Abuse can be a train wreck, or subtle, long term harm. Deep in a relationship, it can be hard to have perspective. What’s healthy? What do I deserve? What’s happy? Is life really supposed to be like this? Wow, I was out to sea so long. I forgot what happy could look like. I thought
I wrote you a letter a few days ago–trying to explain how my ACE score is 9, which gives me weird problems. I was abused and neglected in almost all the possible ways, as a kid and teenager. The ideas I learned about the world, and the coping strategies I developed before the age of
“Hey! Honey!” I yelled. I was stark naked, about to take a shower. “Yes?” my spouse asked. “Do we have any more drain net things, for the bathroom sink? The one in here is moldy and nasty and disgusting, and we need a new one! Seriously! I cannot live this way!” He was impressed by
chonies “What are you doing? I asked. “Trying to get my underwear on,” he said. “Do you need help? Want me to suck your dick?” I asked. He smiled. “Is it hard to get your underwear on, because your dick’s so big?” I asked. He laughed, and I laughed. Eventually, he did get his chonies
Queerness is valid, nothing to do with childrearing, being partnered, or survival of species. I’m natural aside from babies. The world needs my ideas, art, pleasure, love, interconnection, and good example. I remember long ago, hearing people talk about evolutionary reasons for gayness. Felt simplistic. Good LGBTQ aunts and uncles help raise others’ kids, I
My spouse and I went away on a trip. When we came home, I realized that the power dynamic here is so messed up, in a way I had never articulated to myself. It has to do with respect of sexual needs. It hurts the men who live here, when I wear tank tops. Hurts
“I dreamt there was this snake. A huge, long snake, on the sidewalk. But coiled somewhat, on itself. It was red and had these beautiful bright pink stripey markings. It looked at me.” “Hmm,” my spouse said. “And there was this little girl. I was walking down the street, saw this snake. And there was
I had a blowup this morning, or the Nest version of such. I was mad at my computer, which turned into something else. It does this thing–I’ll be working hard on a facebook post–writing lovely sentences, tagging people and orgs, putting the link, getting it just so, as is my pleasure! And I’ll be like–no,
I was talking with my therapist the other day. She said, “It’s all imagination. You know how when you go to a place like an amusement park? There will be one of those wooden things, painted on one side, with a hole in it, and people stick their face through it, so someone else can
high I hope it’s ok to send you this art which I bought for you, a few weeks ago. I don’t know what else to do with it. Seems appropriate to send, in a way, since weed is what you choose instead of me. Weed symbolizes irresponsibility, to me. I have a friend who smokes