Monthly Archives

March 2017

Uncategorized

Fuck Monster Fallout

March 31, 2017

I have no idea why I wasn’t expecting this but I wasn’t.

I also have no idea if this is actually gonna post or not. I’m writing this on a Mac (shudder) and everything is weird. Even the mouse scrolls backwards. I can’t cut and paste, so this is uber disjointed.

Kinda like the last few days.

Here there be fallout and fuckmonsters.

I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving (Postal Service)

Well that has a whole new meaning now doesn’t it?
They call it enlightenment because damn, this feels lighter.
Has nothing to do with me exactly. Apparently it’s not so much that I am hard to be with, I am however, almost impossible to explain to the rest of the world.

I suppose I should have known, precautions should have been taken. Maybe ease them into it honey, the things you adore about me are not for everyone. I actually forgot how bad I am on paper. Remember when you asked me if you were too much and I said yes but so am I? Ya that.

Meanwhile I have made a point of surrounding myself with people both real and virtual friends who find happiness in mine, as I do with them. Bliss in ignorance I guess, mine…not this new stuff I am dealing with.

Sarah is having a good day, the bells ring out in the kingdom of Facebook and there is great rejoicing. But those people actually know me, know how sad I used to be and how far I have come. Unconditional love is a beautiful thing.

To the people just joining us I appear to be a party girl stripper with a fetish for younger guys, a potty mouth and hang ups about my ex. That’s about all that can be gleaned in a half an hour.

Um no, I am none of those things. Wait, I do swear a lot. Drink less than most, drugs never. Exes? I have a few. Over some of them, friends with the others. I dig in the dirt to heal. I learn new things every day. I am ever changing and evolving.

There’s no drama here, unless someone else brings it, and this is how I cope.
Sit down, think about it and write it out.

If you really wanna know me, there are Cliff’s Notes I could post those things, but I don’t think you do. Easier to skim and decide.

It’s impossible to get the toothpaste back in the tube, once something is out, it’s out. I’m not much for making messes myself, why bother, this way I don’t have to clean them up.

I’ve had to defend my choices lately, in a way that hasn’t happened before.

The answer is no, I don’t have a fetish for younger guys.

On the surface it looks that way I know. I know what I write, and why I write it that way. I have been the one living my life this whole time.

Sex sells and I am comfortable with my sexuality. I am comfortable with my choices and my partners. Even if it blows up or goes away I stand by what I did.

I am realizing that it’s not normal, this comfort level I have attained.

I am not about to backpedal, not for anyone. I lived my life in hiding. That’s no life at all.

They are not fetishes, they are not toys or experiments, they are people.

I’ve been down a hundred roads of hurt and I refuse to visit the things I went through onto other people. Do no harm take no shit. But I end up taking a lot of shit.

In the last 5 days I have been outright bashed and judged by women I have never met. It hurts, reminds me of high school and is making me twitch and squirm.

Thoughts like ‘maybe I am wrong’, ‘maybe I should pull the blog down’ are taking up residence in my head and I don’t like it.

I left the land of ‘should’ when I stopped hiding.

“Should” got me mired down in 2 bad marriages, countless bad jobs and contributed to some seriously sub par parenting on my part.

There are those of us who see white picket fences as prison bars. I am one of them.

It took me years and years to get here to the land of ‘what I want is actually important’.

Right now? I want him.

Not because he’s young, but because he is who he is.

I’ve known bad men, and good ones.

He is one of the good ones. He has attained a level of self awareness and honesty it took me decades to fight for and achieve and it’s just natural for him.

He is strong, determined, honest to an incredible degree, introspective, humble, kind sweet, hardworking, responsible and impetuous at the same time and ya, I call him a fuck monster, but that is really just a bonus.

I also get to call him ‘mine’ because we agreed, for the foreseeable future, we don’t want anyone else.

I won’t hold him back if that changes. We humans have fought wars about ‘owning’ other human beings and all came out on the side of ‘thats bad mmmkay’.

We gently remind each other in a joking way of our age difference, but really? It’s not a thing. It’s more important that we support each other, care about each other, are really attracted to each other and call the other one out on our bullshit. Those are the important things, not numbers. I am already a better person for knowing him, what does it matter what year he was born?

I am not so foolish as to believe that he is going to stay this way. The mental growth from 25-42 is substantial. I am not the same girl as I was at 25, I barely even recognize her anymore. Difference between me and him? He is already light years ahead with a self acceptance I am still growing into and currently fighting to keep.

I know I’ll be fine and if it is within my power to contribute to his well-being, so will he.

I wish he had the same luxury as I do, this incredible support system of other humans who only ask of me that I be happy and well, and sometimes help them move or pick them up from the airport. And he does now, by proxy. If you are beloved by me you are beloved by my people.

This is how I will leave him, if we grow apart, better than I found him.

(that didn’t happen)

 

regular lust

Hard to Swallow

March 31, 2017

I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)

Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.

We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.

I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.

And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.

Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.

I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.

Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.

What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.

Second verse same as the first.

Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.

Pins and needles.

Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.

Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.

So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.

This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.

But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…

Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.

It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.

Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.

The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.

He thinks I am beautiful.

I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.

I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.

They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.

He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.

I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.

Uncategorized

Love Just Is

March 28, 2017

Love is patient, love is kind.

Oh yes, it is those things.

It is also, ‘put on your seat belt’, ‘did you get enough to eat?’ and reassuring someone after a nightmare even though you really wanna dye your hair…among a multitude and myriad of other things.

“It’s all based off of love. And love isn’t ‘do this for me and I’m going to do this for you’, that’s not what love is. Love is just I’m going to do this for you because I’m going to do this for you.”

YouTube rabbithole I was tumbling down took a weird turn and landed on the Biebs.

Before I realized it was him, I was in full agreeance, after I realized it was him, I am in full agreeance.

It’s true.

I think that love and or fondness for another human being makes little tasks and treats for said person into a pleasurable experience. Mind you I have always been the girl who enjoyed giving gifts at Christmas more than receiving them. Releases some kind of happy chemical in my brain when I see someone else’s joy.

I have written articles before such as Love as a Verb and Love as a Noun. Love is action and a state of being in my humble yet loving opinion.

Case and point, having beers with the boys last night.

One said “I always wished she would have come over and girlied up the place but she never did.”

Which lead into me saying ‘well you weren’t doing what she wanted to do (which was consider letting her move in) so she didn’t do it.’

I choked on the words a bit, but they are paramount truth.

Too many people running around only giving love conditionally.

To me that is withholding, and an abomination against the Lord.

And not at all indicative of love.

But it is so much the norm that that particular behavior is immediately recognizable and easily identified.

Doesn’t make it any less one-sided and shitty.

I post love memes all day every day, and without fail or exception there is a rabble rabble from the crowd…

“But he doesn’t do _____ for me, why should I be nice to him?”

Because you love him maybe? Or claim to?

“You keep using that word (love) and I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Princess Bride.

We are ever evolving creatures that change and learn as we go, or the ones I want to hang out with are. Why sequester yourself in a relationship with someone who stifles that? Puts limitations and expectations on you to be something they have created in their own mind as ideal. I don’t get it.

My favorite thing? Sitting back and letting people be themselves. Watching their eyes light up when they get excited about something they love. Feeling safe to be myself is so incredibly important to me that I try to carry around that idea of sanctuary with me wherever I go.

There are billions of people on the planet, find one that fits as is.

That is exactly what love is to me “I love you as is, just because.” Drunk, sleepy, cranky, happy, strange, dirty, clean…all of those things are faces of you and I like yer face.

I love you because I just do.

men

Amalgam

March 23, 2017

It is strange to me to have to be in a position to ask and or discuss what I write with someone else.

I never felt like I owed anyone anything, and even waist deep in the pseudo-relationships I was in I still felt alone.

Alone most of the time, to figure things out etc.

I sat on Cruz’s couch yesterday and vomited up a huge portion of my past. All stories I have told before but not all at once and not all connected in the way they flowed off my tongue this time.

I really hadn’t put it all together that way before. In a way that made some sense.

How I started dancing, almost losing Rowan, doing drugs to cope and having that make me feel even worse about myself if that was even possible. A detailed description of my decent. All of these things that happened to me that sound like bad chapters from novels.

Oh god I wanted to bolt so bad. Sitting there teary eyed, feeling dirty and vulnerable. But I stayed.
Told him I wanted to bolt.

I did it once before. Bolted I mean, he didn’t like it.

He said it hurt him, the things I had been through.

Back then, the girl I was, didn’t know any better.

I am tired of saying “ya that happened” about the bad stuff.

I would rather count my blessings.

They can be summed up in one sentence “I’m still here.”

I should have been a junkie, I should have been a hooker, I should have been a statistic. But I wasn’t.

Sisterwife called me ‘enduring’ once.

That is EXACTLY what I am.

Even though I couldn’t see it, something in me must have believed that there was something better than where I was.

I used to get scared when I was happy, when things were going too well.

I also used to put my happiness in the hands of others. Therefore they could take it away. Now it’s just mine, and when I fall or fly I own it.

It happened again. I got real fucking happy and I got worried.

I am still the sum of all my parts, all the things that happened to me, the good bad and the ugly.

An amalgam.

He is too, but in the weirdest way.

He is the sum of the others subtracting the bad bits. The youth, the beauty, the sex, the energy multiplied exponentially. I had fleeting moments wherein I was feeling safe enough to tell some of them some of what I am. But with him it’s all of it, all of the time. I can’t help myself, it all comes tumbling out.

We’re seeing Tool and John Mayer 4 days apart. Resort vacation in the Dominican and a trip to a school in rural Cambodia. He is this weird juxtaposition that doesn’t conflict with mine.

He said last night that he is worried because it feels too good to be true.

Oh honey I know. I have been wandering a lot longer, feeling out of place and strange.

I’ve also realized, there is no such thing as too good, if you can keep yourself open to how limitless this life can be. If it can go as bad as it has, it can go the other way too.

I wrote once, not long ago actually, about the idea of luck and how I planned on appeasing the gods by asking ‘why not me?’ with a smirk.

I think they heard me and I am so very grateful.

He really does feel like winning the lottery.

This is just me, as is, and I believe you are just you and somehow it just works.

We’re both nice and easy.

regular lust

I Only Date Beasts

March 21, 2017

Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Tale as old as time
Beauty and the Beast

He fucked me 6 times yesterday and still thought I was hot enough to mention it at 6am, on our way to MacDonald’s drive thru on his way to drop me off on his way to work.

He called me beautiful and he is a beast.

Been looking for one of those for a long time and up until now they have been weighed, measured and I was left wanting.

Not anymore.

I thought I had one once, upon a time not that long ago, but he was all talk and no time for me.

So I left.

Why does it always have to be ‘I have you or I hate you.’???

Weren’t we just friends? Didn’t we trust each other a few weeks ago? We talked every day. Now I have to walk around this hole in my life. It’s just a puddle not a crater. I’ll live.

I was just one girl out of several on his roster.

I never understood the phenomenon of “You aren’t behaving the way I expect you too so I shall name thee whore, cast you out and never talk to you again.”

But honey…

I am a whore and damned proud of it. He was proud of me once. Showed me off to his friends with pics, but I never met them. Apparently I was the hottest of the girlfriends.

I didn’t win anything.

One would think that if a guy has a hot girlfriend said friends would hound him to do something about it. But what do I know?

His business partner managed to drive to Milton nightly, in the dead of winter to bang some random flavor of the month chick, repeatedly and raw.
I lived a lot closer and I got ignored so hard that I questioned my own existence.

When I said I couldn’t wait anymore Lumberjack said ‘You knew what you were getting into. I’m over it. You wasted my time.’

Wait…what?

You plucked a nympho out of thin air, basically winning the lottery and fucked me…4 times in 9 months? With 2 blowies and a finger bang thrown in, for what?

To be blocked on everything?

His last one left him because they never went out. So I never asked to go out.

I didn’t ask for much.

I tried to be understanding. I waited and waited and waited.

“She didn’t understand I work so much so I can have this house, she can come over any time.”
But I wasn’t allowed in that very same house after he moved upstairs.

It was over then and I hung on for 5 more months.

He stopped trying as soon as I put out.

That’s the norm.

Or it was…

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise

From trashed to treasured.

My ex-husband called me a turboslut after he read the blog. Said he was ashamed he’d ever known me and touched me. You and me both buddy. I shudder and long for the day that my skin cells have regenerated enough times that they never knew you existed. Not long now.

We waited 3 months to sleep together and I went to prison for 7 years for honoring that probationary period.

Besides, I kinda am all those names I’ve been called.

I am not ashamed of it anymore.

Thought I had found someone who thought it was great too, but he never showed up to claim his prize.

Fuck him.

Over it.

Something wonderful happened the other day.

Something wonderful has been happening for 3 weeks now.

I told y’all I slept with a young Scorpio on the first date.

We went to see Get Out and we decided we weren’t done hanging out yet.

I was so fucking frustrated and he is so fucking hot I caved, maybe 20 minutes after I said I wasn’t gonna.

It was worth it.

I had joked that we wouldn’t last long enough to see Beauty and the Beast.
One of the previews we agreed on seeing whilst sitting in the theater. It wasn’t a joke. I figured he’d bail sooner than later. Why wouldn’t I?

They all do.

I fucked him, put my clothes on and he drove me home, all the while me thinking “that was really good, too bad I’ll never see him again.”

I even said it out loud before I shut the car door.

He came over the next night.

Not the one after that because I was working, but the next night.

Probably 15/20 days we’ve seen each other, at least for a few hours.

On the 14th day he asked me to be his girlfriend, even though he thought I’d say no. He wanted it enough that he took a chance. Of course I said yes.

When it’s been more than 24 hours since we’ve fucked he gets these lusty eyes. Or when he looks at me really. We’ve joked about fucking in bar bathrooms, it’s really only a matter of time.

I told him what ex hubby said, the turboslut thing.

He did something I wasn’t expecting, he took back the nickname and made it into a good thing.

He makes a lot of things into good things.

He said last night while we were lying in bed, pretty much out of nowhere, “I don’t know why these guys all left you.”

Honestly babe, I don’t know why they left either, but I am glad they did.

Beauty and her beast? He surprised me with tickets on Saturday. Walked nostalgically back through our first date. (You shushed me here)

The Adventures of Turboslut and her Fuck Monster.

My kind of fairy tale.

 

 

when i was married

Trusting Junkies

March 19, 2017

I can’t stay on your life support,
There’s a shortage in the switch,
I can’t stay on your morphine,
‘Cause it’s making me itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again
But she’s being a little bitch,
I think I’ll get outta here, where I can

Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you’re just like a pill
Instead of makin’ me better,
You keep makin’ me ill

Pink

 

Ex hubby and I agreed on a few things.

Very few, but a few nonetheless.

He’d had a bad habit of dating opioid addicted strippers. My problem was I dated alcoholics. Mean ones.

We kinda bonded over this. Surviving it, the horror stories of relationships turned wars. Battle of us versus the pill or bottle depending.

He barely drank, cheated an awful lot though. Not sure if that was a step up or a shimmy sideways.

Survey says shimmy.

I was a step up for him, I was clean and a waitress at the time, an EX stripper.

I wasn’t a saint, more of a ‘been there done that, I’m a good girl now’.

Until I wasn’t.

I have never done heroin. Hillbilly heroin yes, morphine and its derivatives and that is where it ended. I could not even begin to imagine how sweet that high would have been to a girl like me whose head is rarely quiet. I can imagine the oblivion. Loved the tingling sensation on my skin, I fuck a lot to get that feeling. I fuss sometimes about how people can condemn some things without trying them, but I knew that white horse would drag me to my death so I stayed away.

It’s so funny. My stubbornness has saved me from and condemned me to hell depending on the day and the circumstance.

I was so committed to not being like his other girls that I refused pain medication after my accident, you know, the one that left me unable to think or walk right.

I had to get rushed in for an MRI and they asked me what I was taking for pain, I said nothing and immediately got a shot of morphine in my IV drip. They wanted to make sure it wasn’t the pain making me unable to remember anything. My threshold had been breached and I was going crazy from trying to manage.

But I was stubborn and I was careful and above all respectful.

I got through it with some Tylenol 3’s.

Sometime in the beginning of our relationship, really early on, we discussed how dating an addict is akin to dating a chronic cheater.

Stay with me here.

Someone or something is always more important than the person they are with.

I watched a woman I know, drive away and leave a girl to get beaten by her ex because said ex was a coke dealer and the one driving away didn’t want to disrupt her supply of drugs.

That shit changes you. Priorities become skewed and nothing else matters.

There is no Dana only Zuul. (Ghostbusters)

I am about to contradict the ever loving shit out of myself but bear with me here.

I still do not believe that a healthy relationship is comprised of two people who are so into each other that nothing else matters, that in itself is an addiction and not advised.

Love yourself, have your own life and then invite someone in who can work with you and not make a mess of this thing you have built for yourself, then you can build together.

But when you have to take a back seat to heroin, cocaine, work, alcohol whatever form their escapism takes you start to question your own worth. Is your life so bad that you have to drown yourself in other things? Am I not enough to compensate for how shit life can be? I strive to be sanctuary and a warm safe place. If you have to look elsewhere for comfort and joy, I end up feeling like shit about myself by proxy.

Can’t be helped.

Case and point. The guy I dated for 5 years before ex hubby, ex hubby the first I guess. Worked Monday to Friday. As the weekend approached he’d stop at the beer store, 6 beers after work Thursday, Friday? Hammered to the point of incoherency by 9 or 10 pm. Saturday day drinking to kill Friday’s hangover so Sunday was a write off too.

Let me get this straight…I couldn’t be a waitress because it kept me out nights and we didn’t get to see each other but he could drink himself blind on the two days we did get to hang out?

Shoulda left way before I did.

History repeated.

Same with the farm life. Shoulda woulda coulda left, but I didn’t.

I responded to his actual cheating with some actual cheating of my own, and some leaving and some more cheating.

Then I got my boobs done and my hands on some opiates.

For 90 days I didn’t feel a thing.

Sisterwife was a junkie in her own right, I watched her eyes glaze over, I watched her health deteriorate as she assaulted her one, working, donated kidney with wave after wave of whatever drugs she could get her hands on.

And no one but me seemed to see it. I got tired of yelling ‘are you blind, she’s not docile, she’s fucking high.’

I couldn’t beat them, so I joined her. Spring 2011 is a blur. Pretty sure nothing good happened anyways. How could it?

The summer came, I got a job and straightened myself out. By the fall I left.

I stayed straight, until 2 years later, I found myself dating yet another douchebag who couldn’t even change a tire or keep a job. Got my hands on some Percocet and started checking out every night so I didn’t have to acknowledge this piece of shit taking up half of my bed.

You can check out anytime you like but you can never leave. (The Eagles)

I thought I couldn’t leave, felt trapped, tried to escape anyway I could. And in effect I was cheating. Mentally leaving the relationship before I tossed his freeloading body out the door.

Now?

I know better.

The concept of “alone” is not some terrifying foreign concept.

If I start getting the itch to check out, I’ll just leave.

 

 

 

unable to even

Under Pressure (more trigger warnings)

March 17, 2017

It is so bittersweet to me when I post about the bad things we must endure as women and those are the articles that go viral.

https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/pressure-sex-trigger-warning.html

Pressure Sex, an article about how sometimes/often it’s safer just to give in than fight back when some man friend thinks he has earned the right to your body. About lying there light as a feather, stiff as a board and dry as a bone just waiting for it to be over so you can go home.

Sometimes home isn’t safe either.

3000 views in 48 hours. Hundreds of comments breaking my heart.

I relate. How can I live this life? A constant fuck hole for a man who doesn’t notice my obvious repulsion.
I do it, I lay there because he is a good father to our child. I don’t know what else to do. (Anonymous)
All I could say is I hope things get better for you.

I can’t say ‘run’. If she thought she could, she would have. All I can do is hope that by me saying something, by Jen saying something, by the hundreds saying ‘me too’ that she knows she isn’t alone.

Getting groped in the night just trying to get through it.

How many times? Too many.

How many women? Seemingly all of us.

How can this be?

And the question remains…what do we tell our daughters? That ‘no is a complete sentence’. But what about when it isn’t. When some men get hard ‘no’ just sounds like a challenge. Then what do we do?

Get through the night, please don’t die and then come to me and I’ll tell you that whatever you had to do to survive was okay. But it ain’t.

I can’t go get a coffee unprotested, can’t do laundry unmolested unless I have a man with me.

“It can’t be that bad” they say. But the second they drop 10 feet behind me they hear what I hear.

“Hey baby nice tattoos”, “smile beautiful” and “I just want to talk to you”. What about what I want?

What about the other avenues by which we get violated?

Another rant about dick pics. Accompanied by the usual jokes.

How is this funny?

Imagine your wife, mother, sister, daughter opening a seemingly innocent door and having some creep whip his dick out on the other side and slap her with it.

Triggers the same fight or flight response, the same amount of fear.

I didn’t ask for this.

This is daily social media harassment for women.

My girl said “I’ve never gotten one”

I asked if she had ever opened her requested messages folder.

She hasn’t, she won’t. One more girl pulled out of the fire.

So many suggestions on how I should modify my behavior.

I was born a woman so I must hide myself away or suffer the consequences?

I am exhausted.

“If I have to listen to one more grey-faced man with a $2 haircut explain to me what rape is, I’m going to lose my mind.” Tina Fey

Then there are these odd moments of hope wherein I say “no, this isn’t funny, it happens and it sucks” and someone listens.

One man out of thousands.

The rest?

These are the men we know and love, the ones we trusted, until we didn’t.

It got worse you know.

That girl who got assaulted, once in the flesh and once shortly after via social media.

I didn’t know when I wrote the article that it wasn’t a couple of ill-timed dick pics that ended up in her inbox. It was videos, fully nude, jerking off with a come-fuck-me face on top. This was his response to her assault. Like some poisoned cherry on a shit covered sundae.

Like what happened to her was a source of arousal for him.

Too many men thinking women are just toys, vehicles for their orgasms.

He sent them on Snap Chat, all evidence of his vile behavior burned into her brain but disappearing leaving no proof.

Why does it make you hard when I cry? (Boss Hog)

Good God make it stop.

I am wondering if maybe there is a God and he is still pissed about Eden. Seems like a man, not able to let things go.

They think that women are insane but have you ever seen a man go from “Hey gorgeous” to “fucking bitch, I’ll kill you” in under a minute for refusing to reply?

I told one I was leaving and had my mouth punched into oblivion for saying something he didn’t want to hear.

The last one called me a whore for saying I was done.

I am a whore, just not yours anymore.

I have a new one now. A good man and a chaperone. For the foreseeable future I don’t have to worry about walking alone, and if for some reason I say no, I know he’ll listen.

unable to even

Pressure Sex (trigger warning)

March 15, 2017

 

My girl, oh my feisty awesome girl, got sexually assaulted last year.

What do you say?

“I’ve been there, I love you, be brave, you got this.”

It’s almost a rote response at this point.

One in four one in four one in four.

Seems like more than one in four.

Seems like my answers and condolences are automated. “Welcome to the club sounds” awful.
But it’s astute.
There are so many of us and no one seems to know how to stop it.

I can tell you what you don’t do, for all the men out there.

What a male friend of hers did when she opened up about what happened a few days later.

He sent her full frontal nudes and dick pics.

She is still reeling and dealing. The betrayal of the supposed friend worse than the assault by the other.

I get it.

She did something decidedly brave in my opinion, she called him out. Not the first but the second, the shitty full frontal friend. Called him by name.

There is fallout, there always is.

She popped her head into my inbox last night, so I stopped what I was doing and said the things I have been programmed to say. The things I wanted to hear after I was assaulted, after dick pics, after men behaved badly.

I had posted yesterday that maybe we should start naming them, these men who do these things to us. The ones we called friends or lovers who don’t understand the words hurt or no.

These aren’t strange perverts in alleyways and parking garages waiting to victimize women, these are men we know. Men we felt safe with until we didn’t.

For every serial killer there is a chorus of neighbors saying ‘we didn’t know, he seemed like such a nice guy.’

Whisperings of abusive and perverted men passed around like dirty currency in the dark where they won’t make a scene ~ J.U.

I am wondering if we should all stand together as women and start naming names.
Not scratching them into the backs of bathroom stalls and hoping someone will heed our warning, but actually naming names.

I tried to call someone out, on that very status, that sparked a war. And I couldn’t.

Me, the girl who speaks her mind, who doesn’t lie, who found her voice and screams from the treetops. Good bad ugly…I am the one to say it.  But I can’t.

I can’t say that 2 years ago I had too much to eat at a dinner he bought for me. We went back to his house, like we always did. He wanted to fuck like we always did, but I didn’t. I was feeling tired and sick and stressed and all I wanted to do was lay down for a minute and muster the energy to drive home. But instead I got fucked, rather roughly and unceremoniously while I was mentally disconnected from my body just waiting for it to be over. And that it might have been okay except for the text the next day that said something like “the sex last night was amazing”.

Was it now? Because to me it felt like you were using my body like you would a doll, just something to get you off in a pinch. Using my body like my soul wasn’t in there, that I didn’t matter. Not noticing that I didn’t make a sound or much movement at all, not noticing I was dry as a bone.

I never went back.

He still tries to talk to me and I say hi back politely, curtly or ignore it if I feel like I can get away with it.

Therein lies the problem.

I’m still scared.

A few months later I was lying in bed with Biker Body Pillow. We never fucked, just spooned when we were both broken up about someone else. He got hard in the middle of the night. I was the little spoon so I noticed.

I ignored it, braced for impact in the morning.

I have already written about this. About how a 6’5” heavily tattooed biker stood in my kitchen almost in tears when I explained how I had been programmed to deal with unwanted sexual advances from male friends. When he asked how many times and I couldn’t count. When he asked why and I explained because saying no is sometimes a dangerous thing to do. Which basically boils down to ‘blow them if you have to, it’s safer that way.’

Safer than saying no, safer than trying to leave. Diffusing bombs with your mouth and tongue, but not by talking yourself out of it. Because at some point you already know, they stopped listening.

I have saved a handful of women and girls by drilling into my son’s head, that “even if she stops right in the god damned middle, you stop. Cover her up and wait. Go if she tells you to go, stay if she tells you to stay.” It happened to him, with a girl and he told me he was grateful that he knew what to do.

This is what we need all men to do.

Stop. Cover. Wait and fucking listen.

But what do we tell women and girls?

Fight back, name names and in the morning, we rally.

 

 

 

men, Uncategorized

You Had Time

March 14, 2017

I can’t publish this until I talk to Cruz about it.

I owe him that.

I owe him a lot actually.

He sat next to me in a sports bar, talking to his best friend about me and said ‘she is really hard on herself’.

This little lightbulb went on in my head…

I am.

Panda joined the party and the subject of Black 19 was raised and I had to confess what happened there. He sold the rights to be with me for 300 bucks.

I almost cried at the table. I carry a lot of shame about that. All of it. Letting him near me in the first place and the money thing. Grosses me out.

Cruz looked right at me and said it wasn’t my fault. So matter of fact that I couldn’t argue.

I believed him.

Just like I believed the psychic who said Black 19 was a liar. Saw her the day after I loaned him the money. Whoops. At least I was mentally prepared. Still stung though. Always does.

She also said that an ex was going to make an appearance soon.

Wolfling messaged the next day. Thought that was that.

Nope, nuh uh, I should be so lucky.

Actually I am lucky but we will get to that in a minute.

Ladies and gentlemen, for an encore performance, would you please welcome, the freshly divorced High School Sweetheart.

(crickets)

Are ya fucking kidding me right now?

I am currently working with a strategy manager, he is an awesome dude and believes in my ability to make money with writing etc. He messaged in the middle of everything.

Conversations with Clifford

Me: I was in love with the same boy from age 13 to 40

Clifford: You told me about him

Me: He just got divorced

Clifford: WOAH

Me: He messaged me yesterday

Clifford: And he’s interested in you again? But you got a good thing with Cruz right?

Me: He never stopped being interested. We talked on and off his whole marriage, my whole marriage, but I let him go in December 2014. I did always wonder how I would react if he came back.

Clifford: What do you feel?

Me: nothing

Clifford: Maybe that ship has sailed

Me: It sunk I think, watery grave, no survivors.

Clifford: There a girl in my life where the timing was just never right and the stars were never going to align and we just accepted that for what it was.

Me: That is exactly it. He messaged yesterday and told me what happened, Cruz asked me to be his girlfriend last night. I said yes to Cruz with zero hesitation.

Clifford: Boom! Congrats to you and Cruz

Me: He is super sweet to me and just lets me be myself. This is pretty epic for me.

Clifford: Trust your gut right

Me: Oh honey, All my body parts are super happy with Cruz.

And there it is.

For the first time in a long time everything about me is content with one person who wants me back, like right now, not later after we split and I am missed.

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of my exes, I shall not want.

Something in me changed, right before he got here. I did a massive letting go of everything from the time called ‘before’.

The same psychic that predicted the other two events told me to try and figure out the kind of relationship I want, instead of thinking about the man I want.

I did that.

And now I have it.

He is my fuck monster. Bangs me the minute I walk in the door then we hang out like normal people for a few hours till he gets lusty eyes and we drop what we’re doing and have more sex.

It isn’t just that.

It’s the forehead kisses and the opening of doors. It’s him calling me out on my emotional shit. Its Panda saying “I really like him and I want him to stay in our lives for a long time”. It’s his stories from traveling and him spontaneously picking up a guitar and playing my favorite songs. It’s his lack of filter and zero shame. There is no game playing here, he just is what he is and does what he does. Just like me.

I said the other day that it takes me a long time to get over things, but once I am, they are done.

It tasted like truth because it is.

I don’t want what could have been, I want what is.

Truth is, we all have a past.

But there is no future in it.

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

The Blame Game

March 11, 2017

Serendipitously, as I was writing this, my Facebook notifications were binging like fucking mad.

I stopped what I was doing and looked to see what the ruckus was all about.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1786802551638950/permalink/1792364367749435/?pnref=story

My friend John asked me to be involved in a project he was working on a few weeks ago. #theloveproject.
The video is up, or a sneak peek at least. I am in it. At 1:28, saying “Maybe if I am good enough, someone will love me.” Cue the tears.

I had this discussion with my new friend Clifford Myers http://www.cliffordmyers.ca/ the other day wherein we were talking about enlightenment. I expressed my irritation with people who attain a certain level of awareness and then stop, thinking they know everything. Arrested development.

The things we despise in others are the things we feel shame or guilt about in ourselves.

I do that shit too. I plateau, I back pedal and I fall apart.

I yammer on and on about how everything changes, life itself is in a state of constant flux, preach on and on about unconditional love and being unapologetically yourself yada yada, blah blah blah.

And what did I do?

Yesterday I ran away from my perfectly amazing Fuck Monster at 8 in the morning.
Why?
Because 12 hours before he said he didn’t like my hat which somehow became this avalanche of negativity that I got buried under, even though I was tucked safely in the cocoon of his bed, under his duvet and he had his arms around me.
(He is a cuddle monster too.)

Like literally put my pants on and bolted out the door with this loop in my head that said ‘run’.

I’m over simplifying. It didn’t just say ‘run’. ‘It’s going to hurt when he leaves, he is gonna leave, they all leave.’ And some more screeching panicked noises that sounded a rabbit caught in a snare. It was hard to make all of it out, but you get the gist.

Now, this is the point where the others would say ‘this isn’t my problem’, ‘you are crazy’ or my personal favorite, the anthem of the fuck boy ‘think whatever you want.’

He didn’t do that.

Had he said ‘this is not my problem/fault’, he would have been bang on.

It really isn’t. I knew the hat looked bad and I wore it anyways, I was cold.

So whose fault is it?

I hate playing the blame game. I truly do.

I internalize every fucking thing ever. It’s all my fault.

Sure I have read the memes that say
You are not responsible for how other people treat you.
Hurt people hurt people.
Real human beings don’t go around destroying people.
You are not what they did to you.
etc…
And for a minute I believe them.
Then I go right back to trying to figure out what I did wrong.

I’ve made bad choices…that might be where my responsibility ends.

I was conditioned, from a very young age, that my behavior dictated the amount of affection I earned.

Not okay for a girl like me.

Never enough unless I was too much.

I was never told I was attractive or overly intelligent. I have no idea what I look like to other people.

At age 40, I started figuring out how to forgive and accept myself, love myself even. I don’t apologize, I own my shit, I am loud and proud, loving, funny, sweet and smart.
I am also fallible. I fuck up, and it’s okay.

Add a boy.

All that shit goes out the window. I second guess myself, tone myself down, worry, fuss, cry. Yuck.

I stop evolving.

I become that thing I don’t like.

“Whatever I think” is negative.

I bolted because I knew I was going to cry. I knew it was hormones. I knew I was scared. I knew I didn’t have enough control to get through the morning without turning into a puddle. So I bailed.

Most guys would have been relieved and grateful not to be stuck with a crying girl on their couch.

He didn’t like that.

I told him I panicked, I told him it was irrational and I couldn’t explain it.

He said “it’s anxiety from something that’s happened to you in the past, hurt you, so now you assume something bad is gunna happen because you’re vulnerable and so familiar with the feeling.”

Damn baby. Fucking nailed it.

He also said it sounded like I had “been with a bunch of dickheads”.

Yep, I really have.

Guys who say they want a girl with a high sex drive then shame me for the amount of sex I actually want.
(He gets hard being near me and follows through every single time)

Guys who are stingy with affection and compliments.
(His eyes light up when I walk in the door and I never have to reach very far to grab his hand)

I took a deep breath and went back over last night.
His eyes lit up when I walked in the door.
He fucked me 3 times in 18 hours.
We smiled and touched and talked.

As much as people can be a reflection of the things we don’t like about ourselves, I think if we are really lucky, we can find someone that reflects back all the good things we are too.

 

 

 

 

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