I'm going to open by saying I freaking love sex. I really do. It's great fun. I like it clean, or dirty and messy. I like it savage, I like it playful. I like it any which way but loose. [Ha... hahahaha... oh god. I'm hilarious.] I have a voracious appetite for it. Here's the thing: I practice sexual abstinence. Which is to say - I don't put out. At all. People have strange and varied reactions when I tell them this. It is apparently so shocking and unbelievable to them, that the general consensus seems to be that I'm bullshitting them and that what I really mean to say is "I will fuck anything that moves". As of the time of writing, I've been sexually inactive for just shy of three months. I haven't masturbated for about six weeks. I'll give you a moment to get over your shock and confusion.
The other main reaction, once the disbelief has faded, is curiosity. Why would you not want to have sex? The thing is, I do want to. I just choose not to. I suppose in such a highly sexualised world where even children's clothing has a pretty big raunch factor that to be so content to not get my shag on would be baffling to most people. I'm finding I'm copping an equal amount of shit for my abstinence as I am for my foray into veganism. Why the divide, people? Can any of you provide answers on this? Why is it so inconceivable that someone could actually be happy without sex? I understand why people are surprised that I don't get down and dirty on a regular basis considering my liberal use of smutty comments and humour, and my wicked tendency towards flirtation; but I don't get why it's such a big deal.
My intent is to continue this way until at least my 28th birthday (late September '12); unless I meet someone I absolutely cannot resist, in which case I'm going to dive in head first. [I'm going to leave the innuendo to you, dear reader.] I can't make a plan without taking into account the bizarre and tricky things the universe likes to get up to. Like throwing a wonderful man (or woman) your way when you're actively avoiding any form of romantic and/or physical connection with your preferred gender. I haven't set myself any strict rules or boundaries. I am in a perpetual state of evolution, and I have made allowances for that fact. I am different every day. The great thing about being an independent and unattached adult is that I can do what (who...) I please. Or in this case, not do what (who...) I please.
Of course, none of that touches on my reasons for my choice(s). I guess there are a few factors to consider, and I'm sure there are more that I haven't realised yet. That being said, I must confess my biggest reason for keeping my legs shut - authenticity. At this point in my life any raunchy romps would be insincere, an absolute sham. While I have some incredibly sexy friends, I can no longer bring myself to have sex just because it's expected of me, or because I can't find a "good enough" reason to reject advances. Don't get me wrong, there are a few people I know who I'd just about sell my soul for a tumble with... but I refuse to be just another notch on someone's belt. I am special. I am wonderful, divine and incredible - and I deserve to be with someone who thinks so too. It's not that I'm sexually uptight; quite the opposite really. I just know, now, that I deserve to be loved for all of who and what I am, not just temporarily adored for what my body can do. Besides, I've done the fuck-buddy thing before and it just doesn't work for me. I don't want to be a part of something in which I have to hold myself back. That reeks of betraying my authenticity, and therefore myself.
Make no mistake - the path I've chosen isn't always easy. Sometimes all I want to do is grab the nearest phallic object and go for gold. (Just wait. My housemate will read this and then she'll hide all the wang-shaped items. *laugh*) Most of the time I'm bored and indifferent, but every so often I just... start to lose my mind a little and want to hump ALL THE THINGS. It really fucking sucks sometimes. There are some things I miss more than others. At the risk of sounding like a cheesy cliche, I miss snuggling. I especially miss kissing. It's such a splendid thing to do. On the bright side, I bet I get more of a thrill from the bus seat vibrations than you do. *smirk*
Saturday 26 November 2011
Wednesday 16 November 2011
Shadow boxing.
I wonder if I'll ever stop being angry at my mother.
Twice today I've been triggered into a maelstrom of anger and pain by something posted on Facebook by a much-loved friend. The first was something said in jest at the shenanigans of me and a mutal friend being cheeky little trolls, and the second was a post wondering at the thoughts of those who smack their children towards those who don't. (The latter of which wasn't intended specifically for my attention; it was just something random that had caught her curiosity.) My response completely blind-sided me, to the point that I actually gasped at how swiftly and severely the emotional agony tore through me. [Note: I know damn well that my friend didn't set out to cause me hurt, and I hope that anyone reading this understands that my reaction is just that - my reaction. My issues. The cause of my response today happened 20 years before I even knew this friend existed, it has nothing to do with her.] Most of the time I would have barely flinched, but this week... there are big things going on in my mind and heart this week which are leaving me as vulnerable as I was during That Thing That Happened. Unexpectedly experiencing the phrase "I give up with you" that was the swansong of my youth while I'm a mere three days away from returning perilously close to where my journey began really threw me for a loop. I shrugged it off as an echo of my past, telling myself there's no need to feel berated or full of dread and that I'm just feeling exceptionally fragile due to the move; but I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the banshee ghost of my mother was hovering behind me ready to sink her bitch claws into my heart. With the question regarding the appropriateness of using physical discipline on children, there she was.
I'm exhausted. I'm sick of being haunted. Generally (and anyone who knows me would vouch for this) I do brilliantly well at forgetting That Thing That Happened and the ensuing 17 years of punishment for a crime that was not my own. No one would ever know that I came from an extremely disadvantaged background, that I was a ward of the state from the age of 6 until I was 17 because no one wanted me, that I have been through every single abuse you can think of. If statistics are to be believed, I should be a substance-abusing/addicted child-beating scumbag with questionable sexual morals. Instead, I am a [mostly] well-balanced, happy, love-filled explosion of excitement; an exercise in peace and optimism. My defiant nature has allowed me to become the same person I would have been if I'd had a "normal" upbringing. Actually, scratch that, it's allowed me to become more amazing than that. My experiences, despite (perhaps because of) their absolute wretchedness, have given me a perspective of the world that few people have. At 27, just as those around me are becoming jaded, everything is so new and vibrant to me. Most people who grow up without love, don't know how to love, they wouldn't have the slightest clue what it is. I, on the other hand, somehow stored up 26 years of it and am now unleashing it on the world. (May the Almighty Bruce help my next boyfriend... *laugh*)
Sometimes, though... sometimes there's a rumble and an ache that can't be ignored. Sometimes I need to grieve for what could have been: for that little boy who would be 23 now but instead lies in a grave with barely a marker as if he was never here at all, for the brother who is a week shy of his 25th birthday and is that stereotype, for the close-knit sibling relationship we might have had. Most of all, I need to allow myself occasionally to feel the malevolent nigh-hatred that reminders of my mother incites. There is a raw peace to be found among the malice. This woman, by the very act of giving birth, was party to an unspoken vow of protection and nurturing. A vow she took pleasure in actively breaking, to the point where as a direct result of her actions a life was taken. It wasn't just Daniel who died that day. Ben and all that he could have been died, too. Me, I didn't. I got to spend the next almost two decades paying for what she did. Daniel and Ben's father punished me. Our mother punished me. I punished myself. Then, spent, I died. I spun myself an armour-plated tomb, and I gave up.
I didn't even try to escape. It wasn't that I wanted to wallow in misery and self-pity. I was just exhausted. I needed to just... stop. Rest. I got bored, though. I knew there was more to life and I wanted it. Slowly, people started trickling into my life who had such peace and positivity about them that I couldn't help but notice. It was just one person at a time. It started with Isaac. I'll admit that at first I only noticed him because he's gorgeous (the long hair, oh my! *fans self*) and happened to be at the pub where I was deliberately falling into the habits of my maternal legacy. He showed me that there was another world outside alcoholic parenting. Then came Ben, Isaac's friend. Then came India (who wasn't called India at the time, but it feels weird to call her anything else now). Then came an entire community. The trickle became a flood. I have all the nurturing and compassion I could have ever dreamed of. I have all the love I ever imagined having, and then some. For the first time, I am being supported and encouraged, and pushed in challenging yet healthy ways. I didn't have to earn their acceptance, I didn't have to be chameleonic. Not only was my presence in their world welcomed, it was demanded. They wanted me there. I've never been wanted before, I've never really just fit in before. I've never felt at home. I've never had family before.
My life now blows my mind. It's almost hard to believe that it's about to get even more awesome. Funny, this entry started with me in tears, reeling because I was triggered and now I'm grinning like a lunatic. I guess sometimes even I need to look back and see how far I've come.
There's a line from a song by one of my favourite bands that goes "You are the wasted thoughts and the pain in the back of my mind." That's all my mother will ever be, and that is all the space in my world I'm willing to give her. Eventually, there won't even be that. The gap she left when she tore me apart is shrinking every day with barely a scar. Every single nasty thing she did to me and let happen to me, every shitty memory I have because of her, it's all being replaced by something beautiful. One masterpiece at a time.
Twice today I've been triggered into a maelstrom of anger and pain by something posted on Facebook by a much-loved friend. The first was something said in jest at the shenanigans of me and a mutal friend being cheeky little trolls, and the second was a post wondering at the thoughts of those who smack their children towards those who don't. (The latter of which wasn't intended specifically for my attention; it was just something random that had caught her curiosity.) My response completely blind-sided me, to the point that I actually gasped at how swiftly and severely the emotional agony tore through me. [Note: I know damn well that my friend didn't set out to cause me hurt, and I hope that anyone reading this understands that my reaction is just that - my reaction. My issues. The cause of my response today happened 20 years before I even knew this friend existed, it has nothing to do with her.] Most of the time I would have barely flinched, but this week... there are big things going on in my mind and heart this week which are leaving me as vulnerable as I was during That Thing That Happened. Unexpectedly experiencing the phrase "I give up with you" that was the swansong of my youth while I'm a mere three days away from returning perilously close to where my journey began really threw me for a loop. I shrugged it off as an echo of my past, telling myself there's no need to feel berated or full of dread and that I'm just feeling exceptionally fragile due to the move; but I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the banshee ghost of my mother was hovering behind me ready to sink her bitch claws into my heart. With the question regarding the appropriateness of using physical discipline on children, there she was.
I'm exhausted. I'm sick of being haunted. Generally (and anyone who knows me would vouch for this) I do brilliantly well at forgetting That Thing That Happened and the ensuing 17 years of punishment for a crime that was not my own. No one would ever know that I came from an extremely disadvantaged background, that I was a ward of the state from the age of 6 until I was 17 because no one wanted me, that I have been through every single abuse you can think of. If statistics are to be believed, I should be a substance-abusing/addicted child-beating scumbag with questionable sexual morals. Instead, I am a [mostly] well-balanced, happy, love-filled explosion of excitement; an exercise in peace and optimism. My defiant nature has allowed me to become the same person I would have been if I'd had a "normal" upbringing. Actually, scratch that, it's allowed me to become more amazing than that. My experiences, despite (perhaps because of) their absolute wretchedness, have given me a perspective of the world that few people have. At 27, just as those around me are becoming jaded, everything is so new and vibrant to me. Most people who grow up without love, don't know how to love, they wouldn't have the slightest clue what it is. I, on the other hand, somehow stored up 26 years of it and am now unleashing it on the world. (May the Almighty Bruce help my next boyfriend... *laugh*)
Sometimes, though... sometimes there's a rumble and an ache that can't be ignored. Sometimes I need to grieve for what could have been: for that little boy who would be 23 now but instead lies in a grave with barely a marker as if he was never here at all, for the brother who is a week shy of his 25th birthday and is that stereotype, for the close-knit sibling relationship we might have had. Most of all, I need to allow myself occasionally to feel the malevolent nigh-hatred that reminders of my mother incites. There is a raw peace to be found among the malice. This woman, by the very act of giving birth, was party to an unspoken vow of protection and nurturing. A vow she took pleasure in actively breaking, to the point where as a direct result of her actions a life was taken. It wasn't just Daniel who died that day. Ben and all that he could have been died, too. Me, I didn't. I got to spend the next almost two decades paying for what she did. Daniel and Ben's father punished me. Our mother punished me. I punished myself. Then, spent, I died. I spun myself an armour-plated tomb, and I gave up.
I didn't even try to escape. It wasn't that I wanted to wallow in misery and self-pity. I was just exhausted. I needed to just... stop. Rest. I got bored, though. I knew there was more to life and I wanted it. Slowly, people started trickling into my life who had such peace and positivity about them that I couldn't help but notice. It was just one person at a time. It started with Isaac. I'll admit that at first I only noticed him because he's gorgeous (the long hair, oh my! *fans self*) and happened to be at the pub where I was deliberately falling into the habits of my maternal legacy. He showed me that there was another world outside alcoholic parenting. Then came Ben, Isaac's friend. Then came India (who wasn't called India at the time, but it feels weird to call her anything else now). Then came an entire community. The trickle became a flood. I have all the nurturing and compassion I could have ever dreamed of. I have all the love I ever imagined having, and then some. For the first time, I am being supported and encouraged, and pushed in challenging yet healthy ways. I didn't have to earn their acceptance, I didn't have to be chameleonic. Not only was my presence in their world welcomed, it was demanded. They wanted me there. I've never been wanted before, I've never really just fit in before. I've never felt at home. I've never had family before.
My life now blows my mind. It's almost hard to believe that it's about to get even more awesome. Funny, this entry started with me in tears, reeling because I was triggered and now I'm grinning like a lunatic. I guess sometimes even I need to look back and see how far I've come.
There's a line from a song by one of my favourite bands that goes "You are the wasted thoughts and the pain in the back of my mind." That's all my mother will ever be, and that is all the space in my world I'm willing to give her. Eventually, there won't even be that. The gap she left when she tore me apart is shrinking every day with barely a scar. Every single nasty thing she did to me and let happen to me, every shitty memory I have because of her, it's all being replaced by something beautiful. One masterpiece at a time.
Sunday 13 November 2011
My cup runneth over.
Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with gratitude that I feel I might just explode if I don't unleash it on the world. As usual, some will be seemingly trivial, some will be huge, and some just might not make sense. In no particular order (I'm numbering them simply because I like lists and am slightly OCD about amounts *laugh*) I am thankful for:
1. All the beautiful people opening their hearts and lives (and even their homes!) to me and my daughter. A little extra gratitude goes to a certain dreadlocked man for his lack of hesitation in expressing his delight in the concept of sharing a home with us, considering that the offer was as much of a surprise to him as it was to us.
2. My beloved feline companion. (I wonder how he's going to feel about no longer being man of the house?) I love his obnoxious love-demanding headbutts to the face, the way he trill-meows in his sleep, and even the way he occasionally beats up my daughter.
3. The mild (ahahaha like I even do mild) crush I seem to be developing on someone I just met. Crushes are fun. I don't intend to act on these feelings/desires; I'm rather fond of my role as secret admirer.
4. The inspiration and encouragement to return to my roots as a Buddhist. (Zen Buddhist, eh? *wink*)
5. The diversity of skills among the people flooding into my world, and their enthusiasm for sharing/teaching said skills. I'm going to learn how to do ALL THE THINGS.
6. Silliness and shenanigans. Including but not limited to - Drunken shenanigans on the beach in which I pee in public for the first time ever, lose my shoes (thankfully they were just a pair of $10 thongs), fall off a bbq, and roll around in a taxi van. I'm all class.
7. My growing readiness to accept gifts and/or offers of assistance with grace and no self-loathing, and to love without hesitation.
8. The fortnightly opportunity to lose myself in the primal glory of drumming and fire, and the incredible heady energy that intoxicates and enthralls.
9. Crumpet and the Crumpettes.
10. My defiant nature. I don't shy away from daunting tasks (for long, anyway). I have a tendency to think "I can't do that" and I take great pleasure in proving myself (and the echo of the woman who served as an incubator for baby me) wrong. The latest challenge I've taken up? Learning to cook purely vegan dinners for 4-5 people, one of whom has issues eating legumes. WHAT?! NO LENTILS?! Shiiiiiit. *laugh* I can cook, and I love to do so, but I've never done 100% vegan for 100% of the time* and I've not cooked for more than three people since I was married. It's going to be so much fun!
* It's really just dinner five nights a week, but those five meals will be strictly vegan. No slipping into vegetarianism etc.
In summary, my life is swiftly shifting into the crazy and spectacular force of nature I always felt it is meant to be. Every time I think "Oh man, this is so great! I couldn't possibly be happier!" the universe seems to take that as a challenge and throws more bliss my way. I once said to a friend as encouragement during a tough time she was going through - "You've got to shovel some shit before you can grow roses", and you know what? I think I was right. I've shovelled more shit than you can possibly imagine, and now I'm blooming. *smile*
1. All the beautiful people opening their hearts and lives (and even their homes!) to me and my daughter. A little extra gratitude goes to a certain dreadlocked man for his lack of hesitation in expressing his delight in the concept of sharing a home with us, considering that the offer was as much of a surprise to him as it was to us.
2. My beloved feline companion. (I wonder how he's going to feel about no longer being man of the house?) I love his obnoxious love-demanding headbutts to the face, the way he trill-meows in his sleep, and even the way he occasionally beats up my daughter.
3. The mild (ahahaha like I even do mild) crush I seem to be developing on someone I just met. Crushes are fun. I don't intend to act on these feelings/desires; I'm rather fond of my role as secret admirer.
4. The inspiration and encouragement to return to my roots as a Buddhist. (Zen Buddhist, eh? *wink*)
5. The diversity of skills among the people flooding into my world, and their enthusiasm for sharing/teaching said skills. I'm going to learn how to do ALL THE THINGS.
6. Silliness and shenanigans. Including but not limited to - Drunken shenanigans on the beach in which I pee in public for the first time ever, lose my shoes (thankfully they were just a pair of $10 thongs), fall off a bbq, and roll around in a taxi van. I'm all class.
7. My growing readiness to accept gifts and/or offers of assistance with grace and no self-loathing, and to love without hesitation.
8. The fortnightly opportunity to lose myself in the primal glory of drumming and fire, and the incredible heady energy that intoxicates and enthralls.
9. Crumpet and the Crumpettes.
10. My defiant nature. I don't shy away from daunting tasks (for long, anyway). I have a tendency to think "I can't do that" and I take great pleasure in proving myself (and the echo of the woman who served as an incubator for baby me) wrong. The latest challenge I've taken up? Learning to cook purely vegan dinners for 4-5 people, one of whom has issues eating legumes. WHAT?! NO LENTILS?! Shiiiiiit. *laugh* I can cook, and I love to do so, but I've never done 100% vegan for 100% of the time* and I've not cooked for more than three people since I was married. It's going to be so much fun!
* It's really just dinner five nights a week, but those five meals will be strictly vegan. No slipping into vegetarianism etc.
In summary, my life is swiftly shifting into the crazy and spectacular force of nature I always felt it is meant to be. Every time I think "Oh man, this is so great! I couldn't possibly be happier!" the universe seems to take that as a challenge and throws more bliss my way. I once said to a friend as encouragement during a tough time she was going through - "You've got to shovel some shit before you can grow roses", and you know what? I think I was right. I've shovelled more shit than you can possibly imagine, and now I'm blooming. *smile*
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