operate that way? Is it because I am sure I am right? No. I fuck up big. I fuck up with all the speed of a speeding train hitting a brick wall.

Whoops.

I do this because it is how I can overcome the hurdle of my self hatred. It is how I can act even though I’d rather be at home crying and cutting in my bathroom.

Because I pick a direction, I pick a set of tasks, I pick a set of behaviors I’m supposed to nail… and I move.

That sucks for Noah when the direction I’m moving in is “I want to find out who I am by myself again.”

Noah didn’t take the road trip like the vacation I sorta wanted it to be for him. Instead he reacted like a plant that was ripped out of the yard where it gets lots of sun and it was put in a closet for 5.5 months.

He wilted.

And I came home so completely over-saturated on mothering and my subsumed identity that…

We are exploding with all the force of a speeding train hitting a brick wall.

Boom.

The funny thing is: this totally describes my problems with person after person after person. They try to provide subtle influence. I’m supposed to notice that I’m supposed to pattern match off them. I don’t.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

I don’t understand how I have friends left.

I am starting to feel a little terrified of what I’ve gotten myself into with the group trip to Florida. We are together for two solid weeks. There are ten of us. Five adults and five kids.

And I can’t have pot.

Boom.

We all have separate cabins on the cruise. We don’t have to be together all the time. The Bonus Family has no interest in Universal, and I really want to go. So that’s a day separate. At the beach we have two apartments so we could rotate folks through having their own space for a night if anyone is really overwhelmed.

We have built in escape valves. I’m consciously planning only a few hours a day of stuff. I’m very very consciously planning down time. Sit somewhere. I don’t care where. Just sit.

I am also bringing running shoes. I will run a fuck ton of miles to burn off energy. Wheeeeee. I will stretch. Maybe Noah and I will be good about meditating since we’ll have so little else to do. Heh.

I’m not bringing my phone or a computer. Noah’s phone will be good enough for directions.

I’m scared of more boom.

I need to box up the presents I was going to give Jenny’s family and mail it off. I’m very glad that she is prioritizing the health of my niece/nephew to be. I’ll be sad she isn’t there, but she’s making the right choice. I’m very very glad. Hell I told her to ask her doctor before she thought of it.

I’m very glad she is making the choice she is making.

Shut it down

I have canceled all but one date and I didn’t cancel that one because I’m afraid of the social/political fall out. When he gets to our house and notices the tension thick enough to cut with a knife it may turn into a chat session anyway. He’s a perceptive fellow.

We’ll see.

Do you know what I am sick to fucking death of? People telling me I should “make Noah” go to therapy. I AM NOT HIS MOTHER. I DO NOT MAKE HIM DO THINGS.

If you are thinking about messaging me to tell me that you really think I should make Noah see a therapist I want you to examine your motives and ask why you think I have such power. If you feel so fucking strongly talk to him about it and not me.

As I understand it I am never to ask for outside dating again. The specifically stated preference is that if I have such urges again: cut and suppress them.

Well. I have my orders.

Also: for the love of shiny green apples don’t “jokingly” tell me how I’m about to hit you any time soon. It’s not a funny joke. It wasn’t a funny joke a long time ago and I’m so over it I could puke.

completely fucked

Noah just stomped out of the house at 5am to avoid screaming more at me. I don’t think I should believe him that this month is a good idea. I think that if I listen to him pushing me to do this it will be throwing gasoline on a bonfire.

I’m torn between wishing I had documented every fight and knowing it would have been stupid. Every time he’s slammed the wall next to my head. Every time I’ve asked him to stop using me as a masturbatory aid and he did it again days later. Every time he has told me, “Oh I’ll do ____” and it never happened.

He sure as shit is keeping score.

The thing is, I have no interest in divorce. My way out of this marriage is death. So I don’t keep score. Because that strikes me as a very good way to make sure I end up dead sooner.

Gaslighting

If I’m going to get screamed at this many times over a behavior I should write it down. Noah has been consistently bringing up the fact that my words and my behavior have not matched up for months. I will say that I am going to do something then not do it. I will say I won’t do something then I do it.

He says I am being deceitful in the blog and in doing so I am creating a situation in which he cannot honestly ask anyone for help. He cannot talk to any of our mutual friends because of the fallout I will experience when he reveals how abusive I am.

I think that if he believes that, and given how many times it has been screamed at me in the past few months I believe he sincerely believes it…. he needs to get some god damn support.

I am an abusive nightmare who is taking what he has to offer in life and then spurning him. He is honestly giving all of himself and I hit a wall and I fucking stopped reciprocating.

If you want to know what I’m doing, maybe I can get access to his notes and copy them. God knows he isn’t going to fucking talk about anything. But he’s taking extensive notes about everything I’m doing wrong. Because his memory gets fuzzy otherwise and he wants to very specifically remember every detail.

It makes me think I should have started taking serious notes on my done me wrong list fucking years ago.

Instead I get to be the piece of shit who has done everything wrong.

What have I lied about? Oh I said I’d use gloves when someone fingered me and the next person who fingered me didn’t use them and I didn’t interrupt him. I said I would look only for folks who wanted group play and then the next person I talked to and have pushed to keep in my life is anti group play. I said that I wanted to cheat. Not that I was going to, but that I wanted to.

I am a piece of shit because the only thing that gets through my head, when Noah tries to explain how much I am hurting him, is for him to say, “Fine then I’m dating too.”

I take that as a punishment and step down. Not a lot less gets through to me.

On many occasions over the past six months I have said that I wouldn’t schedule with new people and then I did so.

I said I wasn’t hunting on okcupid while I was continuing to flirt and add people in other areas of conversing.

Noah says that something is happening then I say it isn’t then he gives examples and I proceed blithely to ignore him and minimize. Apparently this has been a severe constant long term problem over the last six months and he is fucking dying to tell me again about every single example.

He’d like to keep me up screaming about this for fucking days. But he won’t talk to anyone else and get support. That would be disloyal.

Now I asked for examples so I’m a bully for asking and saying that he’s screaming about it. One more way in which I’m a piece of shit.

Let’s keep going, shall we?

It is really hard for Noah that I deny my behavior. I’m not denying it. I’m a lying piece of shit.

He says this is exactly like me having a drinking problem. I’m a compulsive liar. “Me just seeing that this exists causes you to fly into a rage repeatedly.”

On Wednesday and Thursday I was still abusing him. I do not track this honestly in his mind. On Wednesday I got angry while he was going down on me because I hit a point where I realized that I was doing this Slut Month in a way that was only catering to him and what he wants. I should not have gotten angry about that.

I can’t type as fast as he is rattling this off.

I fly into rages when he confronts me with my behavior. He pointed out on Thursday that all the group play is with people I want to play with and I got pissy. I was fucking nasty as I said it really sucks that I want to play with people who want to get me off.

I’ve spent ten years not writing down every time I was told “Oh I’ll get better at foreplay” only to be fucked dry like a god damn fleshlight two days later.

Maybe I should be keeping better notes about the ways in which what I am told and what I get don’t god damn match up.

And he can’t tell anyone what I’m doing. Because if he does then someone might get mad at me and then they might shame me. So he can’t ask for support. Because I am so fucking abusive that our friends would rain down fire telling him to get away from me if they knew the truth.

Well I’m not being as specific as his lists because I can’t keep up with his speed of listing it off and I’m sorry for that.

I attack him (often on unrelated topics) when he questions me on wanting new dick. I mislead people in the blog. I am not nearly specific enough in an ongoing way about what a piece of shit I am. I should be giving more specific examples.

Noah feels that if he answers me honestly it is a bad idea because I am not sincere in my questioning so he can’t be sincere with me. If I ask Noah about things then it is about placating him or about beating myself up–like this morning. So even though he’s been bitter for weeks that I am not being honest enough in the blog this morning I am a problem again because I am asking him for examples of my shittiness in order to write this blog post. I seriously can’t do shit right. I am not taking his rebukes as instantaneous spurs to change into the behavior he wants and that’s a big problem.

I’m not falling into line. And he’s going to tell me that he will let me do this month and… after what I got yesterday I can’t fucking wait for the rest of the month.

I am hurting Noah again and again and again. Because I’m being a selfish bitch who cares about my sexual satisfaction instead of caring about how my behavior affects Noah.

I don’t think I’ll go into how the swing party went. Yeah, we had sex with other people. After being yelled at the whole way there about how I’m ruining Noah’s life because I don’t pay all of my attention to solely him I didn’t really have a lot of fun playing.

Yay for being a nasty disgusting abusive monster.

And he won’t tell anyone but me. Usually fairly loudly in the middle of the night. It’s totally appropriate that I keep getting screamed at though because he’s only yelling at me again because I did something again. Again and again and again. Because I’m a piece of shit gaslighter.

I say I’ll stop adding people. Then I notice that another interesting person is nearby and ooh shiny there goes my notice.

So I’m a fucking liar.

But I should really do this Slut Month. Because totally. He thinks it’s a super good idea. Because this way he will sustain maximum damage in a set period of time.

That’s how he phrases it. So I will inflict maximum damage on him.

This isn’t the first time in our marriage Noah has extensively (accurately) accused me of being abusive. I fucking wish he would talk to someone other than me about it. But he won’t. Because disloyalty. So I’m a monstrous piece of shit who has isolated him and made it so he can’t have friends because he can’t talk to them honestly about his life unless it is perfect and unfortunately I’m an abusive monster.

For the life of me I don’t understand why he wants to be married to me.

I could write for thousands of words about what a piece of shit I am but my arms are going to give out. I’m sorry my confession is less than every particular. Maybe I’ll talk him into sharing his notes so that I don’t have to bother to retype it. There are extensive notes, after all.

And then I will be such a duplicitous cunt rag that I won’t even post a link to twitter. So clearly that is one more way that I am misleading people and being a piece of shit.

Slut Month Night 1

That. That’s what I like about sex. The giggling. The orgasms. The blushing and the wanton fucking. The slithering and sliding and rubbing that melds one sex act into another. Who are you having sex with now? Everyone. One at a time in sequence then they offer to trade. So civilized.

“Would you like a turn?”

I turned cherry tomato red.

It was lovely and fun.

I can tell you how many condoms were used. I can tell you how many times men orgasmed. I can’t tell you how often I got off. (No one thought to keep track.)

It was glorious having a cock in my cunt and a cock in my hand such that I got to feel the throbbing enjoyment that the person who wasn’t fucking me felt every time I got off.

As they told me over and over how lovely I am.

Yes. Like that.

Licking, sucking, biting, just a little bit of scratching and pinching. (Very little pinching. Phew.)

Yesterday was intensely, overwhelmingly good. Every appointment all day was a rollicking success. A sleep study is ordered. I have intermediate steps for trying to help sleep. My back doesn’t hurt after the delicious acupuncture. The groino said, “We will not let you labor nine days such that you end up hemorrhaging like that.” She is completely confident in my ability to carry another child… with more management. I’m feeling like submitting to medical authority this time. Not submitting almost killed me.

The fittings at Dark Garden were wonderful. Our outfits are coming along quickly and beautifully. I decided I won’t bother wearing the gorgeous corset dress under the other outfit on the cruise. No good reason to wear something in which I cannot sit down. That will wait for fetish events.

I have wanted a corset dress for 15 years. It is more beautiful than I could have hoped. And I look ridiculously hot. The corset part is done. The other layers aren’t yet, but they will be in the next few weeks.

The wonderful Bonus Mama made sure we knew to leave the kids for a solid 48 hours instead of creeping closer to 36 because we feel guilty about forcing so many kids on them.

Glorious support.

Today is also busy and lovely. Martial arts, hangout hours, maybe a birthday party, back home for massages, then a swinger party.

I’m having sex. So. So. So much sex. Glorious sex. I feel flooded with oxytocin and I love it.

Group sex is glorious sex. Thank you Noah. Thank you Deity. You are both so generous to me. I appreciate it. I’m happy and grateful that this will happen again in the future.

I feel like I woke up Happy Slut Land and I only get to visit here for a month. It will be a glorious month. Then I’ll go home.

That’ll be ok. Home is pretty god damn fantastic. And then baby. Baby. Baby. Baby.

Yeah. I think I can work this out of my system.

Let it begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you so much.

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

Babysitter arrives in minutes.

Noah explained in great detail this morning what he is giving up for this. He… was very specific and precise as he made his list.

Yes. That is all true.

He was very specific and precise as he pointed out the lying I have been doing and the denying that I’m lying as I’m still lying.

Yes, that is true too.

Off to couples therapy.

Resentment

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

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

But sometimes it overwhelms me.

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

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

Do I still want to be married?

Yes.

Do I still want to be married to Noah?

Yes.

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

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

That’s not me.

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

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

Always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know.

I feel so angry.

That was the price of my safety.

That was the price of help.

That was the price of not being ignored.

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

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

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

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

Fuss and whine

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

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

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

Complicated.

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

Complicated.

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

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

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

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

But I’m feeling pissy.

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

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

I know.

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

Grow up, Krissy.

I feel so tired of being good.

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

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

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

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

I don’t like boundaries.

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

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

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

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

That road trip was too long.

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

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

I think with my cunt.

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

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

My day needs me.

Try to be brief

Hands hurt wicked bad. Want. To. Type.

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

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

I should water the yard.

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

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

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

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

I have liked being fat.

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just Noah’s.

Even when I resent the shit out of them.

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

So it’s complicated.

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

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

That’s the deal.

That’s a good step

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

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

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

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

I’m tired.

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

Ok. I can stay home again.

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

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

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

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

I needed chaperones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What will happen if I  _____________?

I have to know.

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

No more typing.

Planning for coping.

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

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

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

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

Goodness I’m blessed.

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

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

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

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

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

I couldn’t agree more.

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

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

Oh.

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

I’m feeling magnanimous.

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

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

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

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

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

We aren’t polyamorous.

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

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

And dinner is on the table.

Vetoes

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hurt myself.

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

We do this to each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I could sleep again. I should try.

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

What’s next?

There are things I don’t write about.

And then my brain jumps to yet another topic I’m just… not going to write about.

You know what? My body hurts. I can say that. Pretty much all of me. I’m exhausted.

But! I have the most awesome support network I can imagine having. Do you know how it feels that when I am feeling shitty I can reach out to 28 god damn people and all of them have a few minutes to text with me?

The specific quote from the day that I kinda want to have printed on something where I can read it a lot is, “You are very vulnerable to accepting being wrong. Sometimes you’re just NOT WRONG.”

That was succinct. And this person has one of the stronger voices in my inside voice loop. I want to continue to be someone who is ok accepting that they are wrong. I want to continue to be someone who can apologize. I want to continue to be someone who knows that I do wrong things and I fuck up and I need to god damn say I’m sorry.

I like that about myself.

Do you know what else I like about myself? I like that I’m a control freak. Know why? Because it allows me to get so much done.

That’s a pretty core part of my identity. I get shit done. I do it by being a fucking control freak. It is true. And my kids have adapted to the Krissy-show with gusto. But I get that we move through life really fast. We are all intense motherfuckers in this house.

I really like that about us.

Noah and I had a long chat about the Quiet One and the fact that I’m not being a friend to the marriage. I’m not. Getting called on it makes sense. It’s appropriate.

I like giving permission. I don’t really like controlling people by negating behaviors I like controlling people by giving permission. Because I like the results so much more.

It is a conscious choice of ways to interact. I’m not embarrassed about this. I mean, is it “controlling” people to tell them that they really and truly should follow what they want to do instead of listening to the negating voices in the world? Is it influencing? Is it inspiring? Is it just fucking talking?

It depends on who is judging, don’t it?

I’m kinda glad I ended up with some extra days free this week. I get to go visit one of my former students who is dealing with cancer. I’m not going to be shy: please contribute money if you can. I’m not going to give you her life story because I don’t have permission. But this girl has had a ridiculously hard and stressful journey in life. If you can, please help her. She needs to live. Her life has just finally gotten to the point where it is not shitty. Now this. Please help if you can. If you can’t, please share the link with people who can help.

I think a lot about my place in the world. What it means to have an open heart. What will make me hard? What will make me turn mean?

I think that will have to be a choice I make. Because I could get mean. I really could. I could be violent.

But it wouldn’t get me what I want.

Do you know what will get me what I want? Admitting when I fuck up and apologizing. Using my words. Learning how to observe boundaries without being a disrespectful asshole. I will never do what I want to do in life if I double down on my right to stay the same.

That’s just not going to work.

I know I have to change. I know that I have to adapt.

Do you know how much freedom there is in that? I do not have to try and stay the same in a rapidly altering world. I have to try and figure out how to race with the current and pick up speed.

Yes. I play life on the easy level. It is true.

But I also pay forward what has been given to me.

I will keep opening my home. I learn things I need to know.

Helping people can’t ever be about what I get back from doing so. That can’t be the point. You help because you have extra. So much extra. And it is shameful to hoard it. I help in ways big and small, monetary and energetic, near and far.

I like that about me.

I tell my children that they are literally some of the luckiest people who have ever been alive. They in particular have access to more information, freedom, and privilege than like 99.99% of human beings who have ever been alive.

Now what do you want to do with that?

So far draw Minecraft pictures. But they are quite good.

I have a kitchen to finish painting. My heart overflows with joy and creative energy.

My neighbor is going to come over for a chat about her health. She has a bunch of questions she wants to ask me. I’m delighted we were finally able to schedule that.

/me throws out gravity net

Come to me…..

Ahem.

Dude, why am I being such an asshole to Noah? I keep saying shit I shouldn’t say. My shrink says she thinks that he has kept me safe long enough that I’m acting like a rebellious teenager. She might be… closer to accurate than I like.

I am very interested in what medication could do for my reading ability. I haven’t been able to read much in a year. My brain is just too distracted and all over the place. I can’t focus very well. I think I’ve read five new books? That were on intensely important-to-me topics. So I could hyperfocus because shit I need this.

But otherwise I can’t read right now. Quite frankly I think I need to go through and start doing more suicide/trauma reading. I’m flailing and not managing my impulsivity at all well.

I am not being long term selfish I am being short term stupid selfish.

That’s a problem. That creates wounds that don’t heal.

Shit. Shit. Motherfucking Shit.

Ok. Can’t undo what is done. Can only move forward. Apologize. Make a different mistake next time. Hopefully… a much smaller one. In an entirely different area of life. Maybe not make a mistake near that boundary for a few years.

This dance we do.

Given where we are starting from and where we want to get… the only comfort is we have already come so far.

Noah was sweet talking me yesterday. He told me he thinks I may actually be smarter than him I just don’t have as broad of an education as him. That made my elitist smug bastard heart melt. It uhhh made sense in context of the conversation. You don’t get to know the context.

It probably isn’t what you think. And that’s all I’m saying.

I could have come up with many dozens more people yesterday if I had wanted to. Because I am one of the luckiest people alive.

As long as I don’t ask for too much… I can get a few minutes of contact from a whole lot of people all in a burst if I have to.

Thank you.

I love you so much.

Noah does share well. He really fucking does. But I’m not respecting the important parts of not sharing. I’m treating him like an obstacle and that fucking sucks.

Stop being such an asshole, Krissy. He isn’t blocking you from getting what you want. He is what you want. I mean… I can come up with lots of things/people/situations I want too.

But Noah has limits. He shares me so much. He is so patient.

I like to push my luck until I see where I run into a brick wall head first. And that sucks. I always have. I find boundaries from the other side of them.

Noah’s patience should be legendary in my opinion… but he’s running out. It is… interesting to watch. I’m learning a lot.

I feel like I have been feeling around the boundaries. What are the breaking points. What does breaking mean.

What a fucking asshole.

Stop it. You know what being good here means. If you want to earn back trust do the work. For five years. And no bitching. That’s the deal.

My words come at a high cost sometimes.

Sometimes even gods have to atone. I think a limited sentence like five years is kinda generous.

Hunh. I sorta wonder if this is somehow what I was aiming for. Noah came down on me. Like a box of fucking hammers. I’m not saying he was abusive or mean. He wasn’t. He was clear and specific.

Yup. I done did that.

Motherfucker.

Biotech, you know you are skating on thin ice and you say what?

Can’t even say what were you thinking. Clearly there was no thinking going on.

Analyze your possible actions and make choices before you fucking act. I don’t care if it hurts to think that hard. Do it anyway.

Why does it hurt to think that hard? Because my lizard brain is a short sighted asshole. Over riding that takes a lot of push.

On or off is easier. Moderated on…. fucccccckkkkkkkk

I honestly feel like I hit the wall. But not in a bruised and battered way. In a calm, “Oh. Well ok then” way.

Noah my love, I don’t know why this is a good deal for you. I really don’t. I know you’ve told me hundreds of times. It still just… your math is off.

But the boundaries are uhhh becoming clearer by the day. I don’t want to make Noah small and wounded. That means I need to think before I act. I need to keep my mental model of him in the forefront of my mind. Before I say or do anything I have to think about how he would feel about it.

I have to be a friend to the marriage. I have to only say things that increase the likelihood of longevity. Which isn’t to say that I can’t bitch sometimes to friends. But I have to pick who and what I say with respect.

I feel like this should somehow be more intuitive. I think this is why it is just so much easier to pick on or off than moderated on. I don’t think it is that I am just stupid. I think this is hard.

Noah, I still think * is a good idea.

This marriage is going to be long. We need something to go your way sometimes. I’m uhm. Yeah. I’m getting mine. And do you remember how hard pregnancy was? Breaks are good.

Breaks from how obnoxious and high maintenance I am are good.

So I’m a mixed bag. There are things I like about me and things I need to do some serious work on. Sigh. But, I declare that progress towards the goal and continue on with the work.

I’m looking at my calendar up to the cruise. Holy shit.

Well. I do like to keep busy. I might, uhh want to start thinking about packing. Because if I plan well… I bet I could make some damn smart choices. But I’ll have to think. If I pack at the last minute I’ll bring too much.

I’ve done this dance a few times.