Nose bleeds

I spent some time with my sister and close friends this weekend. It was a much needed break from every day life. There was alcohol and cobbler. I felt calm and ready to tackle things. I know that I’m a capable woman.

But then I had a Covid test that caused my nose to bleed for hours and lab work that made me light headed and suddenly my false sense of confidence evaporated. My only real win today was not getting any blood on my shirt and I felt really accomplished.

Sitting in my car, with tissue up my nose and stars behind my eyes, waiting for it to be safe to drive I had the worst self talk in my head.

“This is pathetic. This is going to be too much. The amount of money this is costing is not worth it.”

But reflecting on the last 5 years, I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s just a giant hurdle.

And I’m scared.

Breaking up in a small town

If I explained the why of it, I’m certain there are people who won’t think it’s a big deal. I’m certain there are people who will wonder how I let it drag out for a week.

There are people who would think the other person involved is completely innocent and a victim. Maybe people will think she’s not innocent at all, considering she offered for you to move in with her.

As poly as I am, all I ever ask is for you to be upfront with me. Maybe you think I’m a hypocrite because I don’t tell you everything. But I tell you that I don’t tell you everything and if you wanted to know, you could ask me. I didn’t want to be in a relationship to begin with. So this was what is comfortable to me. Just tell me there’s someone else. Then tell me to mind my own business. But you didn’t.

Things progressed slowly, almost without noticing the changes. Then I’d realize a change happened and I’d check in.

Chance after chance to just tell me that what I’m seeing isn’t really happening.

If you want to be in a relationship with someone else, or you want some casual thing, just let me know what your rules are and I’ll get on board.

But there are people in my life that’s just automatically off limits. I shouldn’t have to explain that to anyone. The excuse that someone doesn’t realize this is unbelievable, honestly.

Once my brain confirmed what my eyes were seeing, I asked for clarification several times.

I felt like I was being gaslit. Or outright lied to.

Even if there’s no lie, even if everything was within our poly relationship, it felt wrong. Off.

So it had to be done. I can’t live in a state of “what is going on, someone please tell me”.

I’m sorry it ended the way it did. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it sooner. I’m angry that I’ll feel like I’m defending myself with our mutual friends for a while. I’m sure eventually everyone will heal.

Trying to preserve a friendship out of the remnants of our failed relationship meant that I slept in another room while you looked for an apartment. I tried. Hopefully we can be friends. But I’m done collecting people so if friendship means that you are in the friend zone always trying for more, I can’t do that.

And I realized something today as I was rearranging my bedroom:

As sad and angry as I am, I’m also okay. That “off” feeling is slowly going away.

Normally writing things out makes me feel better. I always feel more clear headed.

Reading this back, I’m just angry again.

I need more time, I guess.

The consultation


I’m not surprised about anything anymore.

The surgeon gave me the results of my CT mapping. He likes to have several options for blood flow however I only have one good vein that can be transplanted. Now, I only need one but if that vein fails… sigh.

Several things:

I have a couple of smaller veins. And the surgery is still able to be done. So there’s that. But it takes a lot of time, if he has to search for viable veins. That extends the time I’m under general anesthesia. So an already lengthy surgery becomes even longer. My “under” goes from 8 hours to possibly 12. That’s a very long time to depend on a machine to breathe for me.

If he can’t get a viable vein then the surgery pivots from a DIEP Flap to a TRAM flap. Instead of using the vein from my tissue, they will remove the bottom layer of abdominal muscle, probably insert a mesh into the abdomen, and transplant the abdominal wall muscle to be used as a breast form. The recovery time from a DIEP to a TRAM is double, with an increase in pain and discomfort. Along with the added complication of no longer having the bottom abdominal muscles.

He also said that we may come off of this surgery with nothing, and have to do implants anyways. But he’s giving worse case scenarios.

Then three months after I heal from this surgery, I’ll have the other breast done. Woot. But it’s just a lift and not near as complicated.

It reads much worse than it is. I’ll have this surgery or that surgery, game time decision, really. I’m used to being in this place. I’ve been here a time or two.

I’ll be in ICU for 4 days, have three drains and a bunch of pain meds…. but if I don’t try this surgery, I’ll always be resentful and powerless over things that were stolen from me.

So I’m going to roll the dice.

The guide for life or some snazzy title

I’ve never been in this situation before and I’m muddling through it as best as I can. I’m not talking and not telling.

My side vs his side. His intention vs my experience. I’m not gossiping or running away. Much as I’d like to…

Except here. This is my place to vent and feel sorry for myself and process. I get to be angry here. I get to be sad here.

I haven’t made social media posts or sent a bunch of messages to my friends. I called Summer.

But then Summer’s father died suddenly.

Now? Looking through that lens, is what I have to say, the roller coaster of emotion really that important to anyone else but me?


Summer’s father died. Nothing else really matters right now.

Except here.

Breaking up with someone who still lives in your house, sleeping on the couch during the day, avoiding each other at night, watching TV together except I’m not watching TV. I’m replaying what happened in my head.

Over and over. Over and over. Over and over.

I don’t know how to do this and everything else, too. There isn’t a “Your mother is ill and you need to check on her because you love her but also her fucking husband is literally the worst also call your father because he’s not taking his meds correctly and you know he’s mean and snappy but he’s got a heart cath coming up and if he doesn’t take his meds he will get blood clots also your kids need help navigating life because their dad checked out years ago and you are the main source of emotional and financial support and do not fuck this up any worse than you already have you fucking fuck also walk on egg shells because the really great guy you slowly went from just friends to partners with is not someone you can trust apparently and it just fucking hit from out of the blue but he still lives here because living in his car is not an option and you aren’t a shit person and please stop thinking about dying so much because the surgery is going to be fine because this is what you’ve wanted and don’t think too much about not having a job right now also you should really drink more water” guide to life.

Is there?

Because I’d read that guide cover to cover if it gave me answers.

Instead I’m here. Sleeping on the couch.

With too many forks and not enough spoons.

Wow, I was right. This is a pathetic, feeling sorry for myself shit post.

Ehh. The next post will be a “I have solutions and I feel better” post.


Setting my toes on the cold floor, feeling the different textures as I walk

Cold wood, cold tile, cold stone, cold laminate

Picking up little dust particles

Holding my breath, waiting for the heater to click on

Looking out my kitchen window at the house behind mine

She died He didn’t

Holding my coffee cup, listening to the cat yell at me for food

The cold seeps into my skin, crawling up my legs

The warmth from my fingertips are no match for the chill from my toes

I’m stuck

In limbo


Waiting on things

Waiting things out

I’m certain he will be fine without me

Cold feet

I cried in the shower the other day. No real reason for the tears. I sat in the shower and right in the middle of conditioning, I just started to violently cry. The strange thing is that I wasn’t thinking anything at all. The last time I remember a sudden onslaught of violent tears scares me.

I’m going to be completely honest here. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew. When I had the mastectomy, I didn’t have time to think or dwell. I knew the pain ball was almost empty and I took medication to ease into how my body felt. I remember once the pain ball stopped working and the meds wore off, it would hurt.

I had no idea. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. Stripping the line was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. To say I wasn’t prepared is an understatement.

I remember being 12 and I had reconstruction (hey it’s a theme) and I had stitches and dermabrasion in multiple places. That was the worst pain. Until I cracked my ankle in half. After that I was able to climb on top of constant pain rather quickly and intense pain was something I endured because that type of pain never lasts. I learned quickly. There are people I could whine to and complain with, and people I needed to be strong for.

There have been very few times where pain has made me panic. I’m grateful to the people in my life that have ever held me or comforted me during these times.

But now? This is a whole different situation.

I’m not afraid of physical pain. I’m afraid that what I’m putting myself through on purpose and the after effects of it are going to place a huge burden on my family.

Also…. I’m afraid of the pain. Probably. I know I’ve contradicted myself. Everything is jumbled up and I’m slowly filling myself up with anxiety.

I’m not going to back out. But I have a touch of cold feet.

Fucking boobs.

Fucking cancer.


I wasn’t looking when I happened upon your couch after one too many sips of wine. There you were, charming and charismatic. “I like you. You are welcome back any time” slowly, ever so carefully evolved into “I can’t wait to see you.” I don’t trust easily but I’ll admit this attention was intoxicating.

I knew your wife from afar and our relationship was superficial. I was intimidated by her. Looking back, that sounds silly. But eventually bonds grew. I spoke with my sister about being cautious about this particular entanglement. She warned me. I should have listened.

I stepped lightly attempting to deal with everyone. Navigating dynamics that aren’t mine with no clear rules to follow was mentally draining. But I felt like the extra things were worth it. There was this beautiful picture of a kinky family I was being welcomed into. We played with fire and staples, whips and cages. I felt accepted. Getting to know you as a person was lovely and unexpected. Intimate, quiet moments on the couch listening to you, exploring a thrift store for treasures. I honestly thought you cared about me as a person, not as just something to hit.

I remember you bringing me into your bedroom and closing the door, setting me on the bed and having the serious discussion of what this meant to you and I. Deciding how we would define this and each other. I felt seen and protected.

But I wasn’t. I got comfortable, too comfortable. Week after week, month after month, you pulled and pushed. I don’t think you’ll ever understand what it took for me to feel safe.

Getting yelled at for something that wasn’t my fault by your wife was an eye opener though. I started to see cracks in your marriage, cracks in her dynamics and when I really looked at her and saw her, I knew our relationship wouldn’t last.

Everyone knows. Her secrets aren’t as hidden as you think.

This beautiful kinky family was actually a tangled web of toxicity.

Looking back I started pulling away when you spoke so callously about my breast. It was spoken so flippantly that I was shocked. But hearing inner thoughts about my breasts or lack there of tumble out of your mouth was heartbreaking. I tried very hard to see you as human and flawed and I don’t think you realize what it took for me to come back to your house after that.

I saw you in March. Playing in cages and bringing you a glass of wine was wonderful. I knew this wouldn’t last but I was surprised at how swiftly things would change after March. I still don’t have a reason. Only a timeline.

We would go days without talking. I’d tell you that I missed coming over. I missed direction and cages. There was never any effort to compromise. There was never a suggestion to meet at the park. 6 feet apart. Eventually it felt like I texted you and was a burden, an afterthought.

In May you surprised me by initiating a conversation about directives. But the directives were all sex based because you were horny and nothing ever materialized. I felt used.

There was never a conversation about how to handle our relationship during COVID-19. I just wasn’t allowed to come over and nothing was adjusted.

Then you had a yard sale. Strangers were within arms length of you and yet, you wouldn’t let me come over. I sent an angry text.

I assumed we’d argue and come to a resolution but instead there was nothing. Almost a month until I said Happy Father’s Day. Then another month. “You okay?” An occasional text from me checking in.

“Happy Birthday”

“Thank you.”

Then out of the blue I see you are selling your toys.

There’s been no conversations, no discussions. I messaged asking about your post to sell your toys and that’s when you inform me you are getting out of the lifestyle.

Just like that.

A few more texts of me checking in and your responding. A picture here and there. But never you checking on me.

I said “I really wish things were different, ya know?”

You said “I know. Me, too”

No suggestion for coffee, no follow up question asking if I’m okay.

I’m certain you have a different perspective, a different story to tell of an excited kitten wanting staples and whips.

But I don’t play with just anyone. It’s takes a lot for me to let down walls and be vulnerable.

Now? I feel abandoned. Discarded.

I thought I was valuable enough to at the very least have a conversation with. Like you did before when you were eager to spank my ass.

The damage in your and your wife’s wake is breathtaking, impressive even. I should have known better. I chose wrong.


But I don’t regret any of it. It’s taught me a lesson and reaffirmed that I can trust myself.

I’m healing now.

I hope after this purge of anger, that I can look at you and your wife as a season in my life.

And I can’t wait for Spring.

Selfish Bitch Boobs

I’m slowly going crazy.

I loved my job. I had finally found something I loved, I knew how to do, and I was really good at!!!

But the company I worked for was horrible and unsafe. I have so many doubts attached to if I should have quit or not. But then I decided I’d take a road trip and regroup. During this regrouping I hit my five year mark and was given the all clear. It would be the perfect time for reconstruction. It seemed like quitting was the right thing to do.

I set up so many appointments and really thought my reconstruction would be scheduled for November. I’d be back to work by January was the plan.

When has my life ever worked out according to the plan?

But now the doubts are creeping in. I’m depressed, I’m horribly unmotivated. I’m tired all the time. I keep thinking that I should have just stayed at work.

The recovery time is long. And then there’s a whole other surgery to “match” the remaining breast to the reconstructed breast.

I’m putting my entire family in the position of having to take care of me. They didn’t ask for this to be placed on them.

I’m selfish. Right?

I’ve been told I’m a hard to be with, hard to love, selfish, narcissistic bitch.

It’s not just boobs, so why does it feel like I’m defending myself?

Pints of blood and resentment

My mother has been ill for quite some time and I’ve written about it here before. She’s doing okay. She’s got a routine down and only has very bad days occasionally. Mostly her days are okay. Occasionally she has a good day. There’s been an increase in meds and having to strike a balance between feedings, meds, and breathing treatments. It’s very much a trial and error. I am in awe of her strength and resilience. When I offer to help, she always declines. Sometimes I just go hang out at her house and drink coffee waiting for her to tell me something to do.

I’m not close to my father. I’ve never been close to him although we’ve both tried to bridge these gaps several times. I put in effort to get to know him but it didn’t yield any results beyond a superficial “how is everyone? Good. Call me if you need anything. I love you.”

Recently my father has been ill. I’m his least liked kid, but the one with the most availability so I’ve been tasked with making sure he’s on the mend. This has included an extensive hospital stay, 10 pints of blood, breathing treatments, and countless text messages to the rest of the family.

The problem I have with this:

Wait wait… let me just say I’m allowed to express myself on my own blog. I’m mostly a good person…. except sometimes.

Anyways… the problem I have with this is that he’s NEVER wrong. He’s a charming and effortless liar. So when I ask him if he’s taken his meds, the lie comes quickly. When I suggest a particular plan of action, he’s argumentative and dismissive. In the last couple of weeks I’ve stated “I’m done” so many times, it’s laughable.

I had a conversation with my sister expressing my frustration. We both vented. It was nice to be understood and heard. But then our conversation turned toward the past and how we were raised. I’d not wish my childhood on anyone and it was painful learning that she and I shared similar fates when it came to our father. We both agreed that we were done.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could wash my hands of things and people that are hurtful? I’m sure every therapist would tell me that’s healthy.

But then I think, it’s what? A few hours here and there to make sure he’s on the mend?

Remember where I said I was mostly a good person?

That other part is resentful as hell.