Confessional
I was just over at my friend Shelby’s place, and catching her up on life in the past few weeks made me realize just why I’m feeling like my emotions are going in a million different directions at once. Wow. Plenty I still can’t really discuss here, but it’s been item after item within days of each other, any one of which would be pretty monumental in my life or Chad’s, on top of pre-existing stressors around the Kenyon Maintenance fight, trying to get my work ADA accommodation sorted out, and dealing with all sorts of med changes and new symptoms and general combination of two steps forward one step back on both physical and psych health fronts. And now I’m in the midst of healing some of my own old shit, fixing up my brain, clearing out the cobwebs and old rotted spots. That, too, is an “any one of these” situation; so, so, much intensity. No wonder I’ve cried more in the past fours days than in the previous four months, and not all of it tears of sadness.
Really amazing conversation with my Mom after my last post; I called and read it to her, and talked over some of the other things going on in my life right now. She and Dad have been rock-solid support, through this and all my past. She apologized about all the pain Davison had caused me, and for not being there for me as much as she wishes she had. I, in turn, could honestly reassure her that although yes, Dad’s devotion to his calling did indeed fuck up all our lives in serious ways, I am really, really deeply ok with that. Parents make decisions that unavoidably affect their kids all the time. Mine made his based on a passion to follow his ethics, his morals, and his God, to serve his community and his calling with everything he had to give. I really couldn’t have asked for a better example of when it is good and right to make painful decisions. He wasn’t chasing power or money, he wasn’t unaware of what he was asking of all of us. As a family we were open and communicative about all this stuff. And Grandma aside, I had rock-solid support from my family. Mom’s wrong. They didn’t fail at all in that regard in Davison. I rebelled against the parish, never against them. They’d never given me cause. They gave me freedoms and encouragement and support and trust. Every escape I listed in my last post? Made accessible by my parents. Including accepting every friend in my life, never ever telling me not to hang out with the “bad kids”, bending over backward to afford Kenyon for me, even after I nearly failed out my freshman year due to catastrophic depression. Mom was saying that one of the Deans commented to her at graduation how surprised they were that Mom and Dad hadn’t pulled me home after that first semester. She was baffled by this; it was crystal clear to her how important it was for me to be there, how much I needed that community. It’s why, even when I broke my back they let me recover at Kenyon instead of pulling me home like any parental impulse and terror would encourage. They understood that more than anything, I needed my chosen family and my chosen home. They have always loved me enough to let me go, to accept me as I am, to respect my life even when it confuses the bloody hell out of them. Hell, I mentioned in an off-hand way in our conversation today that I have porn up on the internet, and that wasn’t even any big deal in our conversation, just relevant to a bit of a point I was making on something. So, yeah, some shitty stuff happened in my life. I have both scars and skills as a result of it. But I have been more deeply and meaningfully _safe_ in my own family than almost anyone else I’ve known. I have never feared my parents’ rejection. The worst coming out to them? The hardest by miles? Coming out as atheist, because of my fear about how it could hurt my Dad or feel like a rejection of _him_. And even that, they’ve been able to accept, to talk about respectfully, to reassure me that they like who I’ve grown into as a human being. My brothers have grown into similarly supportive and amazing people, too.
Shelby and I were also talking about how my mania manifests, about my confessional tendencies, the ways in which what I crave most during many manias is to set old things to rest, to clean up my messes, to appreciate what deserves appreciation. To try to live to my own highest ethical standards, and make amends for the times I haven’t. All in all, not a bad nor unhelpful manifestation of a psych disorder. Intense, though. Really damned intense, no matter the good effects in the long run. (incidentally, this has also been one of the great therapeutic benefits of psychedelics in my life history -- it rather mimics what I’ve described here about the mania -- functions as a braincleaning trigger.)
Incidentally, although not really all that centrally, hitting this libido surge at the same time (many of my manias recently have been relatively libido-free, so it’s actually a bit surprising, and an excellent sign that a med change is working, so YAY!), anyway, hitting it right now -- just adding to all the intensity and weirdness. Switching randomly between long heart-felt conversations, really damned hot sex, more conversations and tears, more hot sex and wanking and porn, etc, etc. Oy. So, so happy to feel that side of me coming back, but it’s rather disconcerting timing, and also I think at this point my clit is actually bruised. On the other hand, I’ve remembered exactly why I love both Buck Angel and Belladonna so damned much. And I’m jumping out of my skin to see Katy tonight, craving her company both emotionally and sexually, and knowing that the brief nature of this visit is unlikely to allow for too much of either. I will most happily take what I can get (including in dark corners at the party tonight, if she’s up for it *evil grin*), and it couldn’t be better timing to get to see her and reconnect, even if it’s more briefly than either of us would ideally like.
Libido and nostalgia is a particularly weird combo; when I’m hypersexual I do generally spend a lot of time appreciating the contributions to my life of lovers past and present, and the many people who contributed without ever being directly physically involved with me. And I love bouncing sexual energy around in casual flirtations, online play, things like that. This time, though, with some of the ways it’s going further back than usual, into my especially emotionally fraught high school years -- huh. Just... strange. Intense, I think I might’ve mentioned.
Also, so in love with Chad, and so, so happy. There are many ways in which the life I’ve chosen has meant that very, very few people will ever be deeply comfortable with me as their public and primary partner, even if they’re capable of accepting who I am in private. I’d relatively peacefully accepted that, created a life that fed my needs with or without a primary partner. And in turn it’s hard for me to be willing to tie myself that closely and publicly to someone given my need for emotional freedom. Not from my partner, but from fear of damaging someone else’s life with ricochet effects from the ways in which I live mine (a reasonable fear made more powerful by my experience in Davison being used against my Dad). I would never have predicted us, but he has been more willing and able to accept and welcome all those sometimes inconvenient or exposing aspects that make me me than almost anyone else I’ve tried to partner with. It still blows me away. It’s no more than what I would have required or been willing to accept, given how I know myself, but also everything I need. We fit. We have each other’s backs, we celebrate and support each other’s freedom and joy.
And that kind of winds back around to where I ended my last post, on the issues around hiding relationships and my history in Davison, so I guess I’ll tackle that now. Then, Katy!!!!!! Party starts at 7:30. How much shit can I clear out in my brain in the next hour?
Really amazing conversation with my Mom after my last post; I called and read it to her, and talked over some of the other things going on in my life right now. She and Dad have been rock-solid support, through this and all my past. She apologized about all the pain Davison had caused me, and for not being there for me as much as she wishes she had. I, in turn, could honestly reassure her that although yes, Dad’s devotion to his calling did indeed fuck up all our lives in serious ways, I am really, really deeply ok with that. Parents make decisions that unavoidably affect their kids all the time. Mine made his based on a passion to follow his ethics, his morals, and his God, to serve his community and his calling with everything he had to give. I really couldn’t have asked for a better example of when it is good and right to make painful decisions. He wasn’t chasing power or money, he wasn’t unaware of what he was asking of all of us. As a family we were open and communicative about all this stuff. And Grandma aside, I had rock-solid support from my family. Mom’s wrong. They didn’t fail at all in that regard in Davison. I rebelled against the parish, never against them. They’d never given me cause. They gave me freedoms and encouragement and support and trust. Every escape I listed in my last post? Made accessible by my parents. Including accepting every friend in my life, never ever telling me not to hang out with the “bad kids”, bending over backward to afford Kenyon for me, even after I nearly failed out my freshman year due to catastrophic depression. Mom was saying that one of the Deans commented to her at graduation how surprised they were that Mom and Dad hadn’t pulled me home after that first semester. She was baffled by this; it was crystal clear to her how important it was for me to be there, how much I needed that community. It’s why, even when I broke my back they let me recover at Kenyon instead of pulling me home like any parental impulse and terror would encourage. They understood that more than anything, I needed my chosen family and my chosen home. They have always loved me enough to let me go, to accept me as I am, to respect my life even when it confuses the bloody hell out of them. Hell, I mentioned in an off-hand way in our conversation today that I have porn up on the internet, and that wasn’t even any big deal in our conversation, just relevant to a bit of a point I was making on something. So, yeah, some shitty stuff happened in my life. I have both scars and skills as a result of it. But I have been more deeply and meaningfully _safe_ in my own family than almost anyone else I’ve known. I have never feared my parents’ rejection. The worst coming out to them? The hardest by miles? Coming out as atheist, because of my fear about how it could hurt my Dad or feel like a rejection of _him_. And even that, they’ve been able to accept, to talk about respectfully, to reassure me that they like who I’ve grown into as a human being. My brothers have grown into similarly supportive and amazing people, too.
Shelby and I were also talking about how my mania manifests, about my confessional tendencies, the ways in which what I crave most during many manias is to set old things to rest, to clean up my messes, to appreciate what deserves appreciation. To try to live to my own highest ethical standards, and make amends for the times I haven’t. All in all, not a bad nor unhelpful manifestation of a psych disorder. Intense, though. Really damned intense, no matter the good effects in the long run. (incidentally, this has also been one of the great therapeutic benefits of psychedelics in my life history -- it rather mimics what I’ve described here about the mania -- functions as a braincleaning trigger.)
Incidentally, although not really all that centrally, hitting this libido surge at the same time (many of my manias recently have been relatively libido-free, so it’s actually a bit surprising, and an excellent sign that a med change is working, so YAY!), anyway, hitting it right now -- just adding to all the intensity and weirdness. Switching randomly between long heart-felt conversations, really damned hot sex, more conversations and tears, more hot sex and wanking and porn, etc, etc. Oy. So, so happy to feel that side of me coming back, but it’s rather disconcerting timing, and also I think at this point my clit is actually bruised. On the other hand, I’ve remembered exactly why I love both Buck Angel and Belladonna so damned much. And I’m jumping out of my skin to see Katy tonight, craving her company both emotionally and sexually, and knowing that the brief nature of this visit is unlikely to allow for too much of either. I will most happily take what I can get (including in dark corners at the party tonight, if she’s up for it *evil grin*), and it couldn’t be better timing to get to see her and reconnect, even if it’s more briefly than either of us would ideally like.
Libido and nostalgia is a particularly weird combo; when I’m hypersexual I do generally spend a lot of time appreciating the contributions to my life of lovers past and present, and the many people who contributed without ever being directly physically involved with me. And I love bouncing sexual energy around in casual flirtations, online play, things like that. This time, though, with some of the ways it’s going further back than usual, into my especially emotionally fraught high school years -- huh. Just... strange. Intense, I think I might’ve mentioned.
Also, so in love with Chad, and so, so happy. There are many ways in which the life I’ve chosen has meant that very, very few people will ever be deeply comfortable with me as their public and primary partner, even if they’re capable of accepting who I am in private. I’d relatively peacefully accepted that, created a life that fed my needs with or without a primary partner. And in turn it’s hard for me to be willing to tie myself that closely and publicly to someone given my need for emotional freedom. Not from my partner, but from fear of damaging someone else’s life with ricochet effects from the ways in which I live mine (a reasonable fear made more powerful by my experience in Davison being used against my Dad). I would never have predicted us, but he has been more willing and able to accept and welcome all those sometimes inconvenient or exposing aspects that make me me than almost anyone else I’ve tried to partner with. It still blows me away. It’s no more than what I would have required or been willing to accept, given how I know myself, but also everything I need. We fit. We have each other’s backs, we celebrate and support each other’s freedom and joy.
And that kind of winds back around to where I ended my last post, on the issues around hiding relationships and my history in Davison, so I guess I’ll tackle that now. Then, Katy!!!!!! Party starts at 7:30. How much shit can I clear out in my brain in the next hour?