Organizing my thoughts
I kind of forgot therapy today. I remembered it yesterday, but somewhere between planning things today with friends and trying to organize my day, I've gotten all jumbled up. I'm currently waiting for my husband to leave so I can try phoning in, but I'm not sure if he's realized that a therapy session for me means no one around. Especially him. Granted that could be why he's still here. Also this script he's writing. *sigh* I need my own phone.
I haven't posted in awhile, or at least not at length. Everything has been a matter of waiting for one thing to pass while struggling to conceptualize the events which just happened.
The biggest thing is of course the fact that I am going to be moving in with friends without my husband. I broke it to him in a less than ideal fashion (him wheedling it out of me over the phone) and while he had a hissy fit on his own (he'll hate me for calling it a hissy fit, but I spent hours sorting the laundry he scattered worse than my dog with separation anxiety) he really was quite good about not taking it out on me directly. While it's definitely an improvement, I'm still suspicious of his motivations. I am not certain he's genuinely trying to be better so much as exhibiting the behaviors most likely tied to getting what he wants. It's a fine line and might seem like splitting hairs, but to me, intention is everything.
Also I could well be paranoid, half the reason I'm leaving is because my insanity will not allow me to invest in a serious relationship right now.
Half an hour's past, I don't think my therapist got my email/will be calling. Oh well, I'll send her a link to this journal later. I was going to call her, but as mentioned not while the hubby was around. I think he finally left now, which is a plus. Maybe I'll just bitch about him for awhile, and get the complaints off my chest.
It's probably not the issue and pissing myself off will not improve the quality of the next couple of weeks/months we have left living together. Granted, I need to pick a date now, because he just may very well have convinced himself that 1.) I will stay the full time until the lease runs out or 2.) that he can convince me not to leave. Luckily, I'll have company over helping me pack things so that might help estimations.
Anyway, I'm avoiding the more traumatic event that happened. Something that might scare me away from alcohol for awhile in a way that years of begruding admission of alcoholism hasn't. Everyone knows reaction time, comprehension and all forms of thought are impaired, but it's never before been an issue to me. I generally drink around/with friends in a safe, enclosed atmosphere. Most of the time no one comes near me uninvited. I was perhaps a little more flirty with a friend than I necessarily wanted to be, but I had the freedom to back out if I wanted. That wasn't a real issue. The issue was her father.
Those of you who've done any skimming of my journals/read my "expose`" post/or been following for any length of time know I have some pretty serious hang ups about my sexuality(not good enough/denigrated to a sex object) and especially about fathers. This is probably the most traumatic event I've suffered in years, and even though I've suffered worse, this one is fresh and hasn't had decades of emotional spackling to hold everything in place. There really wasn't anything I could do and the realization of being helpless is probably the most terrifying aspect of it.
He was supposed to leave earlier, to catch a bus. I had noticed him come back in from 'missing' said bus(I am not certain he did not do so intentionally), but paid it no mind. He was already a non-entity in my mind. Things went on throughout the night, I got more pickled, but didn't actually get that wild(I was clothed the entire night, I've actually gotten quite good about that). I spent most of my time in the general room with the asexual and kid sister of one of the wild room's participants. I was unaware of how wild things were in the wild room. When I ventured in, a half finished beer in one hand, I was entering for the sole expectation of hookah smoking, as that was the original reason for the room's sectioning off (my asexual friend is also allergic to smoke).
I was pulled into a rough embrace by my one friend who was regaling me with Q about what they had already done. I was processing the fact I did not see the hookah nor anyone sitting around socializing with it. My brain was slowly putting two and two together that everyone was paired(or more up) in writhing flesh piles. Then I noticed her dad sitting off in the corner watching. This was the moment I realized I wanted to leave. I might also have been receiving ministrations from my friend subverting my shirt, but I was barely conscious of that. In fact, I'm pretty sure my brain was slowly trying to figure out how to leave (I wasn't quite aware of the door yet, there were two or three people between me and the door). I slid away and sat down, brain still hard at work.
Her father started dirty talking about my breasts, it was awkward and I was uncomfortable, already busy trying to plan my escape, and I wrote him off with an attempt at a dismissive laugh. Then one of his hands snaked under my free arm and grabbed one of my breasts. The panic alarms went off as I struggled to understand what was happening, as I started adjusting my balance, his other hand snaked under my beer arm to grab the other. My brain was just clicking into the fact who I was being grabbed by. I managed to push myself up and away, but towards the pile on the bed, away from the door.
I managed to recover my balance, blurt something about needing to pee (which I did and my brain had finally realized was my excuse to leave I'd been looking for since I realized there was no hookah and I wanted to leave) and rushed to the bathroom. My brain was reeling as I finished the one drink, thought about needing more water, and started to realize what had happened. My fight or flight still hadn't kicked off by the time I finished, and I realized I still wasn't far enough away or safe from the source of my sudden fear. I rushed back into the private bedroom of my friends and found myself crawling backwards under my asexual friend's bed. I also recalled the pocket knife and drew it, flicking the long blade out and resting it in my hand.
I lay under there, struggling to fight the alcohol and figure out what to do and what was going on. After a time, I crept out little by little. First to the closet. Then to the utility room under a desk. By this time, my brain had started to clear and things seemed calm/safe. Just to be sure, I slid in between the asexual and the kid sister, trusting that their presence would keep me safe from further intrusions.
I grabbed my computer, went to ponychan for comfort and reassurance and started to relax. Q came out and tried to console me, and himself, about what had happened. He informed me that the father had left, and that if I'd just said "no" he would have broken in the man's face. He also told me that the father had been sexually harassing everyone that night, but hadn't broken the physical barrier. It didn't really help, but it didn't bother me enough to shove him off. I continued to pony for awhile, and the rest of the night I don't really recall. I'm hesitant to even let my husband touch my breasts. We've had sex once since.
I've been thinking about experimenting with asexuality myself for awhile. This move will allow me to experience some of it(low sexuality), not being consigned to spending every night with a man, and in fact in my own space, he won't be allowed(my soon to be housemates don't trust him), and wouldn't be able to spend the night with me any way as I'll be sleeping in a hammock. I'll enjoy the possibility of taking my own sexuality into my own hands, I want to invest in my own collection, and I will have occasional flings.
My husband isn't happy that I'm referring to the upcoming change as a demotion, that I will consider him a boyfriend rather than a husband (stage three rather than a stage five if you're familiar with the marriage contract we developed). He'll probably keep insisting that it's not. Time will tell if he comes to terms with it or not, but for now, I'm looking forward to not having to worry about him as every part of my daily life. I look forward to having control over my own spaces, deciding how to decorate and not worrying about someone else coming in and disordering my carefully organized controlled chaos.
With that, I'm going to start separating books. Perhaps I'll try to organized the laundry again.
I haven't posted in awhile, or at least not at length. Everything has been a matter of waiting for one thing to pass while struggling to conceptualize the events which just happened.
The biggest thing is of course the fact that I am going to be moving in with friends without my husband. I broke it to him in a less than ideal fashion (him wheedling it out of me over the phone) and while he had a hissy fit on his own (he'll hate me for calling it a hissy fit, but I spent hours sorting the laundry he scattered worse than my dog with separation anxiety) he really was quite good about not taking it out on me directly. While it's definitely an improvement, I'm still suspicious of his motivations. I am not certain he's genuinely trying to be better so much as exhibiting the behaviors most likely tied to getting what he wants. It's a fine line and might seem like splitting hairs, but to me, intention is everything.
Also I could well be paranoid, half the reason I'm leaving is because my insanity will not allow me to invest in a serious relationship right now.
Half an hour's past, I don't think my therapist got my email/will be calling. Oh well, I'll send her a link to this journal later. I was going to call her, but as mentioned not while the hubby was around. I think he finally left now, which is a plus. Maybe I'll just bitch about him for awhile, and get the complaints off my chest.
It's probably not the issue and pissing myself off will not improve the quality of the next couple of weeks/months we have left living together. Granted, I need to pick a date now, because he just may very well have convinced himself that 1.) I will stay the full time until the lease runs out or 2.) that he can convince me not to leave. Luckily, I'll have company over helping me pack things so that might help estimations.
Anyway, I'm avoiding the more traumatic event that happened. Something that might scare me away from alcohol for awhile in a way that years of begruding admission of alcoholism hasn't. Everyone knows reaction time, comprehension and all forms of thought are impaired, but it's never before been an issue to me. I generally drink around/with friends in a safe, enclosed atmosphere. Most of the time no one comes near me uninvited. I was perhaps a little more flirty with a friend than I necessarily wanted to be, but I had the freedom to back out if I wanted. That wasn't a real issue. The issue was her father.
Those of you who've done any skimming of my journals/read my "expose`" post/or been following for any length of time know I have some pretty serious hang ups about my sexuality(not good enough/denigrated to a sex object) and especially about fathers. This is probably the most traumatic event I've suffered in years, and even though I've suffered worse, this one is fresh and hasn't had decades of emotional spackling to hold everything in place. There really wasn't anything I could do and the realization of being helpless is probably the most terrifying aspect of it.
He was supposed to leave earlier, to catch a bus. I had noticed him come back in from 'missing' said bus(I am not certain he did not do so intentionally), but paid it no mind. He was already a non-entity in my mind. Things went on throughout the night, I got more pickled, but didn't actually get that wild(I was clothed the entire night, I've actually gotten quite good about that). I spent most of my time in the general room with the asexual and kid sister of one of the wild room's participants. I was unaware of how wild things were in the wild room. When I ventured in, a half finished beer in one hand, I was entering for the sole expectation of hookah smoking, as that was the original reason for the room's sectioning off (my asexual friend is also allergic to smoke).
I was pulled into a rough embrace by my one friend who was regaling me with Q about what they had already done. I was processing the fact I did not see the hookah nor anyone sitting around socializing with it. My brain was slowly putting two and two together that everyone was paired(or more up) in writhing flesh piles. Then I noticed her dad sitting off in the corner watching. This was the moment I realized I wanted to leave. I might also have been receiving ministrations from my friend subverting my shirt, but I was barely conscious of that. In fact, I'm pretty sure my brain was slowly trying to figure out how to leave (I wasn't quite aware of the door yet, there were two or three people between me and the door). I slid away and sat down, brain still hard at work.
Her father started dirty talking about my breasts, it was awkward and I was uncomfortable, already busy trying to plan my escape, and I wrote him off with an attempt at a dismissive laugh. Then one of his hands snaked under my free arm and grabbed one of my breasts. The panic alarms went off as I struggled to understand what was happening, as I started adjusting my balance, his other hand snaked under my beer arm to grab the other. My brain was just clicking into the fact who I was being grabbed by. I managed to push myself up and away, but towards the pile on the bed, away from the door.
I managed to recover my balance, blurt something about needing to pee (which I did and my brain had finally realized was my excuse to leave I'd been looking for since I realized there was no hookah and I wanted to leave) and rushed to the bathroom. My brain was reeling as I finished the one drink, thought about needing more water, and started to realize what had happened. My fight or flight still hadn't kicked off by the time I finished, and I realized I still wasn't far enough away or safe from the source of my sudden fear. I rushed back into the private bedroom of my friends and found myself crawling backwards under my asexual friend's bed. I also recalled the pocket knife and drew it, flicking the long blade out and resting it in my hand.
I lay under there, struggling to fight the alcohol and figure out what to do and what was going on. After a time, I crept out little by little. First to the closet. Then to the utility room under a desk. By this time, my brain had started to clear and things seemed calm/safe. Just to be sure, I slid in between the asexual and the kid sister, trusting that their presence would keep me safe from further intrusions.
I grabbed my computer, went to ponychan for comfort and reassurance and started to relax. Q came out and tried to console me, and himself, about what had happened. He informed me that the father had left, and that if I'd just said "no" he would have broken in the man's face. He also told me that the father had been sexually harassing everyone that night, but hadn't broken the physical barrier. It didn't really help, but it didn't bother me enough to shove him off. I continued to pony for awhile, and the rest of the night I don't really recall. I'm hesitant to even let my husband touch my breasts. We've had sex once since.
I've been thinking about experimenting with asexuality myself for awhile. This move will allow me to experience some of it(low sexuality), not being consigned to spending every night with a man, and in fact in my own space, he won't be allowed(my soon to be housemates don't trust him), and wouldn't be able to spend the night with me any way as I'll be sleeping in a hammock. I'll enjoy the possibility of taking my own sexuality into my own hands, I want to invest in my own collection, and I will have occasional flings.
My husband isn't happy that I'm referring to the upcoming change as a demotion, that I will consider him a boyfriend rather than a husband (stage three rather than a stage five if you're familiar with the marriage contract we developed). He'll probably keep insisting that it's not. Time will tell if he comes to terms with it or not, but for now, I'm looking forward to not having to worry about him as every part of my daily life. I look forward to having control over my own spaces, deciding how to decorate and not worrying about someone else coming in and disordering my carefully organized controlled chaos.
With that, I'm going to start separating books. Perhaps I'll try to organized the laundry again.