Loved

Last night, I told my dad that I'm going to therapy. Then I explained what caused the issues that brought me to this point.

He was so supportive.

I feel loved.

Write

Guess what Kristy got me?


I think I'm going to say "no" to this weekend and spend time doing the exercises in it.

This Could Be Your Last

These are the images that have been assailing me lately:

an unbloomed rosebud

ticking clocks

empty cups of coffee

and lengthening hair.

A study in focus, in seizing moments.

Forced Hand

Restless, bored, and irritated at Resistance 2's shitty "co-op" feature, I went to Tutta Bella at 9pm last night. I ordered a cappuccino ("For...here? Okay..."), took out my pen and paper, found some inspiration, wrote a little, lost my inspiration, finished my cappuccino and went home.

I called four people first, so it wasn't intentional writing - in fact, it was kind of forced - but I still call it a win.

PS: I have a lonely photo of the event, but since my home computer's still out of commission I'll have to upload it at another time. Photo uploaded.

Progression

Livejournal is down, which is frustrating because I'd like to use it to find a counselor that is familiar and/or comfortable with alternative sexualities and practices - LJ seems to be the best place to get recommendations for things like that.

Obviously, Richard and I talked last night. From what we can gather, my past abuse took over and I became completely self-destructive, digging at anything I thought would hurt him.

I never went to therapy because I was always cognizant of my own issues and triggers. This event - though it only happened once and never has before - has shown me that there are little buried time bombs ticking down, waiting for the right circumstances to explode.

That is finished.

I will not be betrayed by my own mind.



As much as I'd like to end my post there, I will kick myself later if I don't note a few other points:

I handled the conversation very well. This experience has helped me tremendously in being progressive and productive instead of guiltily going numb and beating my chest about it.

Richard has forgiven me, but things aren't better (though he says they're "mostly better"). He didn't expect me to handle the fallout this well.

I'm not "forbidden to drink" but Richard and I came up with a drinking rule: three-drink maximum. He vetoed "no drinking;" I was being harder on myself than he was.

Barring any new insight, we've determined that this incident was not a product of the new experimentation in our relationship. I did push that button, but I pushed every other button, too: I was spoiling for a fight.

Richard asked if I wanted a "consequence," then told me that said consequence is that I must play Resistance 2 with him all weekend. Then he bought me a new controller. (Oh, that man...)

I'm afraid of therapy, mostly because I'm afraid of finding out that I'm not in control of myself. This recent rude awakening has negated that excuse, so as soon as I choose a therapist with availability on Saturday and an open mind about sexuality, I'm making my first appointment.

Lashing Out

I'm really disappointed that I did exactly what my post said I wasn't going to do.

On Saturday night I lashed out at Richard. We'd had a really good weekend (which included positive social growth on many levels) but after the place cleared out we went walking (so I could sober up) and I turned on him. The worst part is that I remember everything that happened after I lashed out - including his response - just not what I said to hurt him. Richard isn't inclined to tell me, and though I don't want to understand or accept that, I do. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that he slept at his parents' house on Saturday and the couch on Sunday.

It will take him a while to sort through his feelings, and until then I'm trying something new: instead of feeling horribly guilty and shutting down (crying in bed, alone) I'm talking about my feelings with Sarah and Cass and determining the most productive way to move forward until(?) Richard and I are able to communicate.

As scary as it is to appear weak in front of others, doing so has helped me realize that it's okay to ask for help. It's also okay to be barely able to put a sentence together while asking for that help...and it's okay to write a post about it that seems totally disjointed.

Here's the refreshing thing: it's so simple. I fucked up. I said something really hurtful to my partner. He's allowed to be angry, and he's allowed to not want to talk about it. There are no sides, here, because I agree with him. And the unintended side effect of him saying that I'm "on my own on this one" is that I'm forced to reach out in other directions...and feel less "on my own."

As much as it hurts - yeah, it's tearing me apart - I'm growing.

Leftovers

After watching today's special comment by Keith Olbermann and re-reading My Ishmael I've decided I want to learn survival skills and live in the wilderness.

Instead I'm eating left-over chocolate skulls and feeling emotionally rocky. Between that and the nausea, I think it's time to switch birth control pills.

No, I haven't been writing or doing yoga or meditating, god damn it.

I don't know that Richard and I got very far in our "team meeting" on Saturday. However, I worry if I think about it too much I'll over-analyze and self-fulfill, so I'll shoo it away like so many fruit flies.

On an unintended metaphoric note: Those fuckers take FOREVER to die out, even after you've scrubbed the kitchen and removed every speck of food from the disposal.

What Could Go Wrong?

I've started taking Ned on short walks. The primary purpose is to get him used to the rain - which he loathes and fears - but some of the positive side effects are that he and I get more exercise, he's learning to heel (all over again) and we're starting the slow process of making him a bit less skittish. I'm glad the work is starting now: soon enough he'll have a neuter appointment, and I can only hope that he'll be obedient enough that I can keep him from running up the stairs and tearing his stitches.

Tomorrow I'm going out to breakfast with Kristy, and I have tentative plans scheduled for Friday with Sarah (the latter with Richard, the former without). Add the drama of Saturday's Game Talk 2008 and a horoscope that insinuates a new job or a raise, and it should be an exciting week.

Pretty girls and waffles. What could go wrong?

The Way It Is

Sometimes this is just the way it is.

And that's okay.

Flooding of the Mind

Nothing got done last night.

I came home to lights on and a locked deadbolt. I don't have a key for the deadbolt. Richard's car wasn't in its usual spot and besides, he had class last night.

Someone was in my fucking house.

Already late, I ran downstairs and hollered toward Ned's room: "Ned? You up there?" His whine was comforting. Next, I ran up the stairs to our neighbors' house; they hadn't seen anything.

Blunt and I decided to try jimmying one of the windows, but as we came back down the stairs I saw the door open.

Richard was home. His ringer was off (so he didn't hear my frantic calls or his wake-up-and-go-to-school alarm) and it took the dog's persistant whining to wake him.

I spent the rest of the night drinking beer (Marti gave me one), trying to calm down, and watching Richard play Fallout 3.

Things My Body Knows

I made a list of things to do this evening to keep me on track. The downer? I forgot to add "dinner" to the list. Without it, I'm still moving at a break-neck pace until 9:45pm, at which point I still have to shower, wind down, and get ready for bed.

Richard and I are going to have a "team meeting" this weekend to examine our work loads and (hopefully) renegotiate who does what. My biggest concern is whether he can get organized enough to remember to do the things he already does, let alone any new things we add to his list. (Richard isn't good at everything? That's crazy talk!)

I've been feeling knotted up for the past couple of days, and it hasn't been about the election. If I listen closely, I can hear my body whispering to itself: "Prepare to be overstressed. It's coming, and it's coming fast. This is not a drill. I repeat: this is not a drill."

Sometimes my body intuits things that my brain can't. (Other times it freaks out for nothing.)

Thank you, America.

Our Next President

I'm so proud of my country.

Important Things

It felt good to take Cass shopping last night. We found a well-fitting cardigan and lace tank, so she bought different colors of each. (We also avoided buying the things she liked that fit her poorly, mostly in the chest area.) It seems that my "shopping niche" is to steer people away from their obsessions - for Cass it's jackets and sweatshirts - and toward what they actually need.

It made me feel good to be so helpful, especially after accidently double-booking our scheduled hang-out day (today), which I do entirely too often.

It's election day today. I'm a little nervous, which is not something I expected. From the moment he threw his hat in the ring, I've been saying that he'll go all the way - even placing bets on it - and so far, I've had the opportunity to gloat at each victory. It was an easy way to lighten the dark mood that has come over the country in recent months, but now that mood is like a storm, swirling around us all and giving me chills.

The Dead

Though it wasn't as focused as I would have liked it to be, my Day of the Dead party went well. Next year I'll find more ways to make people comfortable with talking about their dead instead of the delicious guacamole.

Also: Sarah made me feel beautiful.







"The Dance of the Dead" - I think it's fitting. All three photos link to her blog.