Several kind people have asked me if I’m taking all the supplements I should be taking to rebuild after using MDMA. Yes, sweet friends, I am. I know that fucking with your brain is complicated business and I am currently taking like 41 pills a day, two kinds of powdered supplements, some weird shit suspended in honey, and many kinds of homeopathic drops. I don’t “believe” in the homeopathy shit, but I have to admit I feel a lot physically better since I’ve been seeing this woo nutritionist. So I do it. (One Zyrtec, one stomach acid reducing pill, the rest are vitamins and nutritional supplements. Yes. I’m fucking taking the pills.)
I feel that I have been lucky in that all of my drug experiences have been with people who worry a lot about front loading and rebuilding after using drugs. The people who introduced me to drugs are functional people with jobs, children, and relationships who can’t afford to fuck themselves up. I was taught quite a bit about managing ones body when one makes alternative choices.
I wish my siblings had “grown up” around such advice. Maybe their lives would be different with their addictions.
Am I addicted to MDMA? I go years without using it. I use it for personal growth and it has helped quite a bit in that department. I feel it has worked better than all the psych drugs psychiatrists have ever put me on with lower side effect profiles.
How am I feeling? I slept well last night. I had a dream that has been recurring since I was young. It’s a fully fledged story about a homeless girl and a boy she falls in love with. Someday I will try to write it down to do it justice. It heavily features pistachio cake for reasons passing my understanding. I had to look up pistachio cake recipes this morning to see if such a thing actually exists and apparently it does.
How am I feeling? I still feel… calm. Not detached, exactly, but at a slight remove from my normal sense of being. I feel… empty but not in a bad way. I feel like I am not consumed with thoughts of self hatred and wanting to die. Instead there is room inside me. I don’t know what will fill that space.
I’ve been spending way the fuck too much time on Fetlife because I’m avoiding Twitter for reasons of it ripping my self esteem to shreds. There are a couple of scandals blowing up in my community. A rape case, which happens every so often in the community. And a case of a top using a technique they should not have used and almost killing people. I won’t get more specific because holy shit I don’t have the right. But these things are weighing heavily on my mind.
Holy crap for Crisco. Eldest Child just woke up and can read the paragraph about my dream. Time to close this forking screen.
Took a break for snuggling, map reading, and breakfast.
Today is going to be nice. I get to go do post-trip-processing with the therapist I worked with and a lovely friend is coming over for dinner. It’ll be good.
My children are reading books right now. They should be getting dressed, brushing their teeth and hair, and otherwise getting ready for the day. I’ve already done some of that and we have to leave in an hour. I also need to water the plants before I go.
I asked Eldest Child this morning if she understood that her dad and I are constantly studying stuff the same way she and Youngest Child do. She said she didn’t know that. I started rattling off all the stuff they see me doing that I’m just learning and her mouth fell open in shock. “Really? You’ve only been gardening as long as I’ve been alive? Ha! No wonder you kill so many plants!”
Watch it, girl.
But… yes. That’s why I kill so many plants. I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
I feel so lucky to live the life I’m living. Loving and learning is what I do with my time. I… I don’t do much stuff I don’t want to do any more. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with housework and I feel like I don’t want to do it right now or I feel cranky about the fact that I have to clean up other peoples messes… but even that is progressively more rare. My kids clean up after themselves and I really don’t mind doing my share. I like living in a tidy space. We have a small house and living in a mess means it is hard to do art and projects and play. If we keep stuff picked up our house is incredibly versatile. If we don’t put things away our house is soon an impassible pit and I don’t like that. So cleaning is something I mostly do because I want to. Because I really want the result.
How many people really feel like their life is full of what they want to do instead of what they have to do?
If you list the things I “have to do” it consists of sleeping, eating, paying taxes, shitting, peeing, breathing….
I’m a lucky bitch.
I feel overwhelmed with gratitude.
These days with Noah doing so much of the cooking… seriously my have to chores are negligible.
God I’m grateful for that man.
I’m not going to finish painting the kitchen before we leave. Deep sigh. Noah has been pushing me to rest before/after the MDMA experience. Thank you, love. In general Noah has been actively encouraging me towards less workaholism. (I suspect this is partially selfish because when he demands that I rest I often want him to rest near me… which means I’m not working until I cry and yelling at him for resting while I work… no… I’m not always nice.)
Noah is trying to express more of what he wants from me in terms of bdsm. This is important. It means I can have a better idea of what he wants and try to figure out how it is different than what I want. This is complicated but important.
I have more work to do.
But this space I’m in right now, where nothing in my head is telling me that I should die… I think that might make it easier.
I have picked a lot of bdsm in my life because I actively wanted to do that instead of self harming. I have picked a lot of the bdsm I have engaged in because I wanted to be hurt. I have not done all of my bdsm from a nice happy place of feeling good about myself and wanting to have my needs met. Having someone else hurt me in ways that were not fun or gratifying or enjoyable… was Harm Reduction.
You know why? Because mostly I pick people who genuinely don’t want to harm anyone let alone someone they like. I mostly have been fortunate enough to play with people who like me a lot as a friend even if they aren’t in love with me. And I would say that the majority of my play partners have loved me. Even if they did not want to marry me and settle down love me.
That is so easy to see today. My owner, my monkey fucker, Daddy, Puppy, Daddy James, Miss V, Dad… I could go on for a while but I’m running out of easy pseudonyms and I don’t want to actually out my play partners.
These people love me enough to want me to be healthy and ok. These people want to know me still.
That’s… a big deal.
Do you realize that I’m not many years away from knowing my scene friends for as long as I knew my biological family?
That’s…. a harsh thing to think about.
Beautiful let me know that Kacey Musgraves has a new album out (yay!) but she warned me to be careful of the song on the album about family. I’m so glad she did. I listened to a minute of it and turned it off.
My blood… is not there for me. And never has been. My children will be. Maybe. If I don’t fuck this up.
Do you know who has been there? Sarah. Jenny. My play partners and my lovers. Noah.
I feel like there is space inside of me to feel that love in a way I haven’t before. Like there is this chasm on the other side of a mighty dam just waiting to be filled with all the love that has been there for so very long.
Jenny has loved me since I was 12 years old. Jenny was there the night my brother killed himself. The night my father killed himself. I went to her right after Uncle Bob died and I cried on her shoulder again.
I am not alone.
And now I’m crying. But it’s not a bad cry.
I feel really lucky.