Improving?

Part of the reason I don’t like to write more in times of lots of extreme ups and downs is because I feel stupid. There have been up moments. I feel like maybe there are more positive moments than terrible moments over the past few days. Things are leveling off.

I feel like we are getting closer to an agreement we can live with. It isn’t perfect on either side (compromise isn’t a dirty word) but it is something we can live with. Perfect for Noah might involve a much longer leash than I can cope with. Perfect for me might involve a whole lot more patience with my shenanigans.

You give what you can give.

I still like being married to him. I’m still happy that I get to talk to him and fuck him and have him tell me that we will figure it out.

Don’t compare partners. But only one person carries me. I notice that. I do compare that. I honestly believe I would have to be a fucking moron to not weigh that more heavily.

That doesn’t justify being mean to anyone else or taking them for granted or using them and discarding them. But I do compare what kind of support I get because I need to make sure I get enough support.

I have to.

Am I selfish? Yes. Is that ok? I don’t know. Noah thinks that banging me is worth the price of admission. It is high.

Tonight we have the penultimate conversation. One of the least scary ones. I am sad that I didn’t manage to get all the people in this month. One of them I will talk to in June because sweet sunny french fries I couldn’t see more people this month. I feel like I’m about to collapse. And I have a cold.

We are getting closer and closer to understanding kinda what we want. Maybe. Uhm, lots of group sex. Because group sex is awesome. Ok, it has obnoxious dynamics to deal with (what sex doesn’t) but I can adapt.

It isn’t that our sex life is inadequate, not really. We have fucked 31 times so far this month and I’m so chafed that sitting down is… uncomfortable. It isn’t that we can’t fuck each other enough.

We went to an open relationship discussion group recently, because I like talking about this stuff. It was fascinating how bad I felt. “Not poly. Slutty.” No. I don’t want to devote every Thursday to you. Even if you are spiffy.

My life is too full.

I would have to cut a few full branches off the tree of my friendships. In order to make room for new growth. Who do I cull? Not you. Not you. Not you. Not you.

Shit.

I rant and rave about how there is no such thing as “deserve” in life. But I think maybe to some degree I have earned the relationships I have. I don’t want to cull any of them. I’ve worked so hard. But choosing to not devote more intense energy to individuals is a choice. I’m scared of putting all my eggs in one basket.

I have poured so much into Noah. Narrowing my other support seems… questionable.

I’m trying to feel more connected but it is hard. I’m having trouble feeling grounded. I feel floaty. I feel disconnected and distant. Cutting does that. I’m way more calm though!

I learned something interesting: I can do much more extensive cutting on my thighs with no marking than can happen on my breasts. Noah marked my breasts, just a little, and those marks are much darker and more apparent than the pretty serious cutting I did on my thigh. Skin is fascinating.

Today I should pack for the grief ritual. Sarah picks me up at 1pm tomorrow. Tomorrow is Noah’s last day of work. Hurrah. Let me run away from home. I’m gonna cry. Doesn’t this just seem like a good time to take all the grief and pain and scream about it? Hell yeah.

Don’t hurt yourself.

I will try to stop.

Do you know what the worst form of self harm I’ve done lately is? Breaking agreements. The cutting on my leg isn’t that big of a deal. Not really. Not in the scheme of things. I broke agreements I made. That hurts me. Noah is going to keep talking about how he knows he needs to get over it… and it’s going to be long term damage. Because I hurt my home. I did that.

I’m mad at him for all the things he has done. But most of what he has done is to not do. I do the bad shit. I break things. I blow things up. I say, “I can’t follow rules right now.”

I don’t know what rules I can follow but not those anymore. They don’t work now. Well, I have a better idea of where we are going. We start writing soon.

Burn baby, burn

And by burn I mean bridges.

Ok I need to type. I haz feelings. I’ve been pretty quiet about them and that sucks for me. It sucks in a lot of ways. In order to compartmentalize my extreme disordered thoughts when I’m not typing them out I have to do a lot of depersonalization. I feel like less than a person. I feel hollow. I don’t feel fleshed out. It isn’t exactly the same thing as dissociating but it is related.

I have offended one person and I didn’t offend that person so much they want to banish me from their life they just don’t want to be that close to my sex life. Totally reasonable.

My sex life is a chaotic place. You need to be ok with ups and downs and extreme changes in emotion or…. we just can’t have sex as part of an ongoing relationship. Because that happens to me. I have big feelings.

I was honest with the psych nurse yesterday. (I have two new scripts. Klonopin (a longer acting sleeping pill like Lorazepam to deal with the early wake ups) and Abilify.) She asked if I had any suicidal urges on the Gabapentin. I said no but my self harming urges went through the roof. She asked what that means.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and said, “Ok I’m not going to lie I cut last week.”

“Ok, where? How deep?”

“On my thigh. It’s not deep. It really isn’t dangerous.”

Then I went into my medical schpeal about avoiding tendons and arteries and she asked me how I insure cleanliness and I told her I use disposable scalpels to avoid infection risk and…

When I was done she blinked and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone who is as serious about mitigating the harm that they are doing. Uhm, well done.”

That was funny.

You are harming yourself and you know it. But you are doing it so you don’t do what might be worse harm in another place. As you harm yourself you are following elaborate safety precautions. Oh. Well. Uhm. Ok.

When was the last time you cut? Almost five years ago. Let’s talk about the similarities there.

In  both situations I felt like I had mountain sized emotions that other people were not ok with dealing with and I had to make them go away. Now. Stop on a dime. It doesn’t matter how you feel it matters how you act.

That’s hard. I don’t know another way to do it. When I feel absolutely in a trap and I have to make my hysteria go away now… I don’t know another way to do it. I really don’t.

Why did I feel like it this time? Because I was going to flip out in front of the kids and I’m not ok with that. I’m way ok with flipping out where they can’t see me. I wasn’t going to be able to hold it together in front of them on that day and that… that isn’t ok.

Shove that shit in a box, bitch.

I can’t freak out at my kids. I just can’t. Not when I’m upset about things in my sex life. That’s not ok. Hold it together. But does cutting count as holding it together? Well, my kids haven’t seen the marks and they haven’t had to deal with my extreme behavior either. I’m not sure if that is good enough but it is what I had to give last week.

I put myself in situations where BIG FEELINGS are unavoidable. Then I struggle to deal with the repercussions. My feelings cause other people to have feelings. Situations cause other people to have feelings. Then the feelings must be dealt with.

Thank all the stars in the heavy for easy going, slutty folk. Y’all are the best. You are ok with doing what you are doing and on the good days I show up and fuck you and on the rest of the days you don’t get mad at me for my inadequacy at being consistently up.

Noah and I are… a lot of the way through negotiating. It still hurts. Why does it hurt? Because neither of us like it that either of us will ever do anything but look at one another. We both want that from one another. LOOK AT ME.

So how do we share that? How do we share this intense possessiveness we both feel? I don’t know. But we are going to find out. When it goes well it goes so freakin well. When we both feel safe and loved and like we are getting what we need we have a lot to share and we aren’t selfish and we aren’t stingy.

But how do we get to the point of feeling safe and loved? That’s the hard bit.

We go through phases of feeling that way. I know that I complained about how only other people make Noah glow and that’s not true. I see him glow with me too. It just only happens on days when I spend a lot of time adoring him and that shit takes work.

I need to do more of that work. I like the results.

Sigh.

What is it that we really want? I want to speak in we. Maybe that’s bad.

I want enmeshment. I want intensity. I want attention. I want to be a separate self and I want to not have much of me that is outside of our relationship. I want sex like this month to be most months of the year. I want to feel special.

I hate that I have absolutely no idea what could cause me to feel special. I don’t. Even though Noah has spent ten years doing his best to cause me to feel special… I don’t.

That seems so unfair. It means there is nothing I can ask him to do to make me feel special. Clearly it isn’t going to come from him if we have utterly failed so far.

I don’t know and it really sucks.

I want time spent. I want conversation. I want perversion and tenderness. Time. Time. Time. Time. I want your time. I want to crawl inside you so that you carry me around in a Joey pocket and I never have to miss a minute with you. Ok, maybe I’ll crawl out and leave you alone when you are pooping. Because oh my god. But the rest of the time I’m happy to be with you.

I don’t need you to garden. But it’s nice when you decide to come sit in the shade near I’m working so you can talk to me.

I don’t need to program. But I like sitting near you when you are doing so.

I don’t like doing the cooking. But I like when we work together and I do all the other stage setting parts of making a meal and getting drinks so that things just feel more put together when we sit down to eat the wonderful mea you have made.

I like grocery shopping with you and exercising with you and meditating with you. I like that you, alone in the whole world, are happy to try that hard to learn how to be happy so you can teach me how to be happy.

Thank you. That is a gift I cannot repay.

see you. I see the vulnerability and sadness that comes from feeling like there isn’t a thing about you that is lovable. You do deserve love. You didn’t believe you deserved it when I told your mom she wasn’t allowed to come after the motorcycle accident and we took care of you because we loved you and you don’t believe it now when I do my very best to show you that you are important every single day.

Yeah, I’m all in.

Yes, this sexing other people thing is going to be hard. But it’s also so much fun. It takes energy from both of us to share. It’s hard. We don’t love it. Neither of us like sharing our toys very much. But we do actually both like the results. We do like the increased skill base and knowledge and repertoire. We like the glowing and the extra energy.

Even when I want to scratch your face off. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

IF ONLY I COULD STOP LIKING THE BENEFITS OF NONMONOGAMY.

Uhm, I need to go water the back yard before taking Eldest Child on the school tour. Fudge.

The happiest days of my life.

Eight years ago today I was arguing with a doctor about whether or not they should just up and take me to surgery or if they should check my cervical progress again. Around this time, I hit 10 cm and I told her (the doctor) off.

It took three hours of pushing, including taking a break in the nap to be given more pain meds because I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open let alone push. I get why they wanted to operate on me.

Luckily while I was pushing there was a shift change for the doctors and the nurses. The new doctor on shift said, “You are a transferred home birth? Do you want the placenta?” then things started looking up.

When my baby was born she was put on my belly and she army crawled up to my breast, lifted her head and immediately latched on. It was a moment out of an idealistic-birth-story. If you ignore that it took me 49 hours to get there. The folks in the delivery room said they had never seen a baby do that before. I didn’t know how to tell them that I did expect that. It was what the books said would happen if you made sure you put the baby on your belly right away.

Ok, it doesn’t always look like that. But the books said it could.

My sweet girl. Born hungry. Born interested in going out and getting what she fucking wants instead of waiting for it to come to her.

I love you so. Every day with you blows my mind and teaches me new things. You are inspiring to me. You teach me who I want to be. Thank you for continuing to prefer my company above all others. I feel the same way. I’m so glad we agree.

Happy birthday my love. I hope we still love each other this much in eight more years.

Can I do this?

Can I say enough of what I want to say without getting in trouble. That’s the dance.

When you are a person who acts there are going to be times when you fuck up. You will do wrong. That’s not… avoidable. It just isn’t. You will step on toes. You will cross boundaries.

That’s life.

The trouble is in repairing those mistakes and moving on. The trouble? Maybe the meat of life. Because I don’t know about y’all but I don’t get through a day without a fuck up. Some are huge and some are tiny, but they always happen. Life isn’t about when you fall down, it’s about how and when you get back up.

In the last period of discussion things have been… more tumultuous. Thus a lot of my radio silence. I don’t want to document some of these bounces even a little. That’s hard for me. There are a lot of reasons I don’t want to document a lot of what I’m thinking and feeling. Despite popular opinion there are lots of boundaries around what I write. I only have a few friends who are smart enough to show up at my house, grin, and say, “Ok tell me what you can’t write about.” Those people hear the best stories.

I know that the pendulum is swinging hard and I don’t know where the center will be when it stops. I hesitate to comment on just how fucking far the pendulum is swinging. Folks get alarmed.

Part of the reason I usually try to be honest and document the most extreme moments is because very few people who live with this disorder are safe enough to do so. By and large… I am.

But I’m not safe enough to get into all the nitty and gritty of this. Even I recognize my points of vulnerability.

Why am I not safe enough? It isn’t because anyone will hit me. It isn’t because my reputation will be destroyed or anything like that. What reputation I have is… there. I’m unstable and that’s a well known thing. Hard to tarnish that reputation. What are people going to say, “Oh look the mentally unstable person is unstable.” News flash at 11: water is wet.

Hi. Love you too.

That’s kinda the joy of having documented this shit for so very long. MY BEHAVIOR IS TO SPEC AND AS ADVERTISED AND ACTUALLY I’M IMPROVING. So don’t complain too loudly. (It is weird trying to stay present with the feeling that as much as I don’t like this much swinging… it is an improvement over the past. It really is.)

Am I annoying? Well yeah.

How do you go through life knowing you are a monster and manage to not abuse anyone? I’m trying to find out. What is the difference between being an asshole sometimes and being abusive? I’m told that a lot of it is about patterns and frequency. Everyone loses it sometimes. But you can’t lose it in the same way over and over and call it a mistake. If you do the same thing every time a trigger happens… that is possibly abuse or leading to it. Depends on what you do.

I have a wide constellation of coping methods. I’m trying to get better about how I use them.

I feel very ashamed that as I move through life I use my reflection in the mirror of my children as the primary judge of whether I’m doing ok. They are happy, secure, they feel loved, they feel like bumps in life mean a few moments of discomfort and not tragedy.

They learned that from me. I must not be as bad on the outside as I feel inside.

How cryptic can I be about something and still say it. It is amazing to me what is considered threatening from a woman and to be avoided and what is considered acceptable from a man and he is fine for being that way. Just fucking amazed over how these standards play out.

That said: thank all the stars in the heaven for easy going slutty folk. I’m not one of you. But I appreciate you. I appreciate that you don’t mind that in between showing up for the sex I am going to be off-stage HAVING BIG FEELINGS about everything because that’s just what I do. My feelings by and large aren’t your problem. Even if you read them in my journal, my feelings aren’t your problem. If my feelings distress you, stop reading about them.

And for the love of toast don’t tell me extensively why you stopped reading. Please. I beg of you. Just go quietly into that good night and let me wonder.

I already have a lot of voices in my head narrating what I should and shouldn’t say because I hurt people by existing. I don’t want to add your voice.

If you ever feel specifically hurt by a topic and you want to email me and say, “Hey Krissy. I love you and I know this is awkward but x is really triggering for me. May I ask you to get better at tagging x so that I can look at your tags before deciding to read an entry so that I can skip those pieces? I would appreciate that.” My response would be to fanatically never miss that tag again. Or, you could try: “Hey Krissy. I know that I am not the person you are writing about, but I am attached to person you are writing about and I’m having feelings. Is it possible for you to maybe tone down ______? I would really appreciate that.” My response would be: Of course I will respect your feelings. (I know I am not consistent with tagging. I’m not… writing for the whole world. If you are a close friend asking me to make sure I hit a specific tag is a small thing for me to add to my brain. Trying to really be serious about tagging and warning my writing for any possible trigger that exists… that’s a lot of pressure. But if you are a regular reader and you want to say “Hey x is a thing for me” I can totally get better about marking x. I just… fuck it’s a lot of pressure to warn about everything I write about. But I get avoiding things. I do it too.)

I have a lot of people I don’t write about for various reasons. I have a lot of people where I can allude to some things and not others. I’m ok with boundaries. But they need to be stated. I interact with hundreds of people. If I try to intuit all the unspoken “Please don’t” boundaries I will freeze into inaction and never ever write a word again.

I’m thinking really hard about writing. Whether it is more positive or negative right now. Part of the reason it is hard for people to detect that I have boundaries at all is because they are so variable. I have them in such different places for different reasons and some of those I can articulately explain and some of them are… a mystery to me. They just are.

I like what I learn from writing. But can I pay the cost for it?

Full head, full house, ouchie arms

If my arms were great I wouldn’t be able to type much because I have four kids here. My arms suck though. There are a few things I want to try and remind myself of, maybe so I can talk to Noah about them.

My shrink is quite perturbed by my level of interest in Deity. This is becoming A Thing We Talk About. She’s all: “Sport fucking! Yay! Falling in love. Boo.”

When I mention that I already love other partners she cocks an eyebrow and says, “You don’t blush and stammer when you talk about them.”

Well, maybe that is true.

I have a better idea of what I want from my submissive. I have times when I don’t feel I have the oomph to do what I want to do but I feel deeply secure that the line of stuff I’m interested in asking for are all things that are right up his alley.

I have… more comfort around Cupid. I think I’m a lot more into him than I should be. I’m tap dancing on a high wire trying to figure out how to keep him in a spot in my life even though he’s probably not going to be interested in the group stuff everyone else will put up with. I went from wanting someone to do something to wanting Cupid to do things but I’m not 100% sure what.

I’m really not interested in hunting just the now. I feel like I have a lot to explore and learn about and I’m really excited about that.

And I get to balance it with helping Noah feel secure. The whole ship won’t sail if he feels insecure. First I have to figure out how to help Noah feel loved. Then I can figure out what it means that I love these other people.

Because I do. I love my Daddy’s. Every single one of them for different reasons.

What do these loves, these attachments mean? I don’t know. Many of them have been there for a long time. (I messaged Daddy James today to say that even though I was in his neighborhood… I still am not fucking him. Sigh.)

I do love these people. But what does that mean?

What is love?

Some love is possessive and about ownership… but not all love. Sometimes love is about generosity and sharing and wanting them to get joy from anyone but you. Loving someone can include hoping they find the girl of their dreams and settle down and don’t have time for me.

But not Noah. He’s not allowed to run out of time for me.

I fall in love easily. I fall in love often. I fall in love with great intensity. Usually I love forever.

If I sat here and listed allllllllllllll of the people who have a piece of my heart… I’d sound like I was bragging. I would be bragging.

Aren’t I a lucky bitch? I have been able to love so many people.

Some of them even loved me back. At least a little. For a time.

Do any of those loves mean I do not love Noah? I don’t see why that would be true. I married one man. One man has seen me through hardship and illness and despair. One man helped me create the babies that give me life.

It really doesn’t matter how much I love other people this will always be true.

Noah is the only person who ever really looked at me and decided that he was going to prove to me that I am worthy.

Loyalty my friend, loyalty. But what does that loyalty entitle him to? My friend who was here the other weekend says jack shit. My shrink says definitely not sex.

I don’t know what I think.

I know I shouldn’t care what random people out in the world think. I really shouldn’t. I was stupid enough to read one of those “People who commit suicide are selfish” posts. I shouldn’t have. I should have opted-out and done some self-care.

Suicide has shaped my whole life. My grandmother killed herself by overdosing when my mom was pregnant with me. My mom dealt with that loss through my infancy. It was hard. She had been very close to her mother. I don’t really know why. My brother lit himself on fire because he could not cope with the pain of his life. Given how his life was… I don’t feel I have the right to anger. Was he selfish? Yes. But he had the right to be. He was left alone in care facilities where he was abused and that was all he would ever know. My father sat in the garage with the motor running and wrote notes to everyone in the world telling them that I was an evil liar and he was innocent. Even though he’d already confessed and collaborated every story. He wasn’t going to drive himself to the court room that day.

Selfish is just so beside the point.

My therapist OD’ed on heroin. She could not deal with the pain in her life. My adopted step-mom (long story) OD’ed on injected pain medication she was not prescribed. She could not deal with the pain in her life.

I have been institutionalized for attempting suicide. My stomach was pumped and I’m still here.

I don’t have a lot of the attachments other people have. I get what I create. I do the absolute best I can with the platonic friends I have…

Sharing sex and intimacy creates tighter bonds.

I don’t feel like I’m in a position to turn down a good twitterpation. Even if it makes my therapist uncomfortable. Am I going to wreck my life over it? No. I hope not.

Noah’s parents just sent us a cheerful letter to tell us about the cruise they are going on. The same month as the one we are going on. The one they won’t go on with us because they have to “get the hay in”. The hay they won’t touch with their hands because they have employees.

What is attachment?

I’m listening to the kids as they play in the back yard. I’m kinda ridiculous about enforcing outside time. “Y’all spend too much time inside. Get out into the sun. Go. Go. Go.”

I do go with them…

Right now I medicate. It was a long day of driving and being sober. Processing with my therapist. I feel like I’m almost ready to be happy. But not till I deal with Thursday. Oh Thursday.

I love you so. I have been such a twat waffle and I do not deserve your forgiveness. I have no. no. no. no idea how this will go.

Fuck.

I’m thinking of a pithy movie quote, I think from Girls Just Want to Have Fun “You always hurt the one you love.” Shannon Doherty? Is that it?

Anyway.

You know… I think I love my biological father. Even with everything. Most of the people who raped me… I loved them. Many of them I love them now. I might feel really angry with them… but I love them.

What is love?

Even though Tommy spent my childhood beating me and trying to rape me… I loved him. I’m sad his life was so terrible that he had to die to get away from it. I cannot bring myself to be angry with him for not wanting to suffer more for my convenience.

It is almost the anniversary of Tommy’s death. Next month. Eighteen years now. In three more years he will have been dead as long as he was alive.

Rest in Peace, Tommy.

What am I doing with my life?

I am trying to stop being a destroyer. I want to be a builder. I want to be someone who makes less pain in the world and not more.

There are reasons for temporary physical pain that alleviate intense emotional suffering and I don’t know how to deal with that dichotomy. Sometimes I don’t know what I am doing.

I want to figure out how to help there be less pain. One of the ways I do that is to understand and find compassion.

I like loving lots of kinds of people. They all teach me different things. I learn best by being able to stand very close to someone and bask in their presence. I know this after many years of trying a lot of ways to learn. I will pick things up faster. I will learn more quickly. I will try to synch up with this person in any way I can because the drive to conform is what keeps our species alive.

The main reason I manage to be so god damn weird is because I have allowed myself to pattern off incredibly different people. Contradictions are ok. We can all solve different problems.

Ok. Time to be off.

I love you. Even when I have no idea what that means.

Briefly

Today I have therapy. The kids are going north to my friend’s house and then I bring my Bonus Kids home with me.

I slept well. More than seven hours consecutively. That’s awesome.

Conversations continue. I’m feeling a lot better about where we are. Just one scary chat left. Two more days. Eeep.

There will be rules and restrictions. I… shouldn’t add a new partner any year soon here. No really, I’m fully booked. I have so much unfinished business that I don’t have time to start new business.

I feel like the reasons I initially went out and started doing this are not the same exact things I feel like I want to get out of it now. With my submissive and Deity and Cupid. I feel like what I want has drifted quite a bit. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that means I’m less interested. I feel less like “I want someone” and more like “I want you” and I do understand that is more threatening to Noah.

I went out looking for vague shapes. Then I found what I found and went, “Oh well this is interesting…”

How am I going to carve out the shape of life I want? What do I want?

Sigh. I’m not sure if I want to spend more time sucking their cocks or listening to their lives. I’m really torn about which is more interesting. I really am picking people where I want to hear their stories. I realized that some of what I’m trying to hear is information that is going to help me write Part 2. Because Cupid was part of the ambient crowd during my whole relationship with my Owner and I never understood the folks around me much. This is a fascinating way to learn more about the background stuff I didn’t understand then.

Also: I’m just really enjoying the sex.

I want more sex. We’ve been having sex every day. More than once a day by the count. I want more. Sometimes I feel like there must be something wrong with me that I go through months and months and months where there is no such thing as enough sex. I could spend five hours a day having sex and that would be ok.

I’m not doing it because my life is full and I’m responsible.

But I want it.

Oh the conversations I’ve had recently. Even I blush. Am I really asking for this?!

Yes. Yes I really am.

Even though I’m blushing now I promise I’ll be enthusiastic in the moment. I want you. I want you very much. Even if it is hard to say out loud how I want you.

Awkward.

Eat breakfast. Take a shower. Get dressed. Go to Oakland. Talk to therapist. Go to dispensary. Pick up kids. Come home. Try not to be uptight.

That’s my day. I may do more cleaning. Because I’m still not where I want to be. But I am catching up paperwork. Yay! I need to clean off the standing desk. Noah will need to work there in two weeks. Eeeep.

Spoons, scheduling, and priorities.

The kids and I spent the day talking about what they want from the summer. I asked them how many days they want to stay home without visitors and how many days they want people to visit and how many days they want to go out. Eldest Child wants four days at home with no guests; Youngest Child requested five days a week with no outsider contact. I think they might be over-stimulated.

There are a few fuzzy areas: if their babysitter comes and Noah and I go out that counts as staying in. Because “Babysitter doesn’t count as a guest… she’s family.” I didn’t make a snarky comment about how it doesn’t count to bang chicks in a one dick poly situation because inappropriate BUT I THOUGHT IT.

We have some long-term guests staying. That doesn’t really count in the same way.

So it’s all fuzzy. But between a 3 week visit and a 2 week trip… the summer is slammed. And we love far too many people. We made a list. Sometime between now and September we have a whole bunch of people we want to touch base with because we should not let them fall out of the rotation.

I have err, not thought about scheduling dates. I feel like…

Yeah. I can’t think about that until negotiations are finalized. Not even a little.

But I’m noticing places in the calendar where they could happen.

Like I do.

I’m thinking about options.

And I’m not booking any of those dates because I need to get closer and see if I have the spoons.

Shit. I hate being a grown up.

BUT SEX. SEX. SEX. SEX.

I won’t be able to get to a more predictable weekly schedule till I force it then build around it in September. We have too many awkward things to plan around until then. Good golly. Ugh. Why do I want so many different components to life? WHY?!

I should have fewer hobbies. Or fewer friends. But who to give up? What to stop doing?

Naw, I need more hours in the day. That’s the solution.

It is hard that the time at the Bonus Kid’s house counts as “out of the house” time so we… are only basically getting four out of the house days doing stuff together days in a month given the restrictions they are asking for right now.

That’s hella limited, yo.

And good golly we want to keep in touch with a long list of people outside of the long list of people we like fucking.

Sigh.

I haven’t even emailed everyone yet. Because that never goes well.

Like, just a few at a time. It’s bad news to try everyone at once. That goes… sideways. It’s not about A List/B List.

Scheduling is just hard.

This is where I trip hard on “comparing and contrasting is bad”. I always feel weird shame and anxiety around the order in which to email people. Who gets what time slot. Why. Because. Not because I love someone more, because life isn’t fucking fair and this is how it is shaking out this month. Because there is no good reason. Because I’m only so big and I have only so much time to share.

Because resting is more important. I love you. I do. But I need the rest more. So I try to share what I can.

I hope it is enough.

I love you.

This summer I am building in rest time. Because if I do, maybe you’ll get to keep me longer.

Also: art

We were going to be an hour early to the party so we stopped at a nursery. I thought I’d be clever and I left my wallet in the car. Guess what? Noah had his wallet.

We bought art. Three pieces. Apparently they come from an artist in Mexico. They are in the back yard because I don’t want them to get stolen. Giant brightly colored metal flowers. One with a birdhouse.

I’m serious with this Wonderland business. I love my house so much. And I love my yard even more. This summer’s plantings are doing kinda mixed. Some plants are happy. Some are pissed off. I should write down notes.

I’m learning a lot.

What I like about South American literature is the heavy focus on magical realism. Things can be true and not true. Hasn’t literature taught us that magical lives are often shitty? The most intense, fantastic adventures are also horrible, awful, and terrifying.

Sounds like life to me. So while we can: let’s bring more art into our lives.

If only…

If only I were less slutty this would all be less complicated. I would say there are seven people who are being actively being impacted in an ongoing way with our nonmonogamy. We have talked to 3.2 of them. (I started a conversation and it didn’t get finished and it has a long way to go.) 2 are scheduled for next week. I have a date on the books with the person I started to talk to and didn’t get to finish. I need to book one more person over.

I definitely started off with some of the most easy going folks.

Let me say, as someone who is not easy going dealing with people who are is such a treat. Wow. You make life so pleasant. Thank you for that.

I am… not going to write today about how the chats went. Complicated. Layers of reasons. Suffice to say: yes I was blushing. I still can’t believe I’m saying some of this shit out loud. Doing it is easier than talking about it.

I really have no idea how my life will look at the end of the year.

I am feeling overwhelmed at having this many people who are like, “Ok on bad days call and ask for…”

But… you don’t understand. People find out about the bad days from my blog. Otherwise they are invisible. I don’t ask for help. I don’t communicate my needs in a non-passive-aggressive-just-for-documentation-sort-of-way.

Why?

Because being direct about my needs mostly hasn’t gone well so that’s a habit I just dropped. It’s complicated.

The more I need/want something the harder it is for me to say out loud that I want it.

I’m fucking obnoxious. But when I was a kid revealing a strong need or want was a way to get targeted for having it. I know I need to get over my childhood. I’m working on it. It comes in layers. I’m not done with this layer yet.

I remain grateful to the tips of my toes for Noah. The only person who never ever makes comments about how I write too much. He’s glad I give him so much of a window into my head. It overwhelms other people.

Hey, you are allowed to opt out any time you need to. You don’t need to give me an elaborate explanation. You don’t need to tell me, “You just write too much.”

No. I don’t. I write how much I need to. Maybe it is too much for you to handle reading given the constraints of your life and your reading speed, and that’s ok, but it doesn’t mean I write too much.

Ahem.

I’ve spent a lot of the last few days meditating on the idea of being the “biggest bitch” and what that means to people. Over my life time I have repeatedly been told that I am the biggest bitch. By men and women. I’m evaluated with other negative words too of course, but biggest bitch has come up more than once so I’m thinking on it.

I think about what it means to want things and want relationships and demand that your boundaries matter.

I think about what it means that some people desperately want me to get better at asking for things and being at least a little demanding and then there is everyone else who wants me to shut the fuck up.

Life is like that for everyone, I think.

I’m thinking a lot about what I want the shape of my life to look like. I’m thinking about the people I want in my life. I’m trying to figure out why I want the things I want. The reasons are changing as I went from having an amorphous “I waaaaaaaaaaant” to “I want _______.” Those are different.

Why do I want you? I could list reasons why, if you were curious. Why are you worth the trouble? I can tell you. I think about it. There are reasons or I wouldn’t bother. As has been pointed out with a chuckle more than once lately I do have a very full life.

If I’m trying really hard to pull you into it… it’s not out of pity. It’s not out of obligation or meh.

I want you.

You get to decide how you feel about your end of that. I don’t get to tell you how to feel. I want you to like you as much as I like you. Then maybe I can learn to like me as much as you like me.

Misfire; that’s ok

Yesterday didn’t quite go according to plan. Things were just… not lined up. And when we went dancing it turns out we should have checked the calendar. I’m not a line dancing kinda girl. I have flashbacks of junior high PE and it isn’t real fun for Noah either. If he has a limited willingness to dance… I’m not fucking spending it on line dancing.

So instead we were in bed at nine. I got about six hours of sleep in my first sleep. That’s way better than four. We decided it was smarter to try and get more sleep before the camping trip rather than try to be fun last night. Smart choice.

(Deity–my hands were wet from washing dishes. Nothing more fun than that.)

From 3:30pm-5:45pm I was driving to and from Oakland. Oh that tried my patience. The trip home was actually wicked fast. Took 45 minutes in traffic. That’s quick. The trip up took an hour and a half. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

That was my nap time.

I’m looking forward to every part of today. My submissive and Cupid will be at this party. Noah and I have some fun talking to do. At least some of the folks Noah plays with will be here. So much talking to do.

No puking, Krissy. It’s just talk. Everyone here is friendly and amenable to negotiating. No one has a long list of “YOU MUST DO THIS OR I DON’T WANT TO KNOW YOU”. It’s ok.

It’s going to be ok.

Hell, it’s going to be fun.

Chill the motherfuck out.

I hate this anxious feeling. Like a whining dog cringing. I feel like I should crumble into a little ball. Who am I to ask for so much. Who am I to feel entitled to dictate terms like this.

I think… when it really all boils down… it comes down to… who am I to set boundaries? I accept boundaries. I run into them. I don’t set them.

How god damn audacious. Who do you think you are.

It’s not even a question. A statement of incredulity. Uppity bitch. Shut up.

My driveway has been buried under palates that need to go to the dump for a while. My neighbor came over and said, “So it’s time for me to start collecting the garbage again? Which things should I leave?” That’s a kind of… assumption that I can live with. Thank you. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of them. Awesome. Maybe we can park on our driveway this year.

The evaluator came yesterday and took test cuts of the roof. It was constructed entirely incorrectly and can’t be insulated correctly, the roofing material couldn’t possibly be attached securely as is, and large swatches were done in ways that will fail super soon.

In other words: I wasn’t paranoid. I was right.

Arbitration is going to be fun. But I’m going to get a whole bunch of money back. I hope. I was told that anyone who ever goes up against me in court will end up sorry. How far should I test that fortune telling? It was funny how his eyes bugged out when he said that. “When it comes to money and going to court…. anyone who goes against you will be sorry. You will win and win and win.”

So my birth chart has something going for it.

There is a part of me that has always wanted to test that prediction more. Because I know that I will end up in court over incest research someday. I’d like to trust my magic feather a little more. Be a little more certain before I get there. Part of winning in court is knowing how.

Step one: develop good relationship with a lawyer.

Check.

Step two: line up experts with evidence to prove you are right.

Check.

Next!

Gosh. Pieces of this are almost fun. In a spiteful don’t fuck with me sorta way.

You fucked with my home.

Turns out having a friend visit for a weekend is going to sit heavy on me. I give Noah a lot of credit for my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without him.

She has different views. I mean, yeah… she knows I would be in a different place. She thinks I would have found a way to do the important bits without him.

I wish I had so much confidence in myself.

It’s nice having people come visit so they can be your externalized self-confidence. “You are under rating yourself and let me tell you how. In great detail.” Thank you my friend.

We also had a fantastic conversation about poverty, being white, white trash, and multi-cultural environments. That was just a weekend of talk-talk-talking.

Hey wanna come hang out at Krissy’s House of Cheerful Conversation?!

I feel bad about the degree to which my ability to be fun/nice with guests is tied to how medicated I am. If I sound pissy and frustrated… it probably isn’t you. It is probably that my entire body hurts and I can’t eat when I’m sober and that feels awful and I haven’t slept right in a long long time. I had a good 40 days there for a while. Then my Lorazepam was cut because she’s worried.

Sigh.

This is why I stay so stoned. But I feel embarrassed getting this stoned in front of people. I use a lot of pot to be as functional as I am around the house. So if I have to drive before I see people…

People think I’m pissy with them or offended or…

No. I’m just operating near my physical limits and the strain shows. I’m sorry. I try to be careful with my tone but it gets away from me.

I’ve been driving too much.

I am really excited about the changes that are going to happen around here starting June 1st. Noah has a new job. He will be working from home. I… don’t want to say much more about why this is super exciting until he does so more publicly.

But I’ve always wanted him to work from home. He finally is doing so. I’m really happy about this. He is too. He hates working in offices. Dealing with that many people all day drains him and makes him really unhappy.

Commute time can become exercise time.

Cooking will be easier.

I am so excited.

Once the mosaics are off the floor the garage is going to change again. I love my garage. I like how many different uses it has had over time. This incarnation is going to be fun too.

Part of the fun? The garage is way more sound proofed than our bedroom. I’m going to be putting a lock on the door. We might actually do a little play out here when the babysitter has the kids. Nothing loud or messy or complicated. But if I squeak a few times no one will hear. That’s not true in our bedroom. And all the furniture is additional sound dampening.

Excellent.

The other thing about dating and going to parties right now? I uhhh really want to stop spending money for a bit. We are going to need a serious cut back for a bit. Between the remodel and the cruise…. we are tapped out. The flow is maxed out right now. And then some. I’m going to have to dig out of a hole. It was a planned hole. But… it got bigger. And the road trip was more than I hoped it would be. Because I was in so much pain I was in hotels a lot more than I wanted to be.

So. Something has to give. I know how to lock down. I can do it. Uhm… any… day… now…

Sigh.

But there’s a lot of fluff in our budget right now and some of that has to get trimmed for a few months.

I HATE BEING A GROWN UP. FUCK RESPONSIBILITY.

“But volunteer!” No. I’m cranky and in pain. I work all the fucking time. When I go somewhere I don’t go to fucking work for them too.

Not right now.

I’ll figure something out.

I didn’t go out to eat for lunch yesterday even though I kinda wanted to.

I’m not sure I’m handling sibling stuff that well right now. (For another abrupt topic shift.) Eldest Child is… starting to want to separate more and that’s fair and reasonable but it is happening in shitty ways.

I kinda react like a viper. There is this one mom I know from homeschooling. She’s intense. She does not let her kids abandon one another at the park. Play together. Find a game that works for everyone. Compromise. There is no “But that’s for babies” in her house. PERIOD.

I don’t agree with every aspect of everything about parenting with her and that’s totally cool but I seriously pattern off of her with the sibling stuff. But I’m not sure I’m doing it right.

I know it is kinda part guilt tripping. I have mixed feelings about that.

I tell Eldest Child, “You know what, you can be mean to your sibling because it wins you points. That’s a choice you can make. You can be funny and spiteful. But you’ll pay for it. Have you ever heard me say a nice thing about my big sister? Do I see her? Would I help her if I passed her and she was stranded on the side of the road? No. Go ahead. Keep being nasty to your sibling.”

Eldest Child is ready to leave baby things behind and she’s out of patience. Youngest Child is not ready to give up on being a baby and is regressing in obnoxious ways all over the place. I want to jump up and down and scream, “I THREW MY FUCKING BACK OUT CARRYING BOTH OF YOU WHEN YOU WERE IN THIS GOD DAMN PHASE SO STOP BEING SO FUCKING IMPATIENT WITH YOUR SIBLING.”

Clearly this is triggering.

I can’t carry Youngest Child basically at all any more. I feel sad. I have destroyed my back carrying kids. I have to stop.

I don’t regret it. I am so happy I kept them close to my body as long as they wanted. Well, YC would still like it… So we have been sitting and snuggling a lot more.

I’m having really big feelings of inadequacy lately around managing some of these transitions. It has occurred to me to wonder how much hunting is tied to the fact that very little inside my house leaves me feeling adequate. I’m always a day late and a dollar short. I feel like I never get it done. I’m never good enough. Because it is so unrelenting. I have to pace myself. So I’m always always always robbing Peter to pay Paul.

So Noah and I are going to sit down and talk life priorities. And scheduling. And… we’ll have to just not deviate for a bit.

I need to stop driving so much. It creeped back in. We need a more set schedule for sleep. We have to let our bodies heal. We need exercise. I’m running out of time in which to set the patterns for my body that will let me get fast enough to potentially keep myself safe given the shit I want to do with my later life.

I need to stop fucking around. I’m in ok shape. But I have to work on speed. Shit.

And if Eldest Child is less certain about school than she thought… well… that means I need to get my shit together. She needs more structure from me next year. I can do that. Yes ma’am. You want more structure… but not timed reading tests and standardized tests and timed math tests and someone standing over you sighing as you work.

God I get it.

I can help you with that. No trouble. I can build a schedule for that. I love building schedules. It is going to be interesting having Noah and Eldest Child on more set work schedules while Youngest Child still really isn’t so I have to have a weird hybrid bounce in and out of structure/free time.

Oh this is going to be the best adventure yet. I’m so excited.

Oh Noah. This is what we’ve always wanted.

We will make this work. Period. This will be glorious. Occasionally obnoxious. But I think this is going to be good. You have noise canceling headphones, yes? If not–we are buying really nice ones.

Ride the waves

This morning I get to spend some time with a roof evaluator looking at my house. Weeeee. Then I get acupuncture. Then I run around and collect supplies for camping. Then babysitting ends and I take the kids to Oakland. Then I come home and take a nap. Then Noah asked to take me dancing! He turned down an invitation to a different kind of event to take me dancing.

He says he feels bad that he’s never offered in ten years. *Sniff* We dance at weddings. Dat’s it. And he says he feels bad about that because his issues with dancing weren’t about me and I’m lots of fun to dance with.

I am not a well established part of the dance community who will sneer about how you aren’t a very good dancer. I’m not polished. I’m not perfect. I fuck up constantly when I dance and my reaction is to laugh and laugh and laugh. I’m there to move around and have fun. I’m not that picky.

If someone comments on my footwork being messy I turn around and wiggle my butt at them. I am not there for stage performance quality dancing.

I do not aspire to being here for your entertainment, motherfucker.

I hope he will have fun. I know I will. We are going to the Saddlerack which will be entertaining.

Then in the morning we will finish the last bits of packing and drive down to Santa Cruz early for some time at Kiva before the camp event. Given how my back feels… let’s do some relaxing before I camp. Goodness.

Spasms suck. But it is that kinda week.

We will have a nice lunch in Santa Cruz too. We will talk and talk and talk. God I love talking to him. That’s what kid free weekends are for us: let’s alternate talking and sex. The whole time. We’ll barely sleep.

Why would we want to do anything else?

We will talk a lot more about the structure of this nonmonogamy stuff. Maybe start writing more down.

I gotta say, his current entrenched position is much less threatening than the position he has held for many years. This is progress.

I’m looking forward to camping. I’m looking forward to the easiest conversation of all happening this weekend so a little bit of the poison in my belly will dissipate.

I’m scared of one conversation in particular. That one is freaking me the fuck out. Why am I so afraid of that one. It’s the only one where I’m afraid of punishment or negative response. I think everyone else will be fairly close to “Oh. Ok. So that’s what you’re doing.” This one person… I’m afraid I am going to hurt them a lot.

I feel so bad.

No way out but through.

I don’t feel like Noah and I understand the shape of this yet. Not fully. I’m still scared of that.

The good news really does change a lot of stuff. Holy shit.

Find some gratitude

Oh my goodness. Noah got news tonight that is going to do a lot to change our lives. I’m… excited. Thrilled. Nervous. Overjoyed. Proud of him.

Many  years ago Noah came to me and said, “There is this thing I want to learn. It means I’m going to ignore you a lot. But I think it’s going to be important.”

I grumbled. I griped. I was pissy for a long time. I learned how to support him and I got over my attitude.

Today that paid off. All those years of effort. Ok, Noah maybe the books aren’t doing what you hoped (they aren’t nothing!) but some of your bets… have paid off. Well done.

Then we used our babysitting date time to go to a wet munch and I got a lovely spanking. It wasn’t intense or mean. It was just a lovely spanking.

Why do so many good things happen to me? Ok… some of this is happening to Noah and I’m just standing near him. But this is going to change my life too. I’m so excited. We’ve wanted this for so long. You just don’t understand what this means to me.

It means I’m thinking about space in the house again. How are we going to handle this change? Don’t worry. I’ll make a way for this to work. I’ll make this work.

I have wanted this for years and years and years.

Oh I’m so happy. This is going to be great. Ok. We’ll figure out nonmonogamy. We have too much good stuff going on for us to not do it.

This news is so big. Oh my goodness.

Shame is complicated

Well. I am starting to set up conversations with people. It’s going to take a few days to schedule all of them. Scheduling is a moving target. And I’m trying to figure out how to build the wave. Looks like the first chat will be the easiest and least stressful. The next scheduled one is the one I’m most anxious about. Then I don’t know where the rest of them fit in yet. I need to leave time for crying after these.

It won’t be someone else’s fault I’m crying. I do it from stress.

I’m scared. I feel like I still… know my boundaries when I run into them and have to cut to stay “ok” in my day to day life. I don’t realize until I’m way way way over capacity “Oh I should have stopped a while ago.” Then what do you do? Because if you cut to cope because you are over capacity PEOPLE ACT LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING. OH NO. LET’S THROW EVERYTHING IN THE AIR AND CHANGE EVERYTHING BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS WRONG.

Or maybe I was a little over my rev limit?

Fuck. I don’t know.

I feel bad that my ability to cope is so limited. It is a lot bigger than it used to be, but I still have limits.

It really complicates things that interacting with children (and their uhm questionable fucking ability to respect body autonomy) changes how I can handle adults. And that is so variable and it feels so incredibly unfair. Like, if Noah had a date scheduled after the day/night I had with the kids yesterday…

Oh god I would have flipped out. But when you are dealing with other people you need to schedule commitments and keep them. So my boundaries with other people aren’t allowed to be fuzzy and squiggy like that.

But my life is fuzzy and squiggy and variable and I am not someone who can manufacture consistency for another adult’s sake.

I have a hard enough time providing consistency for kids. That is my limit.

I have a hard time being patient and giving and loving with adults when I’ve had 12+ hours out of the last 24 with a kid screaming in my fucking face and hitting everyone. One of the kids had a hard day this week. It happens. These are tiny little people who have a lot going on with their sensory systems. There are days they are just fucking overwhelmed and they are obnoxious as fuck to deal with.

At the end of that I have no patience to give to grown ups. I really don’t. And that’s not fair. I feel like a fucking asshole but if I am activated that many times in a day I literally just can’t turn around and give to an adult. I will flip out and start screaming and breaking things.

I need to go hide away from people after that. Because I’m frazzled as fuck. I got through it without being mean to the kid. I didn’t scream. I wasn’t unduly rough. I didn’t punish harshly. I did enforce a metric fuck ton of time outs. But that seems appropriate and useful. Stop hitting people. It’s not ok.

I’ve seen a bunch of kids go through phases like this. It isn’t about a kid sucking or being bad. It’s a hard phase and it takes patience, love, and correction correction correction.

I get so tired.

I feel like an asshole playing the “traumatized body/brain” card a lot. But the reality is that my central nervous system is shot. I have an acute stress disorder. These things are noticeable strain. I do have limits. Things that activate my emotional system… I can only be calm through so many. Once I get scared enough… I’m not physically capable of thinking and processing the way I must in order to act like a fully present adult. My range of tolerance is wider than average (according to the shrinks I’ve been seeing for a long time) but it isn’t infinite and I start off so much more distressed than average.

I don’t want to take things out on people because I am moody and variable. That means that mostly I assume to defaulting I should offer nothing sustained at all. Because I might fail.

So far Pam is the only sustained once a week dinner guest who can actually deal with my emotional variance and the fact that sometimes you show up and I’m screamtastic and fussy and… no fun.

Everyone else stops coming.

And Pam is leaving the state. Eventually. She keeps threatening. We’ll see.

When I feel ok I have a lot to give. I have patience, love, energy, tolerance… when I don’t feel ok I feel like a bank vault. You don’t open that easily or for fun. It’s fucking hard and takes a sequence of codes and… then only take out what you fucking have to what the fuck close that fucker already.

This is why I don’t want “polyamory”. I’m not good enough at being consistent enough to be a dependable part of a group of people like that. I feel ashamed of myself, but it is true. I have very good friends who sometimes want to have sex with me. And I love them a lot. I will move mountains for my friends. When I can.

When I can’t… I fucking hope you have other support people too. Because I will fail you. I give you what I have to spare. That is what I can give.

I have signed on for being the sustainer of my children. I have signed on for helping to sustain Noah, with the strong caveat that he knows sometimes he has to catch himself. (Hey–he can’t always catch me either. Seems fair.) I have signed on to be a consistent source of non-continuous sustaining for my Bonus Kids. I’m one of Their Grownups. I like that. I like that I did manage to find someone who thinks I am worth the trouble of coming to because their kids need someone like me.

I’m grateful I managed to find folks for that. It wasn’t looking like that was going to work out. It was looking like I was not worth that much effort from anyone.

I’m really grateful things have gone this well for 6 years with my Bonus Kids.

I would never ever ever ever ever play with or sleep with the parents of my Bonus Kids because I can’t fuck that up. That’s like shitting in the waterhole. It’s really stupid long-term.

I fuck up a lot of sexual relationships. I fuck up a lot of non-sexual relationships too… but I fuck up sexual relationships faster. I run hot and cold and that hurts people.

Even I need to understand some boundaries.

I know many dozens of non-breeding long-term polyamorous adults. I have never been capable of the emotional consistency I see them enact. That’s bothered me my entire adult life. That is part of what reminds me of how broken I am. I know so many people who can do it. Who can be consistent and dependable in their emotional reactions.

My emotional reaction to thing A is impacted by thing B and thing C and thing D and thing E and I don’t fucking know how that will go on any given day.

I’m more predictable and calm than ever in the past. How come this progress never ever ever ever feels good enough?

Ok, I just thought of a piece of why Noah dating is so difficult for me…

I always know, every day, that at the end of the day I have to handle the extent of my emotional variance on my own. Noah helps a lot more than anyone else but he has limits. His manufactured cheerfulness is part of what he does for me. That consistency of affect helps me more than words can say. I calibrate off of him. I try to match him. I model after him. When he isn’t here and I am flailing… it’s hard. Even if he can’t sit down to process with me for hours, being around him is regulating.

If I am going to leave more space in my life for not depending on him to be physically present and I know that he is leaving me to go do something fun with someone else…

I need to lock down hard on not depending on him. Because I will resent the fact that I will sometimes have really shitty days and he will be out having fun instead of helping me. Because I built a life that was very near my carrying capacity and then I added shit and sometimes I get really overwhelmed and… I don’t have enough help. Getting less is hard.

I do encourage him to go do things with friends. Because I feel guilty as shit that he doesn’t have much of a life. He works and has the social life I bring to him, mostly. I don’t know if he’d be more motivated to seek out more of a social life if I provided less of one? I do invite a lot of forking people over. He’s not just hiding at home with his family or working. But not much is of his initiation.

But dating is… different. I feel bad about that but it is.

It isn’t fair that I don’t really believe someone can treat me like I’m important and be seriously in love with someone else. I think people can fuck their friends and still be nice to me, sure. But be really in love? Not really.

Love means so many things. What is love?

I will lose time and support in that equation. Because love may be infinite but time is not. I’m doing fairly well… because I have the level of support I have. If it decreased I would… have a hard time.

If I have to spend yet more time alone with my kids regulating myself… that has a cost. The road trip demonstrated that to me quite clearly.

I wasn’t all that nice by the end. Not really. The kids were so glad to get home.

Both kids have commented a lot recently that I’m doing better. They have individually and collectively commented on the fact that I’m not screaming anywhere near as much as I used to and that is really nice.

I’m scared to rock this boat.

I’m scared that being selfish with my energy and only wanting to give it to my kids like this means I have no business pursuing nonmonogamy because I am just using my friends and I’m not offering good trades.

If I’m going to do this… I need to get more comfortable with canceling going forward. I can’t pay the cost of doing something I don’t want to do in the moment any more. And that’s complicated.

I’m not dependable enough and… that makes me feel like I shouldn’t be doing this at all. Maybe swinger parties. Other than that I’m too much of a selfish asshole to date.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

This is part of my transactional shit. Noah and I talk very explicitly about what we trade. What kinds of energy expenditures we each need to receive. What are our priorities and which can be dropped when things get tight?

I don’t have enough to trade other people. Not really. I have “what I have going spare today” and often that is so little.

The only consistent front to Noah dating that I can manufacture consistently is space. I can’t promise closeness. I can’t promise loving reconnection. If I have to cope on my own then I need to fucking cope on my own and that is messy and hard. Because mostly how I cope is to be pretty fucking hard on myself. That is how I have come this far.

I did not get this far on compassionate self acceptance. I got this far from being a fucking dictator with my body who doesn’t give a shit what I’m feeeeeeling.

Just work, bitch.

But Noah really wants me to be sunny for him. I can’t do that when I’m coping on my own. It is variable and inconsistent and happens randomly. That’s how it has always been. He is spoiled by how consistent I have been able to be while bouncing off of him for hours a day.

That’s from you. That’s from modeling off of you. When I lose you…

Noah teaches me how to be nice. I can hear it in his voice. When he errs towards nastiness it feels like an instrument being played off key and I instantly mention that he’s harsh. He stops, gets this weird look on his face, and tries again.

I think that is a lot of what has allowed me to be as stable as I’ve been in the last ten years. He works so hard to model it.

When I lose my model I fuck up so much more. That doesn’t feel like a fair burden. And, I know this is bullshit, but I’ve had a hard time with how much he works. I’m not supposed to feel like that is a choice to be away but that’s been hard. I’ve had to be very conscious and deliberate around not being an asshole to him over that. It’s not a rational reason to be mean to him and I’ve had to work on it because it is triggering to me.

It has taken a lot of time and effort to be truly supportive and not kind of an asshole about how much he works. I think I’m pretty good now, but it wasn’t easy.

Noah is the person who makes me feel safe. That’s not fair. I know I should “feel safe in myself”. Whatever. I don’t. I never have. I spend a lot of time feeling like I’d like to vibrate out of my fucking body to get away from myself because I am the problem. I am the one who brings so much pain on myself.

I am the one who can’t behave consistently enough to be worthy of love.

Maybe if I were someone who could say, “Today is a bad day for a date… you should reschedule” I would be able to handle him dating without wanting to scratch his fucking face off when he comes home all excited and I had a shitty day with a side of shit salad. But I am not capable of doing that kind of thing. I’ll put my head down and tell him to do what he wants to do and then I’ll need three days away from him because I hate him so much.

It isn’t fair. Or rational. Or whatever. I know.

I have never had a time in my life when I was not giving to other people pretty much at the extent of what I had to give. I’ve never had a time when I was just… idling. I’m tired. I have hard days with this caregiving crap.

Noah is tired too. His job isn’t easy. He comes home to us.

I’m sorry I am not good at letting you have other people in your life who are more dependable and worthy.

That’s something Noah brings up a lot. I’m really insecure about the fact that everyone he has wanted to get involved with since we got married is just… so mellow. He brings it up really frequently how irrational I am because these are incredibly non-threatening people. They are not drama.

I’m the problem. It never comes from someone else. Just me.

But he also doesn’t want to deal with the fact that giving him space to go be with people who are not worthless pieces of shit means that I am going to spend a few days hiding to deal with the fact that I don’t really like being the problem, the drama, the variable one who just can’t get her shit together.

I feel embarrassed that I fucking exist.

Just stop crying about things that shouldn’t make you cry you stupid, whiny bitch.

None of these people should make me cry.

Being alone makes me cry.

Then why do I need to go be alone once he comes back?

Because I had to hold it together in front of the kids and I need space to recover from that facade. I can’t model off of you when I need to react to you and I have not been allowed to do so even a little bit all day. I needed to pretend all day that I was fine and everything was fine and I don’t mind lots of extra alone time with the kids, sure why not.

I have to pay the piper for that later.

And I’m not supposed to take it out on you. That’s not fair either. I can’t let my tone of voice get shitty. So I need to be alone. In order to not take my emotional variance out on you I need to be alone.

I’m told that my “yelling” by having a harsh tone counts just as much as when I escalate in volume and start screaming.

So yeah. I need a lot of alone time.

Even though I don’t decompress very well alone. I can’t decompress in the presence of the person I am feeling activated because of. I can’t use you to calm down when I am upset because of you. That’s what I mean when I say that it is losing my safe person. If I’m crying because I had to spend more hours manufacturing sustaining cheerfulness alone because you wanted to go fuck someone else… I can’t be in a room with you. I just can’t.

I know we are already talking about several steps down the line from this. I know.

I feel like I should have some idea of what my feelings are given the conversations I’m going to have soon. Fuck my stomach hurts.

I don’t have enough to trade. I have no right to even be having these discussions.

I feel like shit.

Luckily the first conversation will happen this weekend and will actually be the lowest stress one of the bunch. I need to finish scheduling them. Oh golly.

*head desk*

If only I wanted to fuck fewer people this would be easier. Or Noah. Either of us, really.

Something occurs to me: a lot of this comes down to… I don’t ask for additional support on the really hard days. I just don’t. You have to just show up and see that I need it and provide it. Or it will be invisible to you. If Noah is going to be present less, he will see a lot less. Which will be massive in my life. That will be a huge reduction in support. Because I will not be capable of asking for more support in other ways. I just… that’s a thing. That’s a very known thing.

It all comes back to being my fault. Everything would be fine if I were less fucked up.

Slightly unnerving

I picked that title because I don;t need to cement in my head that this process is terrifying. Eeep.

Trying to figure out what frame I want to talk to Noah about and compare to the frame that he wants is hard enough. Then trying to figure out what I might want to ask other people for so that we can have a conversation in which they are allowed to ask for what they want…

I want to hide in a closet.

Do I really have to talk in person to people like this instead of just talking around them in my blog? WHY?! THAT’S NOT FAIR. I DON’T DO WELL AT THE IN PERSON TALKING.

sob.

Eeeeeeep.

But I’d kinda both like to still be close friends with these people and I’d like to bang them and whether I like it or not… it gets messy.

Sob. Rend garments. Rip hair. Agony.

Noooooooooooooooo communication.

You can’t make me.

Ok. No one is trying to make me. So far one person very politely asked and another person said “Or you can tell me the end result–whatever you need” and another said “I’d like to help and I don’t know how.”

Me either. Can you tell me how I feel about these things? That would be useful.

There’s a lot to balance here. Because everyone needs to feel important because everyone is important. We have a really strong dyad in our house and that’s fine… but that doesn’t make any of the folks we want to play with less important.

We just need to talk about where the happy medium is. What is the closest we can get to what we want.

I’m glad we are four days without yelling or screaming now. I hope this trend continues. We are both reacting from a completely terrified and insecure place and I hope that can change.

Noah. I hope I can manage to change my behavior enough to stop scaring the hell out of you. Thank you for being willing to talk about ways you might need to change for me. If we could figure out what we want to ask for it would go faster.

We are getting better. Closer.

I feel like by the end of the month we may end up with a bunch of different written documents. Maybe including flow charts. Years ago I went to a protocol play class taught by Tristan Taormino. She talked about having a 13 page (or more? Memory is fuzzy) document outlining behavior.

I totally got wet thinking about it. Fuck yes. I’ve never forgotten that. The idea of having that much certainty about what you are supposed to do. Swoon.

It was that long and detailed because different situations require different rules. Given that I spent half of last year traveling with my kids because I need them to understand deep in their bones that different situations require different rules and I have historically had a hard time figuring those boundaries out alone…

God I love a good contract.

I looked at my old contract. (Apparently other people have been curious about it a lot lately too because that gets a lot of hits.) It is interesting noting the similarities and differences between what I want now and what I needed then. My Owner really was as close to a Daddy as I could talk him into being.

Do I want that with Noah? Is that what I want forever? I know I want codependent enmeshed stuff, but do I want that kind of taken-care-of forever? I don’t know.

“The slave is to try to contribute positively to the relationship and submit to
commands as they are issued.” I’m giving a side eye to this bullshit right now. My Owner really didn’t like the degree to which my mental health problems impacted his life. Suck it. I get depressed. I get anxious. I get suicidal. I feel intense self harming urges. I’m not always a positive fucking contribution.

I want to feel like I am still welcome here.

I want to feel like I am good enough for Noah even when I don’t feel like I am good enough to justify continuing to eat or sleep or breathe. That’s an unfair burden to place on a person.

What is fair?

One massive difference will be that our “normal” protocol will be out “kid” protocol which is to say… just about none. Like, maybe there are household provisioning things. Or maybe we get more ritualized about hello/goodbye… but dat’s it.

No more in front of the kids.

My kids will never see me kneel to nobody.

This is nonnegotiable.

I don’t give a shit what other people do. This is about me.

Some day my kids will figure out that I’m a sexual submissive and it is going to blow their minds from here to kingdom come. “You?! You do what dad says?!?!?! Hahahahahahahaahaha”

That’s going to be how that goes. About how it went with my mother. “Wait. Say that part again. You do what someone tells you to do?”

I am completely and totally convinced that all my obedience in this life needs to happen on the down low where most people won’t even know it is happening. Safer that way. My experience of looking too sexually submissive in front of people was that it wasn’t safe.

Hi, I’m Krissy. I’m a bad ass motherfucker.

Oh golly. I got an interesting perspective on Youngest Child recently. We are getting to know a new little friend and there was a mild altercation between this new friend and YC. The other child hit YC and I guess YC glowered back but didn’t hit. I wasn’t clear if there was verbal threatening of some variety on YCs part…. but there was a lot of intensity involved. Enough that the other child was affected.

That’s my baby. I’m proud. Keep that shit up.

Good enough

I was asked if I had a good day. I didn’t sleep well. I’m in a lot of pain. The kids are all fussy and I have five of them here. I did tons of chores (laundry, dishes, vacuuming, sweeping, putting books away, helping kids clean their room) and I took a rest period during babysitting.

I really can’t complain about my day.

I’m thinking a lot about this negotiation thing. I don’t want to be “polyamorous”. I’m also ok with being an asshole. But I really don’t want to hurt my friends if that is avoidable. That makes everything about sex and emotions complicated. Even if I’m “just” nonmonogamous… I love these people.

What does love mean anyway?

I don’t really know.

But I know I love you.

I know I want you to be happy and to be treated well. I know that I need to deal with my triggers around some of this in some way even if that means there are some things I pussy foot around because PTSD sucks.

Maybe non-traumatized people should never make a rule to avoid trauma. I’m less convinced that I should never create rules for managing trauma. That’s a thing.

Especially if it is things like, “Being nearby when Noah plays with friends is fun and exciting and when he does it away from me… I completely flip out so let’s make sure I’m nearby when you play.”

Is it “fair”?

What the fuck does fair mean.

I’m not saying it is a fair reaction. I’m not saying that flipping out is a rational response. I’m saying it has been predictable for over 15 years. I don’t share that well. It is complicated and layered and I have distinct limits around it.

Is it fair that Noah is less possessive so I have more leeway? Maybe not.

I’m not sure he is less possessive. He is less traumatized. It makes a difference.

If he really and truly couldn’t handle it… we’d figure something out.

But should I have to handle something because he can? I struggle with that. I feel very small and ashamed because I can’t just match his generosity of spirit.

I know it has been nice for me and I suspect it has been nice for Noah to hear the long list of things we each feel insecure about. There was a big part of me that didn’t really believe we would work out. But 10 years later I want him a lot more than I did at the beginning.

I respect him more. I appreciate him more. I like him more. Knowing Noah more deeply makes me want to make sure I never ever lose access to this person.

When pretty much anyone looks at me I’m always trying to figure out why I’m wrong and what I need to try and tone down to not bother them.

Noah is the only person in the whole world who has ever looked at me like I am his dream come true. That’s heady shit, yo. I try as hard as I can to give that back.

The calm in the storm is over.

Next mood swing: cranky

It has been true so long that now it is almost funny. When I am being really really self-hating… the fastest way to break that mood chain is to get cranky at someone else.

This time I’m cranky at a friend who said something true but in a very unkind way. It isn’t that this friend is wrong. It is that the delivery… wow that was… shit dude. You never ever get to comment on my lack of tact again. Fuck.

Who is the asshole in this relationship? I think that answer is both of us.

I also think that the solution to my problem isn’t completely where my friend thinks it is… even though that was a true statement.

It was also a very blamey statement and whoa. Given the shithole I have climbed out of, telling me that all my problems are because of _____ is a bit uhm.

Yeah.

I had kind of an interesting set of realizations. (This won’t be as long as I want it to be because of pain.) I do not aspire to have a concrete set of boundaries I present to the world as “who I am”.

I truly don’t. I don’t want to have a set persona and this is who I am and this is how I must be treated. How I must be treated varies from person to person and is in large part constructed based on our past experiences and reasonable expectations between us.

I exist in context of my life. Different people have different kinds of access to me for very complicated reasons and those are not strictly tied to how long I’ve known them nor what kind of previous exchange of relationship duties we’ve had.

Even though Jenny is my oldest friend and has been there through some of the most fucktastically intense moments she isn’t one of the people I can be most assuming with. She has boundaries of her own. So that relationship is shaped by our mutual agreements.

Ok, this is what I’m arguing with. But I’m not going to give you context for why it was brought up.

I think I am mostly motivated to argue against it as hard as I am right now because I am so pissed off with the delivery around it. I am not very rational like that. I don’t overall mostly think it is wrong. Only I strongly disagree that I have to want autonomy and to not compromise.

I do make special rules for people to show them that they are special. I like it that way and I am not going to give up on that because someone else thinks it would be a superior lifestyle. Maybe you have had the kind of life where you can have one united front of personality. I didn’t.

I don’t think each relationship with outside persons is independent. I think that a relationship with X is compounded by the fact that they are dating Y who is dating Z who is dating A who is dating…

That whole chain impacts my life. I care about the whole fucking thing and that makes discussions about boundaries not about a bunch of autonomous people negotiating one to one in my opinion.

Long story short: it occurs to me (after being asked, cause I’m a self absorbed bastard like that) that we should talk to the folks we want to see in the future this month before we finalize agreements and stuff between us. We aren’t negotiating about imaginary possible people. We are negotiating about people who are already embedded in our lives. That’s a lot of layers of extra complication.

Oh. Shit. Yeah. Thinking about everyone’s feelings. Shit. Shit. Shit. Yeah. We are supposed to do that.

Oh.

Whoops.

Usually I like coming to folks and saying “I want x. Yes or no.” But this is deeper than that. Quite frankly, these are mostly folks where we already love them and that means this really should be an actual conversation.

Oh fuck polyamory.

I DON’T WANNA BE A GROWN UP. FUCK RESPONSIBILITY. FUCK CALCULUS.

Then be monogamous you skank.

…. Ok fine we can talk.

Fuck.