I fear a lot, but I don’t fear death

I fear a lot, but I don’t fear death

I fear a lot, but I don’t fear death. I fear life, I fear love, I fear the future. 

Fear has always had a stronghold on my life. Most decisions I make are unfortunately based on fear. It’s a sad realisation. I did not realise it until my depression pushed me into therapy, forcing me to confront the ways in which my fear has manifested itself and when it first appeared. 

Throughout my twenties I…

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“The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.” - Ida B. Wells

I still remember how every time we would look at the stars we’d dream of each other.

He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.

It hurts

I was cleaning out the linen closet last week, looking for something, and I came across an old tin of buttons. Its faded, gold-and-black patterned paint is peeling off and the tin itself is rusting in places. It’s ancient  - dating back to as long as I can remember. A childhood spent in another world, on the other side of the ocean. I opened the tin and took a deep inhale. Smell is so primal, so exquisite in its ability to transport us back in time. And there I was, over thirty years in the past.

She’s in the kitchen, and she’s making us lunch. She’s got something cooking in the frying pan. I’m outside, playing in the garden, in my own make-believe world. There is comfort here; safety, and warmth, and love. Summer days that stretch endlessly into the horizon and I am so certain that I am safe, that I do not pause even for a moment to contemplate it ever coming to an end.

There are no endings in my world, only bright, hopeful mornings and lazy afternoons and cozy twilights spent listening to French music on the enormous old Russian-model radio and getting lost in a book of fairy tales.

She’s sitting at her sewing table and I can hear the clack-clack, clack-clack of the old pedal going, going. I shuffle closer to her, and I can smell the fabric she’s working with. She’s wearing her old house coat, has her big glasses on and on her left arm she has that old pin cushion bracelet with the blue fabric. She’s sewing carefully, but she pauses to see what I’m doing, peering at me over her glasses, her eyes alive with that sparkle she always had.

I’m so deliriously, stupidly happy. So content, in this moment. I wish I could stay there forever, in this memory. flooded with love, with joy, with the innocence of being four years old and endlessly, beautifully safe.

If they ever invent a time machine, this is where I’m going. No hesitation. I’m rushing decades into the past and holding on to it with everything I’ve got, for as long as I’m allowed to. I was never ready to leave. I never am. Time rushes forward and drags me along with it, battered and bruised. I was never ready, and I’m still not – the words, “Wait a minute..” always poised on my lips, in the end. 

Who would have thought this guy would get into a bag of Skittles and eat a 24 inch long ribbon to avoid going to the doctor when he was suppose to be fasting? So innocent looking…

Lenny, being Lenny.

There are moments when we have real fun because, just for the moment, we don’t think about things and then–we remember–and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the time would have been.

L.M. Montgomery, Rilla of Ingleside

the lonely cloudberry (Rubus chamaemorus)

if you have ever been picking them, you know they grow one by one. each cloudberry its own majestic creation on its own plant. and it takes forever to collect a basket of them. many hours on the bogland, bitten by mosquitoes. but the beauty, overwhelming

Recently I started writing in a journal every night before bed again. It’s something I tend to do for a few weeks and then fall out of the habit. Journaling helps me slow down my thoughts so I can fall asleep. I also like the thought of having a written record of what was happening in my life and what I thought and felt about it, because frankly, I don’t trust memory.

I’m saying this as someone who has an objectively good memory, especially for stories - I don’t trust memory. I trust it even less after getting a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology. Memory isn’t a recording; it’s a re-telling. Memory is the story we tell ourselves about what must have happened to explain why we feel and behave the way we do now. I’m not saying that memory will always be incorrect; I’m saying it’s nigh-impossible for an individual human to separate the true parts of that story from the constructed ones.

I have a false memory of sitting in the back of my parents’ minivan. My mother is driving the car and my big sibling is in one of the other back seats. The car stereo is playing “Helpless” from the musical Hamilton,and both my mom and my sibling are singing along. I can hear them singing along to the “oooohs.” I can see them smiling as they sing.

I know that this never happened. There were many family road trips when I was growing up. Most of what we did on those road trips was sing along to musicals. But I was already in college the first time I heard Hamilton.There would never have been a family road trip where I was a little kid in the back of the minivan, listening to my family sing along with Elizabeth Schuyler.

To my brain, it would make sense for this to have happened. I feel like it happened. I can hear it. I can see it. It makes me happy to think about. But I objectively know it never happened. I’ve never heard my mom sing along to the Hamiltonsoundtrack, but my brain knows what it would sound like if she did.

This is a harmless false memory, but for me, it exists as a warning. What else might I feel so comfortable believing to have happened to me, but actually never happened? What else might another person confidently tell me happened to them, not knowing they’re mistaken? I look at the past with caution and a critical eye, and I am very wary of people who would try to keep written records of events out of our hands. What was written down - as many different written sources as we can find, written as closely to the events as possible - might be all we can really depend on for the truth.

littlefeministbitch:

So, I actually mostly wrote up all of this last week, but sort of stopped in the middle. But now I’ve finished! Only two happy hours later.

Tuesday, May 13, Breastie and I went to a local TNG happy hour. A guy who messaged me on OkCupid (known as L until I think of something better) extended an invitation to me to attend, which made me feel more comfortable about going. On the way to the event, though, I definitely would have bailed if Breastie hadn’t been with me.

We got there early but didn’t realize it and she made me go in first. She was actually being kinda dommy, and it worked. Fuck, I’m easy. When we realized that no one was there, we decided to go to the bar next door and each had a drink. When it was about fifteen minutes past when it was supposed to start, we headed over.

There were only about four or five other people there, and a redheaded guy came over and introduced himself. This one will be known as Boy Genius. We paid our cover and got our drinks and then sat down to talk. The people who were there eventually came over because we were novel and, let’s be real, a pair of hot ladies. They introduced themselves and we started talking. Breastie and I worked as a team and played odd each other and checked in with each other, which was really nice and made a potentially anxiety-making social situation much more comfortable. At one point, I had to go to the bathroom, and Breastie said I could only go if I told MLAM. So I texted him and said “So, we’re at the TNG happy hour and Breastie is being dommy.  She gave me permission to pee on the condition that I told you about it.”

As we continued chatting with people, a tallish, thin guy with long hair came in, and eventually introduced himself. He also asked if he could play with my hair, and I said yes. He got permission to rub and scratch my head, as well. He also did the same to Breastie. It was nice feeling, if a little bit much in terms of contract with someone I didn’t know.

We went upstairs around 8 to start the class. It was about masochism, and the presenter discussed masochism as a 3x2 table. Three kinds of masochism (physical, mental/emotional, status) and two orientations of who it is focused on (masochist-centric vs. sadist-centric). It was an interesting and possibly useful idea. I think that personally, I’m less into the physical masochism than the other kinds, although still into it, except as a sadist-centric thing, like taking pain for someone. It’s interesting in the context of the play that MLAM and I do, since he’s interested in me getting what I want out of the play, and enjoys seeing me react to things and enjoy things. It’s not about him enjoying hurting me, exactly, but I still really like trying to take more and more pain for him, outside of any enjoyment I get from the pain itself. I’m clearly very into the mental/emotional aspects of masochism, and getting more and more into the status side of it, with acknowledging my place as inferior to men.

We broke up into groups to discuss various scenarios, and while that was happening, MLAM texted back in response to my text about Breastie letting me piss on the condition that I told him. He said, “Oh, I like her.  Give her my number and tell her i’d like her to contact me so we can fuck with you collectively.“  I showed it to Breastie and gave her his number, and texted back, "Oh, fuck. She’s texting you. I’m scared and excited.”  That was definitely the correct mix of emotions, considering how she tied me later, and how compatible they are in terms of enjoying fucking with me.  They both like setting people up with tasks that they are bound to fail at, and they both know many of my buttons and how to press them just long enough. Or just a little too long. I do hope we can all three hang out sometime and they can torture me together in person.

After the class, we decided to stay upstairs to watch people play. The guy who had come over and greeted us at the beginning, Boy Genius, tied this crazily pretty girl.  He pushed her around a bit and they both had on these giant smiles and it was super hot and super adorable.  When they were done and she was getting her dress back on, she strongly recommended playing with him, and said he was the first person she’d played with. I’m a fan of having references for someone from people who have bottomed/subbed for them, so that was nice.

He offered to teach Breastie and I some rope stuff, and we agreed. He said, “Usually when you’re learning to tie, there’s someone being tied.”  I said, “Oh! I’ll do it!” right away, because holy crap so fun, but then I offered the opportunity to Breastie because I felt bad for jumping right up because I know she’s also interested in being tied and doing subby things.  She did let me do it, which was super nice of her.

We went over in the corner and he showed us a couple of simple things.  He tied a cuff on me, then wrapped the rope around me, keeping it tight just by holding it. He got my consent to touch me aside from just the rope, and he touched me and talked to Breastie about what he was doing. He also wrapped around my legs and tied things off.  He got permission to move me around, and told Breastie about how fun things were, and how something made a good anchor point to push me around and then he did that and he was being all dominating and in charge and powerful and it was wicked hot.

At one point, he was showing Breastie something and I had my back to her and he told me to “Stand there like a good object.” and I can’t even with how sexy that was.  He had Breastie do the wrist cuff as well, and wrap me up and she did a fantastic job, especially with what she decided to do with the last bit of rope, which was to take it across my neck, which is both mean and a thing I really enjoy. Then, she did a really good job with untying me while keeping the tension on.

Boy Genius told Breastie that she did well, and she definitely seems like a natural. It’s probably because she used to tying things and messing with knots and tension and learning new skills because she’s so damn crafty.  He also told me that I did a good job of being tied, which was kind of him. He added that he’d be willing to show us more and was super nice.

We went over to get food afterwards with people, and I got to listen to people talk about plans for a big event and talking about the culture at various events/groups. L even made a special effort to bring me into the conversation, asking me about my thoughts on playing while intoxicated. Breastie was not so fortunate. She had the guy from earlier with the head scratches glom onto her. I saw him sit next to her and eventually heard him say that he was a multiple and I thought “Oh, dear.” Breastie respond kindly and I checked in on her a couple times throughout the rest of the night and offered her a way out a couple times.  I feel bad that she got put in an uncomfortable position and I resolved to help her defend her boundaries as much as she needed to the next time.

I’m so very glad that we went, and I really like the people we met and the feel of the community.

A year ago today I went to my first Tuesday happy hour. It’s hard to believe I’ve been in the area that long and been part of the local community that long. It feels like only a few months ago I was still nervous about going to happy hours by myself, worried that I wouldn’t find anyone to talk to. 

Over the course of that year, I’ve tried on different kinks and different roles, experimenting with new things and figuring out what I enjoy doing, what I don’t enjoy doing, and what I enjoy being made to do because I don’t enjoy it. I’ve met fantastic people, made amazing new friends, and had wonderful partners. I’ve had tons of fun, gotten plenty of lovely bruises and marks, and had so many experiences, some fun and some not-so-fun, but all of them interesting.  

Many many many thanks to Breastie for accompanying me and helping me go despite my social anxiety and nervousness. 

Happy kinkiversary to me!