Unpretty

Starting yesterday through next week, Sir has a guest in town and also is at an event.  I promised not to bother him since he is hosting someone and will be busy...but its hard.  I miss talking to him and have to hold back the urge to message him a lot.

My other issue is I had a really negative experience on Recon today.  A guy chatted me up (a rarity for me to be honest...) and he actually seemed to want to chat.  See, I don't hook up much at all because I am self-conscious about my skin and cannot host.  On top of that, my schedule is nuts.  So people have to make an effort if they wanna meet (even for coffee).  The last minute "I'm horny and in town" doesn't work with me and I don't even like the idea of hooking up with strangers last minute because in the past i've had some issues regarding my presentation.

A bearish man chatted me up.  Said he was a dom and wanted to just meet maybe for coffee.  He lived locally and I figured I had some time.  Also I've been trying to put myself out there more to make friends and maybe even a pal with benefits at some point.  But not some one night fling.  I made this all clear, and he was genuinely interesting.  I asked him about meeting for coffee at a coffee shop just to see how each other were, and if it went well we could meet some other time for maybe something else. No promises kinda stuff.

Long story short, he flaked.  When I messaged him, he at least had the decency to be honest.  Brutally honest.  Honest so much it REALLY hurt my feelings.  I'm not going to post what was said here because it didn't matter.  It was his opinion.  It hurt though because he implied he did want to meet and hang.  I feel like giving up.

More on food

My relationship with food is a complicated one that goes back to being raised in poverty.  When you are poor, you have a different relationship with food.  You look at food as something that you might not have in a day or two, and each opportunity to eat produces a psychological response similar to that of a starving person.  Growing up, I remember when we would be treated to eating out at a restaurant  my mother would tell us to "Eat our monies worth" in an attempt to get the best value for the dollar.  Sometimes my parents would take us to the Golden Corral or Ryans (both buffet style dining in the south) where we would spend over an hour, with my mother often commenting if we didn't "eat enough" and reminding us that food does not grow on trees (in her defense, nothing they serve there grew on a tree).

I don't fault my folks for this at all.  To be honest, I understood it then.  While my mother and father never left us to go hungry ever, I do remember nights when supper was very basic (grits, maybe with an egg in it) or mustard and cheese sandwiches.  I remember often my folks did not eat with us those nights and framed it in allowing us to eat in front of the TV (something that rarely happened as we always ate around the supper table in a room without TV).  I relied on school lunches in the morning when I was hungry and remember the rare times my mother would cook us breakfast on the weekends as being true treats (Bisquick pancakes, grits with butter and scrambled eggs, ect).

Yet as I entered middle school I began to have body image issues.  I was not fat per say, but I was a bit thick.  Thankfully in the south, being slightly overweight is common and the obese kids were the ones who suffered for weight, allowing the kids to pick on me for being a "faggot", a "sissy" and poor, not my body.  But internally I wanted the muscle I saw on a few of the kids as they entered puberty.  I felt flabby.  In high school, I wished I had a healthy lunch even though I honestly despised salad at that point in my life.  I was working at a fast food joint for extra cash and found myself eating sometimes two of my meals there.  And boy, were they meals.

At this establishment prior to dropping out of highschool, I would start my shift around 530pm.  I would get a food break around 730-8 where I would eat a double or triple cheese burger with onion rings and an extra cup of nacho cheese.  I would snack (as did a lot of the cooks) on mistakes.  I worked the drive through (rare for a boy, but I was "that" kind of boy) and so I also made ice cream which gave me that if I wanted it too.  (Thankfully I was never really into sweets).  Sometimes on the way home from work at 11pm I would stop by Jack in the Box for "supper" where I'd order a burger and egg rolls to take home with me.

After I dropped out of highschool due to bullying, I was in a homeschool program that allowed me to work the opening breakfast shift.  I was at work at 430am making biscuits from scratch and worked till 11am.  I would eat 2 or 3 sausage egg and cheese biscuits in the mornings, and usually took home my double or triple cheese burger at lunch time.  On days that I didn't work, I had ramen noodles for breakfast (latchkey kids who live in poor families each cheap).  Except I'd have two packages of them for a meal.  Sometimes I'd have a box of Mac-&-Cheese instead of ramen.  Interestingly, I never rose above 215lbs.

Once I moved away to go to college, I lived in a dirty, filthy rental in St Louis, Missouri where we had no AC or heat.  I was in a poly relationship with two men and we shared the home.  One of my partners loved to cook and cooked us yummy (but mostly unhealthy) meals where we might have Rice-a-Roni with fatty hamburger meat in it, bread, and potatoes on the side.  (Yes, bread AND potatoes).  The other partner did not eat veggies, and was a bearish guy from the midwest who was raised on a diet of meat and cheese.  I lost weight living there, despite our lunches being take out from Checkers or Arby's 5 for 5 menu.  I can't imagine how many calories I was eating, but it had to be a lot.  I was no where near as big as my two partners, so maybe I didn't notice it, but I went to the doctor a lot for other issues so I knew my weight.  I only drank when we went out to the bar because we didn't keep booze in the house.  After the bars (which we did most weekends at least one night), we'd stop at Whitecastle for burgers and I'd have 5 or so.  (I still adore WhiteCastle).

At school though, I noticed I didn't like how I looked.  I tried to cut calories where I could.  I skipped meals at home, would order diet pills from the internet, and began very unhealthy restricting behavior.  I never liked being hungry (a throwback to childhood) which I guess saved me from anorexia.  My hatred of vomiting saved me from bulimia, but it didn't stop my binge eating when I was sad.  I ate my feelings.  My weight fluctuated between 200-210 though.  I didn't understand it.  I felt like I was eating more than I did at home down south, yet I had lost a little weight.

Upon moving to the West Coast to continue my education, I moved in with a new partner who is a fantastic cook.  I still live with him.  He cooked most nights back then.  He cooked balanced meals.  We had veggies with every dinner, we never had bread AND another carb/starch, and we had a little wine with most meals.  It was yummy.  We did eat out, but he and my roommate had such stark differences in how they ate.  My former partner was a heavyset bear of a man, but ate relatively little.  My roommate ate more than both of us and snacked heavily on cookies and candy, yet was smaller than both of us.  I still felt bad about my body image.  My doctors noticed I had issues with my liver at this point, and performed a biopsy.  The biopsy revealed I had non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, which he attributed possibly to gluten issues or issues with how my body processed carbohydrates.

He put me on a special diet for two months.  It was difficult given that I lived with two people who did not follow it at all.  The point of the diet was to see if I improved.  This diet had no grains at all, very little carbs, and almost no sugar.  I wasn't hungry, I dropped down to 200lbs, and my IBS went away.  I was astonished.  Yet my liver panels only moderately improved.  He asked if it was sustainable for me. I told him that it would not be given my current living situation.  My partner was not happy with me taking up extra room in the fridge, needing the kitchen to cook separate meals, and the fact that I basically couldn't eat with them anymore.  They still ate a lot of grains, and my meals were much more expensive.  After two months, I eased back into carbs (still trying to keep them low).  Things were okay for a while but I still had this issue with eating too much.  It wasn't that I was eating BAD, just my quantity was high.  The new drugs they put me on during that two months had weight gain as a side effect, and my diet wasn't helping.  Then they switched my meds, I gained 10 pounds, and I gave up.  I couldn't do it anymore.  I had tried dieting, I had tried diet pills...I honestly couldn't see how I would ever be more lean in my current situation.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be thin.  I'm a thick guy.  I started going to the gym and I look good thick with muscle.  I'm working on getting more muscled, but I'd like to lose my paunch as well.  I had looked oddly forward to my one year externship as a way to practice and try out living my "new" eating plan.  I began drinking heavier because I was miserable and honestly, the booze helped.  No other substance had ever made me not care and make me happy the way booze did.  I smiled more, I laughed more...I didn't worry so much about how cruel my now ex-partner sometimes was.  I didn't have to think about him dumping me because he found my skin issues unattractive, I didn't have to think about the hateful things he said to me about how he had to "try so hard" to be attracted to me or to want to "be in the same room" as me.  I went on interviews but failed to match.  That killed me.

To be fair to myself, I wasn't drinking a lot more than other grad students I knew.  I drank most days, but usually not to "excess".  But the extra calories were not something I needed, and I knew I was medicating myself.  I didn't care.  Not matching dealt a huge blow financially to me as well as to my self esteem.  I had to take another year of schooling, I had failed.

(more to come later).

Cursed health

I got to spend a week with Sir on the east coast and it was a good trip.  I got some sling time in (which I love) and found out certain nipple toys don't work on my nipples.  Oh wells.

I did not get any puppy play time in, which is disappointing, but I did get to try out some Clover nipple clamps, wrist restraints and again the sling.  I adore the sling, I really do.  With some poppers and my wrists bound it was pretty amazing.

Unfortunately my skin was not very good during the trip.  It is still pretty rough.  I'm thinking there are some changes I need to make but they are so large I wonder how I can do that given I live with two people who will not make them with me nor assist me in doing them. There are some smaller ones I can do for myself, which I will list here so I can work on them and feel like I have something to be responsible to.

1.  Drink less.  (Not drink less often, but less overall.  I tend to pour heavy which can't be helping me any.
2.  Gym more regularly.  I do hit the gym at least 3 times per week, but I need to make it on similar days, do it more often and the like so it's something I can rely on.  I'm also much less likely to miss it if I schedule it in.
3.  Eat less.  (more on this in a new post)

An adjustment disorder

I once had a mentor tell me that "Life is an adjustment disorder."  For those of you that may not be familiar with psychological diagnoses, an adjustment disorder is:

A. The development of emotional or behavioral symptoms in response to an identifiable stressor(s) occurring within 3 months of the onset of the stressor(s). 

B. These symptoms or behaviors are clinically significant as evidenced by either of the following: 

(1) marked distress that is in excess of what would be expected from exposure to the stressor
(2) significant impairment in social or occupational (academic) functioning 

C. The stress-related disturbance does not meet the criteria for another specific Axis I disorder and is not merely an exacerbation of a preexisting Axis Ior Axis II disorder. 

D. The symptoms do not represent Bereavement. 

E. Once the stressor (or its consequences) has terminated, the symptoms do not persist for more than an additional 6 months. 

Basically put, difficulty with change typically represents the onset of adjustment disorders.  We all have problems with change, it is only when it causes us significant distress that it becomes a problem.  Today was a bad day for me.  As my old therapist once said "Look, you tell me your wants and needs so clearly and without needing alcohol, we need to get you to a place you can do that with others".  And I'm not there.  Most of my day was spent alone.  My roommate was having an issue all his own, our landlord is upping our rent (making it likely we will just have to move), and I realized that my miserable feelings weren't just related to these incidents...I exist in this state of  (a) hoping things will improve, (b) fearing they won't.  And a lot of these are because my wants and needs are not being met, but I'm afraid to ask for them because I worry if I ask for too much, I will lose what I have.  It is a vicious cycle.

What makes a happy puppy?

1) semi-regular physical affection.  Sex is groovy, but even a strong hug, a snuggle from a friend, or someone rubbing my neck and saying "Hang in there" can be huge for me.  I realized that short of me touching my room mates when I speak to them (which they clearly don't like), the only physical touch I get is from doctors with nitrile gloves on.

2) In the absence of actual sex, cyber sex or even talking about sexual activities can help bridge this gap.  This is one most people don't get.  I think that for people who can get sex regularly or who have less issues about sex than I do, this doesn't make sense to them.  They would prefer to wait and get it in person, or feel like cybering or talking about it is immature and juvenile.  For me, it's a symbol that someone is sexually into me.  I mean I very rarely have an orgasm without chatting with someone who turns me on (during it) or doing it thinking about said person.  To be denied that or told "Well you'll eventually get it in real life" is painful and also frustrating.  I sometimes wonder how pathetic I look to others wanting and needing that sort of contact.

3) Some resemblance of stability.  I don't need a lot of money, a nice house or even a nice car.  I just need to know that I have stable housing, stable income (ie, employment), and the knowing I won't come home to a fight, passive agressive behavior, or have to walk on egg shells.  Unfortunately I feel like I'm always on egg shells.  I check in with folks to see how 'we' are doing.  If people are upset, I check in with them to see how they are, what's going on, if I can help, and if I may have unknowingly done something to cause this.  Generally I haven't, but sometimes I have and I haven't been told about it for a long time until someone used it against me.  So I'm cautious.

4) A power dynamic.  This doesn't even mean in a formal relationship.  That subby part of me needs to be scratched often, and in more depth/length than it usually is.  I even log into IRC (yes, people still go on it) and chat with folks AS A DOM just so I can get more of a power dynamic/sex chat/roleplaying.  I'm not a dom.  It isn't something that fulfills or enriches me, but like that number two above, it's better than nothing.  Subs are a dime a dozen it seems like in the gay community, and logging into the legion of other subs wanting a dom, I sit there for hours without anyone messaging me...so I put on the uniform of a Dominant and pretend so I'm at least engaged in a power dynamic.  I feel hollow anymore when I do it, but at least I can give them what I want and vicariously/mentally "get off" on their submission.  It sounds really lame as I re-read this.

5)  Lastly, I'm a validation seeker.  While this falls into most of the things above, it warranted it's own section because it's so key to my life.  I know seeking outside validation is often not a good recipe, but I'm fucked up and broken, so it's what I do.  I have a bad self image, fostered by abusive parents, friends, former lovers and a history of trauma in my past.  I think people interpret it as needy (it is), but I see others get it so freely that I wonder what I'm doing wrong.  I watch people post about things mundane and get tons of comments.  I watch people post about how they had people hit them up for sex, or they have people after them because they find them attractive, and I sit there going "Well, what's wrong with me?"  

My therapist once said that I existed as a last resort for most people in my life.  I don't agree with that completely, but I do seem to often be the rebound or feel like I'm an addition to others lives.  I believe his statement was "You are convenient for most people.  You are nice, empathetic, and giving at your own expense".    It's frustrating and one of the reasons I'm still in therapy...trying to figure out why I repeat these patterns.  Anyway, this was a long rambling post but I needed to get a lot of it out of my head.  Change is hard.  Admitting you have issues with change is hard.  I hope to find a middle ground between the adjustment disorder that is life and my own sense of calm and peace...which so far escapes through my fingers too often.

Going fishing

I read a lot.  I don't just mean books, but online stuff as well.  Articles, research journals, the wiki, blogs...I like to see others point of view.  Sometimes I read or watch things that are inherently depressing.  My ex says this is due to a kind of masochistic urge...that if I make myself sad or upset than its safer than allowing others to.  This might be true.  He isn't the best authority on making me feel better being that he's the type to never say he's sorry even if he did something wrong.  I digress.

I find myself relating to characters who are in pain.  My therapist recommended I write my life story out as a sort of book, and as I've been working on that, I find it repeated over and over again.  I don't like being miserable or feeling lonely.  I don't like curling up into a ball and just wishing someone would hold me or tell me im attractive.  So I put myself out there, occasionally post pics of myself or fish for compliments or attention from others...and yet I feel worse...because I have to do those things.  I have to go fishing.  I look around and see folks who don't have to.  Who always have others chasing them...people whom sex is something they don't have to mentally think twice about.  They don't have to see how their skin is doing, or put up with the pain/itching/visual disfigurations...they can just hook up, have a great time and go.  Even with people I care about who I know look past those things and love me for me...I still feel that self-consciousness.  Maybe because it's what I'm used to.  Maybe because I know it will never go away, that my condition is incurable and I've exhausted available drug treatments.  I don't know.

I envy those who can have sex and not have to worry about their skin or if things will work due to their physical issues.  I envy them.

Anxiety, triggers, and the art of being broken

When my shrink asked me "Are you an anxious guy?"  I responded "Yes, I am."  This would not have been my answer if you asked me 5 or even 10 years ago, despite it being true then as well.

One of my turn ons in BDSM practice is spanking/whipping/pain play as well as humiliation scenes and daddy/boy power dynamics.  I also have a trigger in that area too, which makes my mind sometimes an interesting place.  But what I find most interesting is I know in my head, almost like an instinct when something is a scene versus it being real.  I watch videos of people who have been horribly abused as I have, and I'm triggered and get anxious.  I see people fight and almost come to blows in arguments and I get triggered....and yet, nothing makes me more aroused then a humiliation scene where I'm being degraded or having pain inflicted upon me, and I'm in no way anxious in those moments.

It's wonderful, scary and curious all at the same time.  More to come later though, I have a lot of reading to do before bed.

Sadness and the end of an assignment

Today was the end of an assignment I had for the past week that involved a ball stretcher and pics twice a day.  The end of this assignment is filled with sadness.  Both because I like having active things to work on or contracted to do...but also because the end of it passed and was like a non-event.

I'm not going to go into it on here, but I'm clearly obsessing right now.  Maybe I'm boycrazy or it's my abandonment/neglect/daddy issues...I need to get a lock on this before I fuck up what good I have going for me.

Closer to the Edge

When I was growing up in a small town in Texas, music was a way that I was able to connect with the right side of my brain and discover ways to cope with the mental anguish I was suffering through.  The Cher album "Living Proof" had been one of the albums that really helped me through some difficult times....in particular, the track "Song for the Lonely."

Since the beginning of this year, I have endured quite a bit of suffering and my ego has been broken.  I have felt some of the deepest sorrows, deep love, and quite a bit of self doubt regarding my future and what I've been doing with the past 8 years of my life in undergrad and graduate school.  So I started therapy this year, and it has been incredible.  Lately the band "Thirty Seconds to Mars" has been one of those bands whose songs have helped me endure, learn more about myself, and to cope with the intense emotions I've been feeling.  I've been trying to figure out who I am...to remove the masks I've worn since I was 14.  The religious, family masks, professional masks and the expectations of everyone around me.  In the past year I've shed my former religious beliefs and have been trying to figure out what I believe...what I believe without the lenses I was forced into as a child.

It's been hard.  I'd love to say I've come to some place of understanding or a place of piece where I can say without a doubt that I know what I believe or who I am.  I can't say that.  But I have found things that speak to me more than others.  And I hope it continues.

Fifty Shades

Anyone in the BDSM world has probably read BDSM fiction long before it was made popular and mainstream (Fifty Shades of Grey, anyone?).  Way back in the late 50's, a French book called "The Story of O" shocked many people (and to this day is one of my favorite books on my shelf).

I picked up the "Fifty Shades" trilogy though, because I love romance novels and also because I love power dynamics.  While I could turn this into a book report, I won't.  I am almost done with the second book of the trilogy, but what stands out the most to me is how much I identify with the characters.  Granted, the female lead characters "on again, off again" attraction to kink is off putting, as is her blatant disrespect and the games she plays with the Male Dom in the story.  But regardless, there is something underneath it that stands out to me.

The two characters playful banter back and forth, the way you clearly see the Dominant man is basically in charge in a protective manner (and usually sexually as well)...but there is also this constant checking in...a sense of "I want to take care of you, protect you" and the female lead hopes, someday even love her.  The Dom so clearly wants her to be happy, and also refers to himself as "Fifty shades of fucked up" (hence the title)...not fucked up because of his desire to inflict pain, but his past.  Like any good character, his great looks and charm hides a dark side, a dark painful past he's trying to move past and she cannot understand.  She also struggles with the common "Why would someone who has everything, looks, money, power, fame, ect, love her?"   She is not a submissive really, she does not get into the heavy BDSM that he is used to....and yet, they both work through their inadequate feelings and become closer.

I feel like, in my own life, that I took am fifty shades of fucked up.  I carry within me a degree of self-loathing from childhood that I have never really shaken.  A past of relationships where I felt used, and happy to be used, as long as the other would love me.  But I didn't know what love was.  I confused attention (bad or good) for affection, genuine attraction for novelty, and to this day I carry around a peace keeping attitude only the child of an alcoholic could have.  In my household, I "check in" on my roommates, I ask them how they are...when they say "Fine" and its clear from their tone they are not, I shift into that "how can I help" mode that only pushes most men away.

The nightmares of my inadequacy, self-loathing, and doubt in myself are like specters that haunt my life.  They have haunted me since childhood.  And yet, on some nights, I still wake up screaming in a cold sweat.

~bailey

Why melancholia is healthy at times

The word melancholia is one of those words that brings with it significant weight.  The American Heritage Medical Dictionary defines it as : A mental disorder characterized by depression, apathy, and withdrawal.

I feel melancholic, and have felt that way for a few weeks.  I told my therapist this, how I dread going into work.  Not because of my work load or my clients, but the politics and the negativity.  It drains me in a way it hadn't before.  Maybe my therapist was right, that when I stopped hiding from my emotions and took my mask off it'd hurt more, it'd drain more, and it'd make my home life more depressing.  And yet at the same time I find it also more real.  I have my own room now, my own bed...my own space.  I sleep better at night and even though my health has consistently fallen in the past few weeks, I still FEEL better and more rested.

I've disconnected socially though.  It's hard to return emails.  It's hard, but I force myself to go to school, to attend class and not to skip work.  I read more.  And I find myself CRAVING affection and sexual attention.  Not sex per say, but that "need" to feel lusted after and attractive.  Maybe I'm low on testosterone.  Maybe its because I'm 27 and have never really had an "active" sex life save for weekends visiting someone a couple times per year.  It's not that I'm not horny, I just dont have an outlet.  I'm too self conscious about my skin due to my psoriasis to hook up with people I dont know, and people I do know either live too far away to do anything, or want nothing to do with me sexually.  Even roleplaying online, sexting or that sort would do it, but they want real life or nothing.  Even Sir often says "You'll be here soon, then we'll have fun" and I know he's telling me the truth.  I also know that doesn't help at all in the moment since I'm feeling lonely and horny.

Anyway, this disconnect is a combination of being overwhelmed with my family drama (my bio-dad), work drama (politics, changes, and culture), school drama (suicide and interpersonal issues) and my home life (finding out things I feared and feeling like I'm not wanted here).  So then why, as my title says, am I saying it might be healthy?  Because I'm doing a ton of work in therapy, and I'm working to understand how my past experiences with my family, society, and religion have affected me.  I've already become a little more comfy praying to a higher power that works for me that isn't steeped in hatred.  I still struggle with practicing in my home as I have two roommates who would make fun of me...but I'm working on changing my response to that too.  We shall see.  But regardless of what happens, things will work out, somehow.

Movement

Movement is painful, change hurts...but today in therapy my shrink helped me realize a lot of things about myself.

I'm a bit tired tonight...but I'm going to try and write more.  Engage my creative side to exorcise some of these demons.  We'll see how it goes.

Wounded Healers

Meet Chiron:

Chiron is the archetype of the wounded healer from Greek mythology.  In shamanistic cultures (The Celts, Siberian tribes, and many American Indian tribes similarly use different images, but same overall idea), a shaman is a wounded healer who uses his knowledge of pain, suffering, and sickness to heal those around him.

When reading By Oak, Ash, and Thorn by DJ Conway, he touches upon this component of shamanism in such a way that touched me the moment I read it.  In psychology Jung had a similar idea that we shared a collective suffering that healers touched upon to heal those in the community.  While modern psychology fears this (psychologists are supposed to be perfect and realized and not have the problems their clients do), my experience has taught me (as has my supervisors) that the best psychologists are those that have endured suffering in their lives.  They are the ones that truly empathize and honor the pain of others while similarly not patronizing their suffering.  The Gestaltists had a similar world view.

I mention these because I found myself talking to my own therapist and my supervisor about my own suffering, and both agreed that I was talking healthy steps.  My therapist said I was a two-spirit and that I had an "Indian heart", a very beautiful honor I must say.  But the wounded healer is also a caveat in many ways.  For the medicine to be effective, Chiron had to give up his immortality to save others and become a good healer.  Last night I had dreams in my new space I created.  I don't remember much of them, but I remember having them which is a huge plus for me. My enneagram is a type 4, something I'm told is rare but very powerful.

http://www.enneagramworldwide.com/explore-the-enneagram/tour-the-nine-types/enneagram-type-4.php

You can read more about them there.  The more I read and learn, the more I want to embrace the creative side I had as a kid.  I wrote and drew a lot, even though my drawings and writings were often characterized by longing and pain.  I want to make my own dream catcher for my new room above the bed.  That will be my first step.  I'll write more later, I need to get back to work.

A rambling post where my head is at

I was thinking about this  a lot in the middle of the night last night...but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and type it.  A lot has happened emotionally in my life in the past couple of weeks (and truthfully, the past year).

One of my professors committed suicide.  Half of the mental health staff at the clinic I work at gave their notice for the end of May.  And in my own life I've been trying to decide where to go next, what to do, how to feel.

One of the things I come up with a lot is my health and the problems I have that no mid to late 20 something should have.  My psoriasis gives me very bad physical pain and unattractive parts of my body most of the time.  I'm terribly self conscious about my puppy parts because frankly, that's where the psoriasis is the worst.  Aside from health problems I cannot fix, I tend to drink in what might be seen as an unhealthy way.  I don't get enough sleep.  I put on a few pounds that I'm having a hard time losing, ect.  To add to those things, my time in therapy is productive but also leaving me with more questions than answers and digging up painful memories of my past.

Last night I noticed Facebook kept wanting me to be friends with someone I knew to be the current partner of an ex of mine.  This ex and I split on very bad terms due to his infidelity and inability to be honest with me.  I found myself navigating to said ex's facebook page where I found images of him and his partner at leather conferences with his partner as his public puppy.  His involvement with the local leather bar, his successes as it were...and what I found was that I was a little jealous but mostly bitter.  I wasn't jealous of him or his partner as I don't want him back or anything of the sort.  But I was jealous because (like my most recent ex) this guy went out after we broke up and did the very things with others he told me he'd never do with me because he wasn't "into that sort of thing" or didnt do "public things" like that.  Which threw me into a bit of a spin where I was like "What is it about me?" I write this not because I want pity, but because it really brought up something my therapist often says to me too.  Namely that I tend to date emotionally unavailable men who want the "conquest" of me, but after that initial rush is over, they go on to the next thing.  I see that point.  My last 2 relationships match up well with that statement.  But why after me do those ex's date people, do things with them they would never do with me, and it last?

I feel like this is something I need to figure out.  Some people spend their lives searching for themselves in promiscuous sex, drugs, or other pursuits never to find who they really are.  I have a friend or two like that.  No sexual experience is satisfying, it could always be a little more perfect like the fantasies in his head.  But I have fantasies similar to their fantasies.  The difference is that as much as I want to go out and get laid, to have lots of fun sex, guys just dont look at me that way.  I'm not even saying I want random, anonymous sex.  I just want to feel like someone really wants to have sex with me, skin and all.  And that the want is strong enough not to simply be a "If you were here in person, then i'd have sex with you, but I'm not going to talk to you about it or fantasize about something that isn't actually happening".  A lot of guys who can and do get laid a lot tend to have that attitude.  When Sir and I are together in person, its magical.  The sex is fantastic, I feel loved and wanted and appreciated, and I have a great time.  I've never been drunk around him even.  But when I'm on the opposite coast, sometimes I want to just sit at my computer, have a few strong drinks and just watch tv.   I watch the ex I live with go out for play dates and hang out with people in a way he never did when we were together.  I watch my roommate chat online, go to play parties, hook up with people he hardly knows or knows well but rarely sees...and I'm at home alone.  People are shocked when they find out him and I have never had sex.  He made it clear that was never going to happen with me, so I quit asking and eventually found a way to reconcile that emotional desire to be close to him with reality.

This is a massive rambling post.  I guess what I'm saying is I need direction in my life.  I want direction and discipline.  Don't get me wrong, I love drinking.  But some days that pour is strong because I want to laugh again, to rekindle the fire I have inside that comes out when I'm with Sir.  On my plane trips home from seeing him, the rum flows because I'm in mourning for him and that I have to stuff my feelings and expression back into a box and hide it.  Every time I text him or facetime with him or even email him, my thoughts are of fun stuff I want to share with him, how much I miss him, sexy things Id like to do with him, and how much I love him.  But I only share pieces of it, because you can only whine about being lonely so much before people push you away, and I don't want him to see me as always being depressed or mopey.  I'm a fun drunk in many ways.  I laugh (a lot) I giggle at things, I'm touchy feely and very hands on with people.  But at home I'm nervous and afraid a lot.  When I drink, that relaxes some and I let some of myself out...but then I get dirty looks and told that I'm being too loud.  So I keep it inside.  And the laughing, happy drunk puppy becomes a sad, hurting puppy who just wants to be held.  My therapist says I want friends more than anything else in the world.  It's true, I do.  But its hard to make friends when you don't know who you are, when you are a wannabe, or simply trying to be authentic.  It's hard to be authentic when you don't know who you are or live in an environment where people don't want you to act yourself.

The real me would want to laugh, regular sex, a spiritual sexuality and a spirituality he could practice openly without it being mocked.  He'd want small intimate group moments, even with Sir and one or two other people to play together.  He'd value being open about his sexuality and lifestyle, where he could live and exist in a household were sex and feelings were open and not hidden away to the bed room.  I'm a sexual person, its important to me, the same as power dynamics and submission are important to me.  Where my laughing, odd sense of humor, or desire to be close, be held, or simply be quiet next to someone I trusted was endearing rather than weird.  The painful part of leaving Sir's home is that I get a lot of that when I visit.  I know things come in time, but thats easier to say when you live in a place where you have or can have all of that.  Where I live currently...I have Bacardi to numb out how miserable I am most days.  I numb out the feeling that something is wrong with me to make those I've dated not want to do things with me when we are together.  I numb out the feeling that there's something ugly about me that makes my roommate give me the definite no to just have intimate, physical contact with him, even cuddling when I'm having a bad day.

I worry Sir is going to read this and think "That boy is a hot mess".  I know he loves me and wouldn't kick me to the curb, but it keeps running over in my head.  Submissives often seek to be perfect in the eyes of Dominant folk, and I know logically I am not a perfect person and that maybe some of my charm and beauty comes from the wounded healer...but more on that in my next post.

plane postings, post PAX

I'm writing this on April 10th, 2012 at 34,000 feet above sea level.

Below me are perfect geometric squares of farm land as I pass over the "fly over" states of the US on a cross country flight back to Portland. The captain just announced that we are directly over Fargo, North Dakota. The irony of this is not lost on me. We also have just hit a patch of turbulence. Down below us the skies are clear and I can see two fires many thousand feet below. This past period of 6 days has been world changing to say the least. I do not use that loosely either.

This past weekend was PAX East, a gaming/geek convention in Boston that Sir is particularly fond of. Initially I went mostly for Sir, to see him, support him, and experience this part of his life I rarely got to experience. It wasn't that I didn't like gaming, the opposite actually. As a boy and teenager I loved certain computer games, my SNES, and playing my Nintendo 64. Granted, I played all of these systems and games many years out of date so my experience with them was not when most people experienced them. They were cheaper when I got them, and people were often "done" with that experience. But to me they were awesome. They personified an escape for me, something I was sometimes good at simply due to my lack of anything else to do, and sometimes out of pure skill. They were also a bastion of the things my parents would let me do. My biological father was/is a very religious man who had often…deviating ideas about the things "kids" were up to. Most of these ideas came from what he heard from the preacher and I, but connection, also heard these things and had their judgment cast upon my actions.

Things like D&D, Magic the Gathering, even non-Christian folk who proudly (or did it simply out of rebellion in the Bible Belt) practiced fell under the "no no" category that I was not allowed to experience. This weekend Sir taught me to play D&D, Pathfinder, Magic the Gathering, Zombie Dice and a few other games….and on top of all of it let me see the side of him I rarely get to see. That gaming/geeky element where he is really happy and doing things he loves.

I also did some personal exploration with myself with his silent guidance this weekend. Figuring out a little more who I am, what I want, and allowing myself to relax and be myself. This was not easy. I found myself quickly looking to him, asking if what I wanted, did or said was okay. Yet, I recieved loving validation. Even when I did some things I was worried about, I was praised for my honesty and trust in bringing those concerns to him. He also held me a lot as I worked through feelings and ideas that had long sense been condemned as bad. The Celts believed self exploration was the first step in restoring harmony and that no other person, no matter how powerful or what kind of magic they possessed, could fix ones disharmony. I feel like I have made great steps in working on mine. It is not complete, but I feel much closer to my goal than I did prior.

Sometimes the hardest part of being separated by distance is the feeling that you can't do anything for the one you care about the most. Some would argue that submission or slavery entails a lack of emotion...that it is about obedience in a vacuum. To them I would say this.

The heart of a submissive for his Sir is love, amplified and deepened. It transcends miles, sexual experience, or limits. When I see him needing me, my problems and issues melt away and I only see his. Were the world mine, I would be there when he was stressed to help him relax, to take his mind off things, and to make his life run more smoothly. That is my daily prayer.

Therapy and passivity

One of the things I did in an attempt to prevent myself from making my past mistakes over again was to engage in therapy to deal with a lot of the baggage from my past. Being in a relatively progressive part of the country, finding a therapist who could understand my less than vanilla life was a necessity and thankfully not too difficult. What has proved difficult though is my own understanding of why my past has shaped me the way that it has and how ineffective it has really been.

In therapy, passivity often comes with negative connotations. Submission, humility, passivity...these are words that are loaded in therapists minds because they often carry with them an idea of unassertiveness or that the person is unwilling to stand up for their own wants, needs, and desires. In some ways, this can be helpful for a submissive. Too willful a submissive ceases to be a submissive and ends up being a bratty boy, or worse, someone who tops from the bottom. The key to healthy passivity or submission then, is truly to have a dominant person who respects that desire while at the same time looking out for the subs interests, lest they be left behind.

/rant.

In my own life what I have found is that I actually do stand up for myself in areas where I am not in a D/s-M/s role. More often than not, this gets me into trouble because people who know me take issue with the fact that I'm not submitting to them, even though we have no such arrangement. Yesterday I was having internet issues in our household. After a few drinks and being told it "had" to be my settings (even though mine had not changed, but settings on the home network had been) I became frustrated and went off to the room I'm sharing for the week with my other roommate. My ex has a visitor in the bed that used to be mine/ours when we were a couple. As I lay in bed I was frustrated and upset, because I knew that my behavior and frustration was clearly visible and would be attributed to other things rather than what I felt that it was. I was angry because had the tables been turned and any of the household members other than me were unable to get online, shit would have stopped. Everything would have been done right then to remedy the situation, and I wouldn't be left with the feeling that no one believed me or respected my opinion enough to even listen. Had it been my ex's, even if everyone elses internet worked, everything would have been changed to make sure his worked.

And I knew from past experience that this was never going to happen, because the double standard that always existed then still existed now, even without the power dynamic, and it made me angry.

I don't get angry a lot to be honest. Frustrated at times, usually I hold these thoughts in, or I deal with them through working out. But I slept awful last night, my skin was wracked with inflammation, and I know when I get home today I probably won't have working internet. I'm tired of being passive to people who don't respect me, but when I'm assertive I get beaten down and talked about like I'm the one with the problem. I'm glad I have this blog. Sometimes its the only place to vent or work things out outside of therapy without having to worry about burdening others with my issues. My joints actually ache today, its that bad.

\rant.

A visitor from the past

My ex's visitor is driving me crazy. It's like he has an answer for everything and keeps wanting to show off with his knowledge. I know some of that is to impress my ex, but its getting on my nerves. That, and he's following me around. I don't know why he wants me to like him. I'm being polite, but its hard to be polite when you've been relocated to another room and he's making accommodations for that person that he never made for you. I'm also trying to ignore the incessant humming. I think I'm taking little things too personally.

Anyway, yesterday was a bit rough for me. I did something I feel bad about. I had sent a few messages off to Sir and his husband and hadn't heard anything back. (It turned out they had been hanging out with other folks and Sir spent most of the day gaming). But I worried because I hadn't heard from them. Eventually I caught Sir before bed and he called me because he was concerned. He wasn't angry by any means, but I suddenly felt bad because he was trying to relax all day and what I realized was that he was worried I had felt neglected. I was both happy he was concerned about my feelings and upset with myself that I didn't let him relax as much as I could have.

This is an issue I've talked about with my therapist before. Some of it is a validation piece, but a lot is issues from my childhood about needing reassurance things are okay (both relationship wise and just general existence wise). When I was a young boy, my parents (who belonged to a very strict Christian evangelical sect) would speak of the rapture and being left behind for being a sinner….and I spent so many days coming home from school terrified when I couldn't find them and there was no note that I was left behind. The fear in that still grips me to this day in other realms outside of spirituality. I didn't think Sir had been pulled up in the rapture, but I was worried something had happened. I need to work on that.

My life, my submission, my future

2012 hasn't been very good for me. In terms of my future career, I feel discouraged due to the way residency matchings went. It has made me feel strange regarding my future, as I had hoped to be on residency this year.

I don't normally post here about my life outside of sex, kink, fetish or love. It's not that its not important, just that with my job I try to keep those areas separate. Sir has been in more contact recently, something I am so grateful for.

He's so good to me, it makes me smile writing about it even :) I've been such a hot mess over the past month and he has been so supportive and awesome about it, and I'm gearing up for his birthday this summer. I hope its the best birthday he's ever had. I'm so happy I'll get to be there for it too.

The Story of O

I’m currently at 36,000 feet and about 600 miles away from Portland as I write this. (edit, I posted it a few days after landing, but have back dated the post) I have been reading the “Story of O”, a rather infamous story from BDSM culture and literature that was written in the 1960’s and tells the tale of “O” a slave and her journey. You can find synopses on the net of this story and what it means.

This trip back home was a mixed bag of emotions, from anger at my mentally ill mother and bigoted father, to a new found respect for my brother and an openness with him that I had not had prior. With the exception of the time when I was in a dress shirt and/or suit for funeral arrangements, I was wearing Sir’s collar. In fact, my brother even asked me about it. Here is where the story I guess got interesting. My brother owned the copy of “The Story of O” and lent it to me to read. He never came out expressly and said why, but he and his wife had seen my collar and said nothing of it, even though my brother read the tag when I was in the washroom.

Throughout the trip I wanted attention and affection…which came out with me hounding Sir with a lot of texts and pictures which in retrospect was not proper of me. Even as I read The Story of O, my knowledge of the Old Guard and the like….I feel like my purpose is to make him happy, content, satisfied and be the caretaker of his health and home. He is a protective bear, and I adore that…I loved when we were together and he would pull me close if we were walking somewhere busy, or when he fawn over me a bit…its intoxicating to me. But at the same time I realize he needs his own space, for his husband, his beloved pets, and for his own relaxation time (something he gets far too little of). I want to help him in those areas but I cannot do much more than I am at this point, but I can reduce the amount of needyness I project to him.

The other thing I spent a lot of time thinking about was a rather Old Guard concept of marking. While in the furry/k9/puppy play sense marking can be an ownership and dominance ritual, there are more public rituals like the collar, the brand, “grooming” issues, and other behaviors which are often more ritualistic and formal but also a constant reminder of ones place. I wear Sir’s collar and his alone. He named me a name that he liked that suited me, and we have talked in depth about him having me get my genitals pierced with him there, directing it all…something that both makes my loins burn and my ears flatten on my head while I blush. I love that. I love the ritual of changing myself to better suit him, or marks that convey dominance, ownership, ect…and of rituals together that we create together that are personal. Even if it is a mode of greeting, a certain protocol, ect. One thing we do is me serving him drinks, something that brings me great joy. Cooking for him is something I’ve been able to do only rarely, but also something I enjoy. I love our power dynamic, I love how he can look at me and I know immediately what that look means. He doesn’t have to cane me, his disapproval or worse…possible disappointment is more pain that I could bear.

The Story of O is a great fantasy novel. Not a life one would want to live everyday, as O is passed around from master to master without a real sense of connection with any of them. Maybe this was a plot point to demonstrate she was an object to be used rather than something with feelings. I didn't care for that part. I couldn't imagine caring so little emotionally for one's master.

Dreams, structure, and the submissive

Last night was difficult for me as I had a series of bad dreams that had a similar theme.

One dream involved me having sex with my ex. In the dream, my ex asked me to slow down when performing oral sex (something I'm skilled at) and my roommate entered the room. My roommate is someone I have been physically attracted for a long time, but also, someone who has made it clear he has no interest in playing with me and never will. In the dream, he puts on a tape for "mood" and I am ignored...eventaully, I have to get up to go work...and my alarm goes off, and I awaken.

The second dream is fuzzier and of the same "cannon". A dream cannon is like a film. A lot of dreams have different logic, different settings, times, places...situations...and its rare for me to stay in the same cannon. Last night my dream placed me in another situation where like the first dream, I was wanted when I was wanted, ignored when I was not, and banished.

This week has been hard on me, as I started therapy (on my own) and my family has been involved in some serious drama regarding the politics of life, healthcare, and respecting ones wishes even when it goes against your religious beliefs. Even in my intake with my therapist, he commented on my strength and asked how I was able to deal with the cards in life I had been dealt. I don't doubt my own strength, but I ignored a lot of it. I accepted so much abuse, so much maltreatment because I preferred poor treatment to being ignored. It's the thing I fear worse than anything....that someone will simply ignore me.

When I was little my evangelical parents would tell me of the rapture and of being "left behind". My father loved those books, and I remember racing home, yelling for my parents...praying that I wasn't abandoned when they were taken up to heaven. As an adult, I find myself wanting to continuously engage with the people I care about...seeking their approval, checking in, wanting to be sure things are okay and doubting my ability to keep them okay based on this fear. I fear people moving on from me, as most of my relationships have ended when my partners kept quiet about their wants and needs changing to newer and more novel things. I also notice changing the words I use to refer to men I care about...Sir becomes Papa, which becomes Daddy in my emotionally weak moments. It's not that Daddy is a bad thing, but when I use it, its a desire to be cared for, protected, held and guided. Even Papa is the same. Sir is a more formal term, but no less affectionate. My interests in age play, AB/DL stuff comes not from a desire to be an infant, but rather...a sort of unconditional love and nurturing that I never received as a boy.

I don't know if Papa knows this, but I know that he knows how much it means to me to be called son, boy, puppy...those terms of endearment. Sometimes I worry that I desire too much for his attention and affection...in effect, I fear pushing him away with neediness. I hope he will tell me if this is the case. In the meantime, I hope therapy gives me new insights into my own shortcomings and how I can overcome them to be better for Him.

Infatuations

I used to wonder what the difference was between love, infatuation, respect, and worship. I say this because many have the same features. When we love someone, often we do things to, for, or with the person we might not do alone. Infatuation is sometimes seen as "puppy love", a sort of precursor that is somehow more intense but less serious than "love". Respect can be given in all sorts of ways, and worship varies based on the doctrine behind each.

Tonight I was standing in my kitchen, missing Master when I realized that I do these things. When I visited last, I made a note of his handsoap, his shampoo, bodywash, ect... I made notes of the things he liked to drink, not only so I could make them for him when I was around him, but also so I could make it for myself at home and remember how it tasted on his lips.

Tonight I was looking at the Chai tea I had bought. I have liked Chai prior to him, but I bought his brand, his mix...and as I inhaled the tea I tugged the chain around my neck and smiled. Surely on a cold night like tonight he would want a cup of tea, and some day I will be able to serve it to him.

My latest trip to the frigid North Central part of the US went well. A lot of things in my home life have been pretty rough though, particularly due to interactions with my ex (who I live with as well as a roommate).

I'm to a point now where a large part of me doesn't want to respond anymore when people ask me why im being quiet, particularly my roommate. When I try to talk to him about serious things that are bothering me, he laughs at them or tells me to get over it. Same with my ex, although he doesn't laugh..he just glares at me like im a freak and all. In his defense, he never asks me whats wrong so I guess me sharing is the problem more so than what im sharing.

Last night I pushed myself at the gym despite my shoulder being very sore. A large part of me just wanted to push through it, to give myself something to believe in. When the roomie asked me what was wrong, I told him nothing (the typical response everyone in the household but me usually gives). Except, unlike Sir, he took it at face value and went on, even though clearly something was bothering me.

I worry when im honest I push people away. I've been told people dont want to hear that, and I know even at times my venting regarding my home life has to bother Sir, even if only from a standpoint of him not being able to do much because he is far away. I'm just not happy with my life right now. I also don't feel like I have much control over the situation I'm currently in and my coping mechanisms don't work too well. At least I'm not drinking everyday, but still :P

I feel like I did when I was a teenager, only now without the suicidal feelings. I know I have a positive future ahead of me and people who love me, I know this to be true. But when day in and day out I feel like the people I live with see me more as a nuisicance than anything else, it makes it hard to push through the days with a real smile on. At best, I manage a fake one on the outside.

I miss Sir :(

Mile high

So, funny story. I wrote this 36,000 feet in the air and rather intoxicated. Go Bailey.

I’m gonna be honest. This post when I land will get posted without editing for a good reason. I had a good weekend. And I have multiple reasons why.

I left Friday morning for my coast to coast flight (one that I’m becoming more used to). My fear of flying is almost totally gone (save for serious turbulence). I arrived in Boston on Friday evening and met Sir. We took the shuttle back to his place and had a nice, relaxed evening together. Saturday Sir let me sleep in a bit, though to be totally honest I wasn’t sleeping. I really just didn’t want him to let go of me. It was so nice downstairs with his arms wrapped around me while we slept. We had some fun playing and grabbed lunch and generally were rather tame for the rest of the day. Sunday we picked up the rental car and I drove us to the hotel where we would be staying in Maine. The point of the trip was for an interview and as with all my interactions with Sir, I was a bit nervous. I had packed gear, he had packed gear…I was pretty stoked (especially since he had me in chastity for over a week at this point, even our previous two sessions hadn’t allowed me to finish. Papa finished and it was good). I say that not with any negatvitity. There is something VERY erotic to me about Sir getting his rocks off and me still being whimpery and horny.

So even though we had two very fun sessions with Sir getting off, Sunday in Maine didn’t turn out like I had hoped. I had wanted (like the previous two sessions) for Sir to mount me and he had certainly planned on it. My health and body was not cooperating and so I was honest with him and explained things. He was so understanding, and we still had a fantastic time. It was the first time I had ever seen Papa in FULL leather gear. Leather boots, chaps, bluejeans, vest…cap…flogger, gloves…and he flogged me. I swear to God, keeping my face towards the door was so difficult…I just wanted to drink that image in. Right there in rural Maine. It was fantastic…if I wouldn’t have had an interview the next morning I would have loved for him to have torn me up. As it was, he left considerable bite marks, bruises, and my nipples feel rather raw. It’s a great feeling. At one point I was prostrate at his boots licking them, kissing them….and then looking up at that face. Damn. Does a boner at 36,000 feet at least get me admitted to the lobby of the mile high club?

Papa kept the interview in mind and had me in bed by 1145pm but I couldn’t sleep. I was so anxious, my skin was itchy, and I didn’t want him to sleep. It sounds odd but when I’m with him I don’t want to go to sleep….because I know sleep brings about the morning…one morning closer to me leaving again :( The interview went well I think. I could totally see myself living there, working there, and driving down to visit him on weekends when I could and for holidays. The interview also exposed me to a long term trip with Papa out of his element (his home). While driving, Papa saw a deer carcass in the highway (it’s rural Maine) and alerted me…and I swerved and everything was fine. It was then though that I saw his concern for my safety, that protective part of him. I took him out to dinner and he mentioned the deer a few times and how he was happy to have been there. I was happy he was there too…not just to warn me of the deer, but to hold me, to kiss me, to tell me I looked great and that I’d do great. We drove back, dropped the rental car off and went out to dinner with his husband. That’s when the subject of me leaving the next day came up and suddenly I felt very sad again. It had been only a brief trip, a vacation, a minor excursion into the life I want to have. I could quote 10 country songs off the top of my head that deal with that same topic. Sir doesn’t care for country music but regardless, it’d still be true.

I have this love/hate relationship with Logan International in Boston. On one hand, it’s where I fly to when I’m visiting him. But I don’t associate HIM with it. I associate him with the train station where he picks me up. I associate Logan with me leaving. With spending time in tears, sucking down Dunkin’ Donuts Coffee, local craft beer and crying. This time wasn’t really any different. I had a few beers and looked at the pictures I had taken. I texted him, I drained the battery on my phone doing all of this. I’m looking out the window right now, at the lone star visible from my jet…a small town full of lights below me, and wondering what he is doing right now. I’m now longer in his time zone, but if I was, it’d be 7:20. He’d be eating supper with his husband and relaxing with his cats in front of the TV. He’ll be barefoot and his paws are sore. And there would be an empty space in front of his chair….a space I was honored to fill for another couple of days…a space where I could give his paws the attention he deserves. He’d have a cold drink in his hand that I’d make sure never ran out, and I’d still be able to feel his legs wrapped around me.

I miss him.

End – 1-10-12. – somewhere over the rocky mountains.

The New Year

(If you don't want to read me whine, you can skip this post).

They say that kissing someone through New Years (and actually how you spend New Years Eve) is how your year will go. Kissing through the New Year brings love and good fortune. God help me if that's the case.

I had gone to bed prior to midnight because I didn't want to ring in the New Year alone in my living room. I figured being asleep would at least quicken the push to morning. Except I couldn't sleep, because my skin was on fire. It was like being pricked with hot needles all over my body and my heart was racing. Not wanting to keep my ex up, I crawled out of bed, took some aspirin and sat on the sofa in the dark holding my knees to my chest. It was a truly miserable night. At some point I turned my cell phone off and laid there hoping I'd pass out. It was a horrible, lonely feeling. All I could think of was how normal people didn't have these kind of health problems and how if this was what 2012 was going to bring then fuck it. There was this praying/pleading thing to God that lasted for maybe 30 minutes to an hour, but I gave up. I think I passed out around 5. It felt and looked pathetic.

In the cold light of morning it felt more pathetic rather than the clarity that usually comes from day light. Everyone had their posts of how awesome their parties were last night or the fun that they had last night and it just made me feel a hint of bitterness. I think it was bitterness because I had the opposite of all that. Mine wasn't just "not fun" it was miserable and painful (physically and emotionally). Looking at it now, I also feel a sense of shame because even though I've written all of this out, I don't really want to talk about it...and yet I do... The mix comes from the fact that I don't want to hear it'll be okay or the optimism of what the year could bring for my health because I've heard that every year since I was 16 regarding my skin and it has never come true.

I'm not a proud puppy right now. To be honest, I'm hating myself something awful for things I have no control over. It's not logical, but its honest.