Therapy

As I’ve stated before, this whole getting healthy thing is a lot of damn work.

This month is the month of doctors appointments, also known as the time I have to confront the fact that treating my pain, depression, and anxiety causes pain, depression, and anxiety. The Cymbalta continues to work well, thankfully, and I’m hitting the point where I need to dig in and figure out which pain was caused by depression and what has been caused by physical issues. Today, I started that journey with a visit to a physical therapist to treat the pain I still have in my left leg. I have some exercises to do, and six weeks more of appointments. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a behaviorist, and I am hoping he can give me some insight into my anxiety and why it has been so much worse the past few weeks. I have a theory that, with the depression finally under some semblance of control, the anxiety is now rearing its head. Next week, I see the dentist, which is something I’m borderline phobic about, and then I have to make an appointment for my one-year post op checkup for my eyes. In May, I have to have my well woman checkup, and all the tests for STIs….

It’s important for me to do this, even as it causes panic attacks and a need for blanket nests and days where I hide. I can’t make my mind better without also treating the body. And the years of untreated depression has caused harm to my body, which it is beyond time to begin healing. 

Speaking of healing, I feel almost like I am in a sort of twelve step program, and right now, I’m making amends for people I have hurt or wronged. As I grow stronger and healthier, I realize the damage I have done to relationships, and I have spent so much time apologizing to people. Also, as I am getting stronger, people have felt more comfortable telling me how my depression has affected them. It’s good to hear, to acknowledge, and to make amends for, but it’s hard. Sometimes, I get really tired of saying I’m sorry. 

I knew this would be a hard journey, and I was right. I also hope it’s worth it.

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Sublime

“How are you two getting along?” Mr Awesome will ask of a new partner.

Usually, I will grin.

“We can laugh together… In bed.”

I did the math today, after a conversation about first experiences. I’ve been sexually active since I was 14. That was in 1994, 22 years ago. That was my first time with a man; my first time with a woman was a few years later. I met the man I would marry when I was 17, and so there you go.

And in 22 years of continued experiences, an even split of male and female partners, sex in private rooms, parents’ attics, hot tubs, pools, beds, cars, couches, floors, and once on a public walking trail, the lesson I’ve truly taken to heart is this: find someone with whom you can laugh in bed. Sex can go from the sublime to the ridiculous with one well-timed fart or badly placed elbow. You need someone to laugh it off with. The myriad of emotions that sex brings to the table (bed?) is amazing and leaves a person very vulnerable. Sometimes, it needs to be tender, loving and gentle. Sometimes, it needs to be rough, quick, and bruising. Sometimes it needs to be a bit of Colum A and a little of Colum B. But it always needs to be approached with humor.

Sometimes, the best foreplay is opening up, sharing vulnerabilities and fantasies. Sometimes, it’s teasing and touching and kissing until your body cries out to be fucked.

And sometimes, the best foreplay is a morning spent in bed, making vagina jokes with your lover and laughing until your face and sides hurt. 


bad brain

For clarity, my long distance boyfriend decided he liked the idea of me calling him Ziggy, here. I will update the cast of characters accordingly, when I get around to it. I hope.

Ziggy has ADD. This is helpful, as he is pretty understanding about what it’s like to deal with mental issues and the ins and outs of daily medication. He’s also gifted my life with a phrase that I really love.

Bad brain day. This is, for me, a day when things are off. When the meds aren’t quite cutting it. When the world is a little blue, and everything is a bit muddy and weird.

Today is a bad brain day, and I’m not really sure why.

I feel tired, foggy, grumpy, and a little blue. The tasks on my plate seem too big, too hard, too much.

And I’m ok. The best thing about bad brain days is that they simply are days. I can get through them. I’m at ronger and better than I was. I have tools at my disposal, and friends to help when the tools aren’t enough. Hell, even just writing all this down is helping a lot. 

Why am I sad? I don’t know. My cat died last week. David Bowie and Alan Rickman both died. And old friend of my husband’s is sick with cancer and in the hospital. Work yesterday was really tough. I’m in the middle of an extremely painful cycle this month. The yarn I ordered isn’t here yet. I had to take Ziggy to the airport this morning. I feel my son growing up and growing away from me. I spilled my hot cocoa while I was at new seasons this morning. 

All of these are valid reasons to feel sad, and I know what I really need to do is sit down and sort them. Process them, worth through them. I feel sad because my lap is empty when I sit down to knit. I am frustrated with my coworkers for not being more flexible with the scheduling, which causes long days and weird hours for myself. It was hard to drop Ziggy off at the airport today because he is going to a convention I want to go to, and I always miss him  when he is in a different state. I’m hurting for a old friend who was dealt a shitty hand and just, fuck cancer, all the way around. And I am more emotional because I am hurting physically and the physical pain is big and scary now that it is mostly gone. Because physical pain reminds me too much of the darkest times and I am terrified of those monsters coming back, now that life is finally getting so good.

So, today is a bad brain day. But I’m gonna make it. Because that’s what I do. And I’m gonna turn this around. Life is too precious and sweet to let one bad day ruin the rest. 


update

I’m still here, and I’m still writing. But I haven’t loved anything I’ve come up with recently. But all y’all get worried when I don’t post… Which I appreciate so very much.

I’m doing well. Moving forward. I survived Christmas, and had a fanatic new year. I got to ring it in surrounded by love… Kisses from both the men in my life and a New Year’s Day filled with the laughter and love of my heart family. 

The Cymbalta is, cross my fingers, still working. I’m still excercising and, now that the holidays are over, I’m getting back to eating better again. I took a class at twisted yarn shop in Portland last weekend, and I’m inspired to try some new techniques. Work is gong well and thankful slowing down. I’m happy to be back in the rainy cold season. This weather makes me so happy. 

My marriage is going amazing. The medication allows me to sleep soundly next to my husband almost every night. I’d don’t think that would ever happen… My kids are well and happy and growing. I’ve gotten a lot of close snuggle time with my boyfriend over the last month-ish. 

Life is good. Thanks for reading, and happy new year to you all.

Loves. 


More

One of the most common questions/criticisms I hear about the poly lifestyle has to do with people expressing concerns about my children. It’s second only to the questions about jealousy and time management.

“What about your kids?” people will ask. They frequently whisper this, like it is too taboo a subject to even speak aloud. I often just shrug. It’s a big topic to tackle in the space of what is usually a small conversation.

“Our kids are fine,” I’ll say. “They don’t know much; when you were eight, how much did you know about your parent’s sex lives?”

And that’s the crux of it. Our kids don’t know the ins and outs of it, haha. Our son is almost 13, our daughter will be 8 this weekend. They are far more concerned with Pokemon, social studies homework, and whether Gramma paid them for their chores this week. Our son is best friends with Velah’s son. They are the same age, share the same interests, and are frequently thrown together during social functions. I’m glad the kids can still be friends, and I hope their friendship will flourish. 

So, what about our kids? At almost 13, our son probably knows what happens when I send the kids to bed and take my boyfriend into my room with me. He knows that his dad stays over at Velah’s house. He sees us kiss each other, often, and passionately. He also sees us kiss our other partners. When I was kissing my boyfriend one time when he was visiting this fall, I saw my son looking at us and grinning. He knows this man makes me happy.He also knows that Splatoon is currently on loan from my boyfriend, and that he has another grown-up in his life to talk about pokemon with.

Kids have a very self centered view of their world. And in a healthy poly family, the kids have multiple adults with multiple talents and interests who are there to help them figure out this crazy world. Our group of friends and partners includes multple faiths, backgrounds, careers, and interests. I feel this provides a well-rounded safety net for the kids; if they can’t come to a parent with a question, chances are some adult in their life will have the answer.

It’s better than I had as a kid.

Somewhere, our society has lost the village… We tend to hole up in big houses and wall ourselves off from other people. Feeling like we need to be the only answer for our kids shortchanges them of the richness of experience that a different point of view provides to them. I’m not saying that poly is the answer for everyone; it’s hard work, and a person can do a lot of damage to a family if they do it for the wrong reasons or go into it with an unhealthy mindset. But, I think everyone can learn a little from the idea that more people in someone’s life can be a very good thing.That sitting down with someone of a different faith or from a different part of the country can give you a perspective on your own life that you might not have had. That having a group of caring adults looking put for a group of kids is actually ok… and admitting to ourselves that we aren’t always the best person to answer our kids’ questions or concerns.

When I think of the vast amount of intangibles that our partners and friends have brought to the table for our kids, I can’t think of raising my kids any other way. The poor kids get exponentially more parenting than they would have if we were doing it by ourselves. But they also get exponentially more love and support.

“Our kids are fine with it,” doesn’t even begin to cover all of this. “Our kids are better for it,” sounds smug. Maybe in writing this out, I will have found a better answer.

In the meantime, thank you for reading.


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