And even now I feel like I’m fucking it up.

And even now I feel like I’m fucking it up.

I found myself texting these words to a friend who’s finalizing his divorce and coming to terms with the nature of his abusive marriage. No one wants to believe they are or have been abused, but once that realization takes hold it’s difficult to see the world in any other way. As Nietzsche said, “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you”

We are only tested when we face true opponents. Masturbatory self-improvement is just that, masturbatory; it makes us feel good, but isn’t actually making any headway. So how do you test your sanity after getting out of an abusive relationship and then hoping to have a solid, sane relationship? Unfortunately that means guinae pigs in the form of people we date, even with whom we relationship, and let’s be honest, that results in collateral damage. I can’t even think back to the numbers of people I’ve damaged because I wasn’t emotionally ready for something. Certainly none of it is done with malice, but as much introspection as one can do, and self-analysis, and psycho-analysis, we’re never sure we’re ready until we’re in that foxhole with mortars going off all around us.

That’s me right now – a year into a pretty stellar relationship and mortars are starting, the abyss is peering back, and I’m scared. Scared that I’m fucking it all up – again. Again, yes. No, it’s not rational, no I couldn’t fix my marriage, fix my husband, save my children, but I still feel woefully responsible for it all. Guilty and responsible. Ha! I always say guilt is a useless emotion, and yet if I look into the abyss it tells me I feel guilty.

As I sit in the parking lot of a liquor store chain smoking and crying, trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong I find myself at a loss. What's the next rational step? There never seems to be a road map for emotional mine fields, or self sabotage, or anything. We're blindly feeling around in the dark abyss, to open our eyes would be fruitless, it would only further solidify my knowledge that I simply know nothing.

Where to go from here? Suck it up? Fake it 'til you make it? Keep calm and carry on? All these maxims are hollow, words with no meaning; the things we tell ourselves and others when we know there's nothing good to say.

I have no answers. I look at my wrist with the word "believe" marked in the skin, a bittersweet memory that I should believe, In what I've never really been able to say. As an atheist it can't be God, or a higher power. Believe it will get better? This too shall pass? In myself? Ha, that's what I believe in least of all. Believe. Believe in the immutable truth that everything changes. Nothing lasts forever. As the Buddhists say, be like water, constantly flowing even when it's rocky.

Solitude, why I need it

I do my best thinking, soul searching alone in the early morning, sometimes when I'm not quite awake. The solitude is a strange, lonely comfort when sorting through things. It doesn't judge, doesn't demand time, attention, it just is; as I should be. Within these all the brief moments I'm allowed to be vulnerable, weak, paranoid, scared, helpless, strong, whatever emotions I've bottled up since the last foray into solitude come to light.

I naturally tend to dote on the darker side of life - it calls to me often, singing its siren song, luring me to the jagged rocks where I would crash. Day-to-day life doesn't grant the luxury of that. Yes, it's a luxury. A luxury to be able to be pulled towards your fear. Not dwell in it, but be forced to see it up close and personal. Fear is strong, but becomes much weaker when it's seen in the light. So for me, being pulled towards it, whether against my will or willingly, is necessary and powerful. In those moments I find catharsis, tears, anger, despair, longing, regret, worry, depression, and anxiety. All of those feelings have power, over you, me, those around us - a power to stop some people, to propel others, and to paralyze some.  It's a choice whether I stay there, whether the sirens hold me against the rocks, where the storm of fear wreaks havoc on me. Sometimes I choose to stay for a while, sometimes I need that - need to feel those things so I can remember what they are, remember that once I strapped myself to those rocks and allowed the waves to crush me day after day, and that I'm not that person anymore. Revisiting the rocks is necessary so I never forget.
Equally important is leaving the rocks. Truly leaving them, knowing you won't need to be there for long. All things in life are temporary. Death has finality, but the living can choose to move on. Many of us kill ourselves, our spirits, on a daily basis, coming back for more, a grotesque groundhog day reliving our pains and fears all the time. We don't have to. We can choose a different course. Each day, each moment is an opportunity to not follow the sirens. I would say not hear, but we always hear them, we can simply choose not to follow. Make a different choice. It's like a muscle, we have to build it up and in the beginning we're too weak to do much, but in time, it get stronger.

Subtext

What's beneath the words we say? Do we ever truly say everything that's in our head? Often I'd say that would qualify as purely rude. The unfiltered thoughts are harsh, sometimes cruel, or too honest. Is that it? Is it the honesty we fear? Condemn? I'm not sure. Brutal honesty is scary because we depend on the consideration and courtesy of others to not blatantly blurt those realities about us for which we have shame, guilt, embarrassment, things that fill our basket of insecurities.

So then how can we say we're truly honest if it's all a facade? I mean, that's what it is, isn't it? A beautiful front that conceals a darker underbelly.

Conversely, we're overly brutal with ourselves. Not honest, but brutal. How can we do that? Vascillate between deluding ourselves into believing we're worse, or better, than we are. How do we ever know what we are? Are we the reflections given back to us by others? Are we the impact on those around us?

Perhaps the answer is a hybrid -  more honesty with those around us, less brutality towards ourselves. If only we could master the subtleties of such a thing.

Rape

This isn't a post about rape play, or even any kind of consensual play that BDSM kinksters do, it's about rape, my rapes. Yes, rapes. I could go on about how 54% of rapes are never reported, and how only 3% of rapists serve any jail time, but that's not what this is about, it's about being raped, coping with it, surviving and working to move on. 

Rape is: Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal threats of rape. 

That definition is flat, rape is that guy who harasses you for a date, insures you drink a bit too much, pushes a kiss on you, and though you say no, he persists, insisting that it's something you both want, that it will feel so good. You don't want to, and yet your shirt is getting untucked, your skirt is getting lifted. At some point, as a woman, it's accepted that there really is no option, and though you never comply, you never consent, you do end up having sex. Sometimes your hands are held too tight, their weight on you is too much to bear, your mind races and then goes blank, it's the only defense you have, the hope that it will be over quickly. This was my first rape, and I was 15. 

For many years, no, for many decades I believed it was my fault, that I had led him on, that I was overly flirtatious, that I behaved like a girl who went "all the way," so I said nothing, to anyone. My best friend didn't know, my mom, my sister, no one. It seemed like karmic justice for not being a "good girl." Why wouldn't I believe that? That's what society believes and touts, that you're not really raped because you were asking for it, and deep down you wanted it. But I didn't. I felt ashamed, mostly because I believed the hype that I was to blame, that I got what I deserved.

That moment is as clear in my mind as if it happened last week, my heart still races thinking about it, the look in his eyes as he grunted his disgusting sounds of pleasure, the breath being forced from my body as he pushed down on me, the pain in my wrists as he held them, the hickeys left on my breasts. I remember every humiliating moment in graphic detail, like a prison from which my mind won't release me. You know what I don't remember? Whether I made any sound, whether I uttered a single syllable, but I think I was quiet, mostly because it was on my couch and I was terrified my mom or sister would hear. When he was done, I remember him saying it was good, whatever that means, and leaving. There was no condom, no kiss good night, just me half naked on my couch as he bolted, thus adding to my sense of shame. 

I decided some time later that I wouldn't be a victim again by becoming more of a predator, but guess what, even predators have predators. Many years passed while I continued my hunt, using men one after the other, often to simply avoid ever feeling the way I did that one night. Then I got married.

Well marriage fixes everything, right? Not mine. The first few years were bad, but they got much worse. He was abusive in many ways, which made me hate having sex with him. I refused many times, and went for long stretches without anything. He threw away all of my toys so I couldn't masturbate (I don't want to surprise y'all but I could still use my hand), I assume he did so in the belief that then my only sexual pleasure would be from him. Well that didn't work. Then this odd thing started happening, I would wake up in the middle of him fucking me. I don't remember the beginning, I just know that I was awoken by cock in my pussy. He would tell me that I started it and he simply complied. I hated it, I told him I didn't believe it, because I already knew that I didn't want him touching me so why would I want him fucking me? Then one night I wasn't asleep, and it all happened. He quietly slid my panties down and spread my legs and began pumping into me while I was supposedly still sleeping. I approached him and said that he had raped me, to which he laughed saying you can't rape your wife. Actually, you can. I can't tell you how much I regret this conversation, because after that he stopped hiding what he was doing and it got much more violent. He began raping me nightly, sometimes anally, and because I had become so trapped in the abuse he knew I wouldn't leave. Months blurred, I became a zombie barely living life, just going through the motions, not believing I had a choice, and always going back to the rape when I was 15 wondering if I deserved this as well. Was it God's justice on me? Was it because I wasn't a good enough wife? I could barely sleep, though not scared he would do it again and again, I knew it would happen. I never said yes, never enjoyed it, never encouraged him, I never consented, didn't kiss him, tried not to touch him at all. He just took and took without regard for me, ever. 

It got worse towards the end, which might have been why I ultimately left. He would choke me, not in the good way, and I was scared, really scared. It was this fear that woke me from my zombie state. 

He still terrifies me, and not a day goes by that I don't remember something awful that happened. I love sex, but there are some things that emotionally I'm not able to do, that will send me into a downward spiral of fear and self loathing. Some kinds of broken can't be fully fixed, not even with all the king's horses and all the king's men. Today I work towards being sexually empowered, being the master of my own body, my own sex, that's the only way I can cope with it all. I keep hoping with each day away from all of that there's improvement, and some days there are, some days there aren't, ebb & flow, the way life does. 

You can take the girl out of the abuse, but you can't take the abuse out of the girl.

The point is, I guarantee that you know someone who's been raped, you may have been raped, and no matter the circumstances, it's not your fault. Sex requires consent, if you didn't give it, that's what matters. Don't accept the adage that you had it coming, you didn't, ever. Say no, and if no is said, respect that. 

Hubris

Does one have to be Icarus to be hubristic? Cannot one simply have pride or is that then hubris? What does it mean to be proud? Are you forever relegated to the roles of Mr. Darcy or Icarus? Cannot pride be a good thing? I'm proud of who I am, that's not hubris. I take pride in what I've gone through to become what I am, that's not hubris, but when I hurt because I'm doing something that is not what I've worked to become, is that hubris? Is it my pride that's causing the pain?

I'm in love with a married man, who's not in an open relationship, and who's wife most likely suspects my existence, but doesn't actually know (we so often believe the truth we choose). This makes me the other woman, or the mistress (note the little M). I have been the other woman many times out of choice, because I did not seek a relationship, nor love, so I didn't care if they stayed with their wives, which statistically speaking, only 1% of married men leave their wives for their mistress, so I've got that going for me [sarcasm font]. He never lied to me about his situation, and I honestly didn't expect to fall in love, but I did, and here I am. 

I am not other woman material when it comes to a relationship. I'm demanding, and I expect attention, affection and admiration at a whim, I'm the kind of woman that should consume you, your thoughts, your very breath. Being the other woman doesn't lend itself to that kind of consumption. Is that hubris? Is it pride, or is there no distinguishable difference?

I am at a crossroads; do I swallow my pride for love and continue in the hopes that he is the 1%, or do I sever my ties for the safe bet? Pride comes before the fall, but that expression doesn't apply, I'm not blindly moving forward because of pride, I'm looking with eyes wide open. I can't express the hate that I would feel towards myself, towards him should I knowingly choose to stay and he falls into the 99% category. I'm rarely vindictive, but I would be in this scenario. I mean, making this choice is a huge gamble, and I'm not a gambler, I like logic and reason, I like to know where my foot is stepping next, and with this, I'm at The Grand Canyon's edge blindfolded with him behind me, trusting that he won't push. ... Trust. This all boils down to trust. Do I trust him to do what he says he will do? I've found the magic question.

Sometimes I get it all wrong

It makes me laugh when people say they're scared of me. The concept truly is hilarious, I'm one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I'm compassionate, caring, empathetic, attentive and above all, reasonable. Every one of these things robs me of the ability to be a "true Dom." And I'm about two seconds away from saying fuck it all. Either I should just be a douchy dom, they seem to get all kinds of respect, or just hang up my Dom hat. I am just a girl after all, I'm not deserving of it anyway. Aren't I just a submissive who hasn't found the right Dom anyway? (as all women are) [demi-rant and MASSIVE sarcasm font]

Sometimes I get it all wrong, I do all the wrong things, and make all the wrong moves. Yes, I fuck up, and when I do, I like to fuck up big (there's no point in being half-assed about a fuck up). My propensity to be compassionate often drives me to do it all wrong, there's no one to blame but myself. 

For example, I poo poo'd Doms who had to capitalize "Me" or "Her" or "Him," and had their submissives lower case "i." All I could think was what assholes were they to demolish one of the basic tenants of English grammar for their own ego. How naive of me. Now I understand it, and it has nothing to do with a Dominant's vanity, it has to do with maintaining the balance in the relationship with a submissive. This was lost on me, assuming that balance was maintained by daily or ritualized contact. Not being a submissive, I don't know how their minds work, though I do try, so I couldn't see that they need this reaffirmation. NEED it. As foreign of a concept as this is to me, I need to accept it for the well-being of all involved. So chalk that one up as a tick in my failure column.

I also failed to understand that though some choose to submit to me, that doesn't mean they don't need a not so friendly reminder of this, often. The concept that one would be forced in any way to submit to me is appalling; however, that doesn't mean that they don't need forcible reminders of their role and responsibilities. It's another component of reaffirmation that I missed. *chalks another tick in failure column*

Sometimes as a Dominant it feels as though I'm working terribly hard, rolling that rock up the hill a la Sisyphus, and the submissive is just sitting there watching and waiting for their turn to receive some magnanimous attention. About halfway up the hill I think "y'know, some help would be nice," and where I fail is when I think that it's not their job to help. HELL YES IT'S THEIR FUCKING JOB. A relationship, ANY relationship requires both parties to PARTICIPATE, if it's just one, then fuck it, that's not a relationship, that's mental and emotional masturbation, and really that's what twitter is for. Here I was thinking that I'm supposed to do all the heavy lifting, such a falsity I told myself, and allowed myself to not only believe but live. No, boys and girls, that's not the right path. To believe that because it's hard it's right is fooling yourself, not to mention robbing you of what happiness should be. Life is hard efuckingnough without adding difficulties. Let's not do that, k?

So yes, getting it wrong sucks, but you know what's worse? Not realizing you've fucked up. Look, I'm not about to become someone's submissive because I made a mistake, I may be on some figurative rant about dropping it all, but I won't. It would be like giving up sex, or food, sure you can do it for a while, but it's not pleasant nor can you survive for long without either. (Okay, you can SURVIVE longer without sex, but it's just not fun). I suppose the best thing is learning and growing, evolving and becoming better. So yeah, I get it wrong, but I'll be goddamned (which I would be if I believed in God) if I'm going to stay stagnant in that or anything.

It's only Twitter

I get it, it's ONLY Twitter, but how many times has Twitter kept each and every one of us sane? It's not "only" Twitter then, it's your lifeline. How many married people have found solace from a crumbling and unsatisfying marriage? How many sad and lonely people have found friendship and camaraderie? How many people have fucked someone from Twitter? Fallen in love from afar? Had their heart broken? Yet one is supposed to be comforted by it "only" being "Twitter" when we feel hurt by it. 

So Twitter is perfectly valid when it incites emotions that are positive, but it becomes illegitimate when they're hurtful feelings? I just want to get the rules right, because god forbid I do Twitter wrong.

I guess it's only Twitter when someone else is having a good time, and that good time has offended and/or hurt someone. Gotcha.

To diminish one's emotions is to rob us of the human experience. Overreacting and feeling butthurt is a critical component of living life. You know what's also a critical component of living life? Moving on from that hurt, from little hurts and big hurts and broken hearts and paper cuts to the heart, that's what we're supposed to do. We're supposed to learn and evolve and not stay stuck in those moments of pain, even when they take our breath away.

So yes, it's Twitter, but it's not only Twitter, it's a part of our lives, and our emotional reactions are valid, even when they're unreasonable. How can we learn from it if we dismiss it as "only Twitter?"

The shadow that lingers

There is a shadow that clings to some whether you see it or not, sometimes it appears in an echo, an expression on one's face or more plainly in words that we say. This shadow is the mistakes we carry with us, for good or bad. Too often the montage of mistakes flies at me at a speed too rapid to combat, then I feel my shoulders slump, feel a greater sense of defeat, and struggle with each subsequent step I'm about to take. 

Can I confess something? I'm scared to forgive myself and say goodbye to the shadow, afraid that if I do I'm doomed to repeat my errors, or lose any humility they may have taught me. It's like a perverse rendition of Dorian Grey, expect it's more like my portrait looks like Quasimodo with a hump on my back packed with all the mistakes I've ever made and getting bigger each day. It's not debilitating, in a way it's comforting. It's a comfort to look at that hump, as big as it is, and recognize for a moment what I'm constantly working not to be. 

I'm sure there's a better way, but as always fear prevents me from taking that path, and I don't mean that mild fear of performing, or moving to a different country, I mean that fear that you'll lose who and what you are. That's a fear that stops a person cold. No, that's a fear that stops me cold. It's taken me 40 years to be proud of who and what I am, what I've endured, who I love, who I help, and even who I loathe, to lose something that's taken so long to acquire terrifies me. 

I don't know if I'll ever find the courage to shed this hump, this shadow and reminder of all that has formed me, but until I do (if ever) I'll look back on it to remind me of my journey and to not forget the hard-driven path.

Connection, chemistry, emotion

This conversation happened on Twitter the other day, which got me thinking about connection, chemistry and emotion. We all have felt them (I hope) and they're required for an emotionally intimate relationship to take place, but what happens when it's one-sided, or when it's faked, maliciously or not? Or, in the scenario presented by this gentleman, that both parties desire it, but it's not there?

I've tried willing myself to love someone the way they do me, I've even lied to myself and my partner with the premise "fake it 'til you make it," all to disastrous results. And then when I do fall in love it's with someone 3,000 miles away, so yeah, things don't always work out how we wish.

The greater question is, how do we deal with this situation when it arises? The easy answer is be honest, but if we're really being honest, sometimes that's difficult to do if that means hurting someone else. As cold-hearted as many believe me to be, I am not, and it is extremely difficult for me to knowingly hurt someone. Let me clarify, it USED to be difficult for me, but now I know that the small pain at the beginning is a kindness to them, as opposed to lying to them, leading them on and then destroying their hearts. In a previous blog I had written a post on the song "Nothing" by The Script, not because I was writing from the perspective of the singer, but from the woman who said nothing in return to his reclamation of his affections and love for her. Sometimes nothing is the best gift you can give someone, so they can move on with their lives, away from something that doesn't have the chemistry for both parties.I find that when I focus on what's the overall long-term good, I can manage to do what might be impossible otherwise. 

If you happen to be the person who has the feelings but they're not returned, you have options, either you can pine away in an unhealthy manner with a wish and a hope that something will change (not recommended), you can sever all ties, or you can choose to be their friend if you can handle it. Not easy, I get that, but life is not known for being easy street. 

Then there's the situation my sweet Nancy and I are in, the one for which she's gotten so much support because it's clearly so unhealthy. Sorry.... I'm being bitter. For those not in the know (because this is old news to she and I), she's in love with me, I am not in love with her, I have a boyfriend that I do love, she's my best friend and I am hers, and she's my sub. Complicated, huh? It hasn't been easy for either of us, but though the chemistry wasn't there for me, which dictated her kind of love, I do love her, very much, and didn't want her to be out of my life. I gave her every option and plenty of time to decide, and it was an incredibly painful time in both of our lives, and it still is painful from time to time. It gets easier as time goes on, and I still work to focus on the bigger picture so we can maintain healthy boundaries and a healthy relationship, which sometimes means I don't do certain things that she would like. It would have been wrong and overall more hurtful to both of us if I had lied and tried to fake the kind of romantic relationship she desired.

Connection, chemistry and emotion, any one of them can exist in each and every relationship we have. Think about it. We have to feel connection and emotion with our friends, or else we wouldn't want to be around them, care for them, root for them, boo their villains, it's just the emotion stops short of where chemistry takes us over the hump. These essences are all around us, all around those with whom we surround ourselves, if we're willing to look.