I must say: this Afrin nose spray is heavenly. I’m getting 7-8 hours of sleep a night. I want to fall down and kiss the feet of the doctor who suggested this. I am definitely bringing some on the cruise. Maybe allergy pills are worth exploring? I should ask. Or maybe just god damn try something over the counter and skip a doctor.

Breathing is kinda miraculous, you know?

I see my med doctor in 10 days. I’m scared she will want to put me on something extreme again.

Can we please please please stop treating my body as if it has schizophrenia? That is going quite poorly for me.

I need something different. I don’t know what it is yet. But not to be treated like I have schizophrenia.

I come from a family with PTSD. I get the impression it has been around for generations. We have a lot of stories of neglect and depression and self harm and suicide. Over time my opinion of the depression I have felt and the depression I see in my family has changed. I’m not sure I see it as something bad that must be avoided at all costs. I see it as something that sometimes makes sense. I’m not saying depression is logical. I’m saying it makes sense. That’s not really the same thing.

I’ve had more than one period of my life where intense depressions are probably the reason I stayed out of jail. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible.

Complicated.

I have reached an important conclusion about myself as a bdsm player. I will never again play without a safeword. Because that’s the difference between setting myself up for trauma and being able to protect myself. I need a way to say stop hurting me.

Or I can’t do bdsm at all.

Because the difference between bdsm and abuse is the ability to stop it when it is a problem. I couldn’t stop Noah from “doing a scene” on a day that already overwhelmingly traumatic and it has had consequences for our marriage and my body for ten years.

I can’t let that happen again. I need to be able to say, “Not now. Motherfucker.”

Hell, maybe that should be my safeword.

If I get to the point of saying that…. back away….

ha

I don’t defend myself unless there is some very good reason to. At this point my reason to is because I don’t want my children to see me not defend myself.

I do a lot of things now because I want my children to see someone who does them.

I know that is part of why Noah was so surprised by me going off leash. It seems so out of character.

It is and it isn’t. My character has many facets. I worry about being in the closet. I worry about being perceived as a liar later.

I missed Dore Alley. Will I miss Folsom too? Sigh.

I miss my friends. I miss the person they accept me as.

I keep thinking it would be fun to write up a class called Rape, Rape Play and what I’ve learned.

It would be offensive as fuck, I’m sure.

Ok I’m done.

Today I was reading a post about rape and there was a comment about marital rape in the 80’s. That made me think about something I’ve probably never considered before. I’m pretty sure my father raped my mother on his birthday. The timing fits. It fits exactly. I’ve never thought about it before though. Fuck.

I also read this post. It’s about ways to commit rape you probably don’t think of as rape.

I spent a while today talking to a woman who is dealing with some pretty extreme domestic violence.

I wonder often if Noah is a boogieman or a monster. Has he hurt people? Yes. Not like that. Perspective.

I’m worried about Noah flipping out if I push him too far. That’s not what other people deal with.

A friend said to me today that we marry the person we think we deserve. Maybe. I’ve spent most of my marriage wondering how I talked someone so far up the ladder into marrying me. Sucker.

I got to talk to my Pam today. She says someone should write a story about her. Ok. I’ll make it happen. Not in the next month.

Noah is working really hard lately. He is… showing up for stuff he’s never shown up for before. He’s trying so hard. He’s always been a good husband. These days I feel like a towering pile of shit who does not deserve him.

We are trying to figure out how to get the pain-during-sex to stop. We have a few approaches we are trying. They depend upon him having more self control than ever and me having more initiative to say no than ever. Wish us luck.

I feel terrified of not writing down something about our dark side. I’m terrified of presenting this false Leave It To Beaver front.

But mostly things are good. So good I don’t think I belong here. I should be killed off so my understudy can step in. She will be more deserving and worthy.

Fuck.

I could point at dozens of women who are more deserving than me. They aren’t violent pieces of shit. They aren’t monsters who have to struggle every fucking day to control themselves.

They just… don’t have this ravening monster inside them.

I am unworthy of what I have.

I know.

Sometimes folks ask me why I don’t like myself.

I don’t see much to like. I’m a fucking selfish asshole.

I’m sorta terrified what my med-doctor will suggest when I see her on the 16th. I’m on my own till then.

Whyyyyyyyyy can’t I have a sleeping pill?!

Nope. Anti-psychotics for you, motherfucker.

Great.

I’m too dysregulated.

Sigh. Can we please not treat my dysregulation like it is an extreme crisis? Can we act like, “Alright. Let’s see how to turn the nozzles down a notch or two” instead of “OMG IT ISN’T OK TO FEEL LIKE THAT IT HAS TO STOP LET’S GIVE YOU THE STRONGEST DRUGS THAT EXIST.”

Ya know… I haven’t found this approach to work at all.

Maybe I’m depressed because shitty things happen and being well adjusted to them would be fucked up.

I would like to made a radical suggestion at my next appointment. I played ball and tried four drugs I didn’t want to try because I have to prove I “trust” the med-doc. Ok, how about if you try trusting me a little. What I want is a sleeping pill. Not a silver bullet. I want something to help me catch up on sleep because I’ve been functioning with a level of sleep that qualifies as torture for years because I am physically unable to sleep. Can we fucking address this symptom and see what happens? I’m cool with trying the appetite stimulant faux-pot thing to see if that would solve part of my need for pot.

Can we start there for a few months? Please? For the love of Crisco.

My body does not tolerate extreme medications like antipsychotics and ssri’s without going fucking ballistic.

HAVE I PROVEN IT TO YOUR SATISFACTION YET?!

Or do I have to suffer more for your amusement? This is why I’m all for the UN’s proposed rights for the survivors and users of the psychiatric system. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER USA. BRAZIL IS MORE HUMANE. WTF.

Stupid congress. Go fuck yourselves.

I should stop typing. But I’m very lonely without Twitter. If I’m not on Twitter or Facebook it is like my friends… fade away.

That’s not entirely true. I love you IM buddies. You are a balm to my soul.

I feel like the last few years have created kind of a perfect storm of needing to deal with my thoughts about violence. Who am I in relationship to it? How do I want to react to it? How do I feel about it?

I feel like it started with the kick to the throat before I left on the road trip. When it happened I physically withdrew instead of attacking and tried to talk to the mother after the fact when I was calm. Ok, it blew up to hell and back and ended up with me on the outs with the group because I am dangerously angry… uhm… ok. Whatever. Fuck all y’all. I’m proud of how I fucking handled that. I did well in my opinion.

This year more than one person has threatened to hurt Noah. In one of those circumstances I wasn’t standing there and I just get to decide how I feel about having someone in my life who will casually threaten to break my husband’s legs. Easy choice: I will never set foot in your house (your turf) again and I’m going to be distantly polite in public. We will never be friendly again and if that means I lose a relationship with your wife… so be it. I don’t like it but that’s the choice I need to make.

We don’t always get choices we like.

Someone else got up and threatened to punch Noah. Fists were waving. It was loud and threatening. I inserted myself between the person and Noah and deescalated the situation. I did not end up with a friend, but if someone is going to do that to Noah… they weren’t going to be my friend anyway.

I’m proud of the fact that I can deescalate when someone else desperately wants to escalate. I am proud that when I am hurt I no longer blindly react.

This is fantastic progress for me.

My kids have been a bit slap happy lately. When one child struck another child yesterday we had a Very Long Chat About Hitting.

It went something like: “Ok, if you keep hitting your sibling does this mean you think it is ok for us to hit you?”

“Yes. I deserve it. I’ve been hitting.”

“Oh baby. That’s not what I believe. I believe none of us deserve to be hit. I believe that if one of us hits someone else it is a loss of control and we need to fix it. I believe that I do not want my babies to ever believe they deserve being hit. So I’m not going to ever ever ever hit one of you again. I fucked up *once* and that’s the fuck up I get in this life. Oh baby. You don’t deserve being hit.”

Followed by a kid sobbing and clutching on me and thanking me.

If you are hitting too often then we will have a chat with your martial arts instructor a bit more about reminding folks in class not to use moves on siblings. I may censor the videos you are watching a lot more carefully because you are having trouble managing the images and impulses that are coming into your brain.

But if I hit you to teach you that hitting is wrong I have failed. I have taught nothing except that I am yet another bully.

I know I can be a bully. I actively seek to suppress that instinct every single day. I know I can. I don’t want to be though. I reject that paradigm.

I want to be something different. I want to build you up, not tear you down.

It isn’t that I’m 100% opposed to violence. As a sadomasochist I want carefully negotiated violence in my sex life. As a traumatized person I believe I have the right to defend myself from attack up to and including terminating a life if I really must to eliminate a threat. I will not go farther than necessary, but I can come up with many plausible situations where I will do what I must to walk away.

But I don’t hit people who offend me. I’m offended all the god damn time. I don’t hit people who irritate me. I don’t hit people who disgust or bother me.

No. Violence is a big deal. In order to cross the line and hurt another being, human or otherwise, I believe there must be a fucking good reason. I won’t kill an animal for funsies. I would if I needed to eat. Sure. I wouldn’t hesitate. I would probably apologize and say thank you for the sacrifice. Never for fun. I don’t kill insects willy nilly for fun and I yell at people who do. We need the insects too.

I would say that violence isn’t fun, but my sex life is violent as fuck and fun as hell.

Uhm, context matters?

As much pain as I’ve emotionally felt as I’ve solidified these positions for myself… I think it’s going to long term be worth seeing that I have changed. Ten years ago I did hit people when I was bothered, irritated, annoyed, or poked. Ten years ago if a child had kicked me in the throat I probably would have hospitalized the child.

Not now.

I’m proud of the progress. I have worked very hard on having control over my body and my emotions. I am not just an animal blindly reacting any more. I have conscious volition and I am so fucking proud of myself I cannot contain the pride.

This is a big deal for someone like me. I don’t know many people who start out as violent and hateful as me who get it under control. It is a big deal.

I need to recognize that for myself.

*pat self on back*

Switching gears slightly: Rose suggested that I feel like monogamy is killing me by inches. I’m not sure it is the monogamy.

I think sexual violence that I do not consent to is killing me.

A friend made a comment, trying to be joking, about how many times have I been raped in the past ten years. I squinted and said three. He said the last one with Noah didn’t count.

Hooo.

I consented to it in advance. That’s true. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was stupid and I didn’t know what kind of trauma I was signing on for. I “consented” to something that has fucked me up for years. Something that has made it very hard to trust my husband fully because I god damn know that if I try to fight him off I am going to lose.

So it doesn’t count. But it is a mound of earth over my face in the hole I have dug for myself.

I’m aware it is all my fault. Doesn’t change the fact that it is a loop in the noose about to slip over my neck.

That’s how my problems go. They are mostly all my fault.

I genuinely thought I was going to end up with a “rape scene” like previous ones I have done. This wasn’t like that at all. He picked a day when I was already sobbing and traumatized. I would not have consented to doing something like that on a day like that. I was stupid to not give more parameters. It’s my fault.

I know.

Part of the reason the banging the wall next to my head bothers me so much is that I have had to remove absolutely all signs of tapping Noah in irritation because it feels like hitting him to him and he escalates and hurts me. It feels like I am bounded on several sides by threats of violence. Don’t touch him too hard. Don’t use words that he dislikes. Don’t behave in ways he doesn’t like.

Or the Sword of Damocles is coming down, bitch.

It isn’t the monogamy that is hurting me. It is the fact that I feel like violence is inevitable if I step out of line.

Guess what I’m going to motherfucking do in this life? Yeah that’s right. I’m going to step out of line.

I’m scared and angry.

I am very very angry that I have gotten myself into a situation where I feel terrified of upsetting my partner because he will hurt me and my partner thinks it is fine to “defend himself”. He weighs 50-60 lbs more than me. This is some bullshit.

Sure we are honeymooning right now whilst I am going limp and not pushing a fucking boundary in any way shape or form. How long can that last? I’m fucking angry that I have the threat of violence.

And I feel like there isn’t a lot I can do. I feel helpless and upset.

I don’t think it is the monogamy getting to me.

Why do I think there is violence in my marriage when I step out of line? Because I’ve had the bruises to prove it. Sure, I only got bruises when I “hit” him first. I was thwapping him. He didn’t get a bruise. It was one of those scoffing “Oh you are so annoying” hits. He returned it with force.

“If someone hits me I’m going to make them sorry.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I’m pathetic.

Oh fuck me and what I fucking want.

Does this threat of violence keep me permanently in line? Nope. Cause I’m a right proper stupid bitch.

And then we took a break to have a conversation we needed to have. And now the kids are up. End of train of thought.

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.

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.

Well it is a week. I feel drained, exhausted and weary. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I feel like a fuck up of the first order. I feel like communication is pointless, tiring, and futile. I feel like if something could be good, I will wreck it. Because I exist. I guess that means I’m not a narcissist.

Noah keeps telling me that all he wants is to be with me. I keep coming back to: but I am so selfish, petty, and small. Why?

We are lost children together. Lost children aren’t usually nice, not as a rule. Lost children are brutal, nasty, and cruel.

That has been my personal experience at least. I’m sure someone else will say no: children are sweet and wonderful.

Sure. Maybe to you.

It isn’t helping that there have been non-dating upsets in the last month too. I feel like dog shit.

My therapist was trying to be cute when she told me that marriage is about doing what your partner wants sexually for the rest of your life. I freaked her out a little bit when I started screaming and flailing THEN WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOESN’T THAT INCLUDE DOING WHAT I WANT?! WHY IN THE MOTHER FUCK DOES BEING MARRIED MEAN I HAVE TO BE A FUCKING FLESHLIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!? She decided it was time to invite Noah to a session after all these years.

I’ve tried to communicate about this issue. I’ve had calm and reasoned discussions for years. I’ve cried. I’ve explained in great detail how much physical and emotional pain it causes me. And 10 years in I get, “Well I guess I just need to get better at foreplay.”

Burn.Everything.Down.

Recent conversations involved Noah telling me that yeah, part of my initial appeal was that I didn’t have a normal girl’s boundaries. I didn’t say no to things that other girls said no to, because I was habituated. Just yesterday I was paging through a sexual assault recovery book and one of the chapter titles was, “If It’s Painful, It Must Be Sex.” I wanted to put my head through a window.

I am so tired of having my cunt hurt. So tired. So tired. So tired. So tired. I am so tired of being a hole.

My most recent attempt to deal with this was through having sex with other people. Because if I am more regularly stimulated by a lot of people it’s easier to get me going even if the sex is kinda shitty and then it doesn’t hurt me.

But that attempt failed in a big fiery crash.

I am freaking out.

And I’m going to have a hard time with the fact that for the next few months the entire narrative around sex is going to be hurry up and get off so that your cervix is more open for sperm.

Oh. I. Feel. Sexy.

I am not just a hole. I am an incubator who has to hurry up and provide service.

I want the baby. I even like breeder fantasy shit. I’m a sick motherfucker that way.

I’m still having a very hard time. I’m having a hard time with the fact that for most of my marriage my pleasure has been an afterthought at best and often not thought of at all. I’m here to serve his pleasure.

I’m not wired to think that is hot. I feel empty. I feel like I was the child of rape created to grow up and be raped for the rest of my life and it really doesn’t matter how I feel about it.

I’m feeling incredibly sad that I’ve wanted this baby this much for this long and now it will be created under these circumstances.

Shit.

I feel like a fucking asshole because my life is pretty close to perfect. Other than the fact that I have a ton of sex I don’t want and don’t enjoy. It hurts. It hurts physically and it hurts emotionally and I don’t shake it off. Because I owe it to Noah in exchange for him doing chores and being nice to me and the kids.

It’s not like I do other things in trade. It’s not like I’ve managed his money for years. It’s not like I do his laundry or ensure that his car is maintained or clean his house or homeschool his kids. The deal is I owe sex.

And I feel like I am the stupidest whore ever created because I set my rate so low. I give up so much of myself for this. I feel like someone built a bird roost right over my soul. So that I can be shit on all day long as everyone takes flight off to do more interesting things.

I know this sounds melodramatic.

I’ve been struggling with the sex stuff for a very long time. Everything I’ve tried to fix it has failed. Because I can’t make someone else be considerate or care. That has to come from them and Noah has used up his consideration and care outside of sex.

I get what he has to give. This is what there is and he’s doing his best so say thank you and don’t be ungrateful. Don’t you know how much he has done for you? Shut up if your pussy hurts.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

Shut up.

It’s just a pussy. How much can it matter anyway.

I’ve spent a lot of years trying to suppress how much of a problem this has been for me. Really my whole life.

I know how to bed hop and find people who will be nicer to me. I do not know how to inspire it in someone who already has used up their nice putting up with what a fucking bitch I am.

I feel like I should figure out how to be ok hiding in a small dark place then only coming out when I feel like I can behave. And when I’m there I really need to stop smoking so much pot and typing. Because baby.

Just shut up and stop making people feel so fucking inconvenienced. You are too god damn demanding. You want too much. You want a partner who cooks for you and gets you off? Get over yourself you fucking bitch.

It’s not like you do enough to deserve that.

He does get me off sometimes. When I catch him in the right mood and I’ve born enough constant unsatisfying sex that he has some lasting power.

It’s my fault if it goes quick because I haven’t been putting out enough lately. Duh.

If I can’t get off fast enough, that’s my fault and my problem.

I know.

I feel really bad.

The trouble is this resentment builds up and it impacts all the time. It is hard to appreciate Noah’s company when I’m seething or hurting or both.

It doesn’t help my feelings of resentment or seething that I know that if I go too far out of bounds I will be scared until I stop. I am angry that I have been asking to not have someone bang the wall next to my head to silence me for ten years and it is still happening.

I know I’m a contemptible bitch. I put up with the screaming. I put up with a lot of having to agree all the time that you are right and I am wrong and I am wrong and I am wrong. I know that it is the deal.

But I’m fucking tired of the wall hitting. It is scary as shit. You are going to fucking miss and you are going to fucking hit me. The last time was what, 6″ from my head? Don’t fucking act like you have control of this, motherfucker.

You have escalated a lot in your desire to shut me the hell up.

If you need to not hear me so bad get up like a god damn adult and leave the room.

Stop scaring me into silence. You want to find out what it feels like for me to hate your fucking guts? Keep doing what you’re doing.

Yes. You win in the moment. But every battle you win that way loses you long term trust and love and affection.

I’m not saying I’m doing well in how I’m trying to figure out my side winning some of these battles. I’m being a fucking asshole. I know it.

I know I’m scorching earth I need to use to grow crops. I know I’m hurting myself. And so are you.

I don’t know what to do right now.

I’m not talking very much. I’m writing less than usual and after today I shouldn’t write anything big for days again. I’m crying a lot. Like the loser white bitch I am. Recently I was reminded how completely contemptible I am because I’m another crying white woman.

I feel like shit.

Fuck everything.

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.

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.