Life Updates Again

I am thinking about the particulars of self-care. Not fairy lights and lush bath bars, but the immense amount of effort it takes to keep one overly ambitious adult woman ambulatory.

Since I started a lovely, bland, immensely important straight job, which, cards played right, I will do until I exit clutching a pension, life has stopped being an uncertain jumble of hope and turned into a semi obscured singular path, I have time to look at other stuff.

One of them is the knowledge that I will always need to focus on a certain amount of time to keep my shit together.

I feel odd talking about my health, in the least because I am aware that non-normative perversion includes a certain pressure to show it gets better, and that we aren’t all mad. Unfortunately having a health problem is a hobby on its own and I am rather unfortunately derailed into an activity I would much rather not be doing but must do to keep certain baseline function.

But writing this blog, properly, has been an act of self care because it is a big raw candid dump of erotic and neurotic, and I have to admit, a demand that I am worthy of love as I am.

Paraphilias, on the scheme of afflictions, particularly something as pedestrian as BDSM, are not a heavy cross to carry compared to say, being racialized or having a chronic illness, but they do a number on your self-esteem when your options are freakish, objectified or ignored.

My sexuality isn’t going away, it demands at least personal fulfilment, and this blog remains my message-in-a-bottle launching point: here I am, are you there?

Lately I have been feeling particularly unlovely. Not physically, but like my sexuality is a nuisance. It blew up things with Wildcard (although we had other incompatibility issues) and it complicates dating anyone else.

I end up frazzled “here is 7 years of writing, about my fantasies and vulnerability, can you please work with this?” so far has been a bit more fitful and spotty in practice.

Brick, for example, has no idea what to make of 3/4 of it. I think I have a knack for helping other people find themselves in my writing because I have spent my whole life aggressively trying to make myself comprehensible.

But, as I find my feet in a new city, stabilized into sensible bland work, at least I find that once again I can write. So there is that.

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1 Comment

  1. Dear Miss P, to Quote the song by the Walker Brothers, “Take it easy on your self”

    I know it aint easy being kinky, and having feelings and thoughts and aspirations for which Hallmark will never make cards.

    Just remember my friend and fellow traveler, YOU are not alone. I wish you well, and send hopes for a more assured and engaged life to you!

    Reply

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