Waiting to let you go

This is for you.

Thank you.

I’ve been waiting, watching, and wondering. Did we do the right thing? Could it have happened differently? I think it happened exactly the way it should have.

You’re right. You are a great catch. That was never in doubt. You are kind and soft and beautiful.

I check in because I care. How are you, your son, your mother? You know me, I need to make sure you are okay. I don’t know what I could do if you weren’t okay… but I’d try. Is that dangerous?

Chemistry and connection, pancakes and cuddles. Yes, I remember.

But I’m not relationship girl. I’m not submissive. I’m self destructive, self sabotaging. You wanted a wife-type person. Oh I’m the worst wife/girlfriend, honestly. I can pretend, I can play house for a while. But more often than not, I just suck at long term relationships. I can’t go all in. That isn’t fair to you.

The last time we saw each other, I knew it would be the last. …. can I just say it’s been a rough six months?

I don’t know what happens next. I’ve never said goodbye before.

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White knuckles and blue toes

I have gone so long, the longest I’ve ever been.

I hardly ever think about who I used to be.

I stood outside on the back porch watching the bugs crowd around the light.

Those dumb mother fuckers. But if I turn the light off they go away. Do they find other lights?

I think maybe I’ll shave my legs and find a dress that will fit my ever expanding body. What if I don’t refill my meds?

In the grocery store they have plant based milk. Am I doing this again?

Listening to the dogs bark, I paint my toes and squeeze my fat thighs together.

Will anyone notice if I buy a pacifier? Do I care?

What if I give in? What then? It’s never that simple and I’ve come this far.

Is this how Boo felt?

When you stab someone with a sword and then everyone takes sides but me, what side am I on?

Sitting in a cage feels like home. Sitting at home feels like a cage.

I bought the perfect red lipstick and drew on my nipple with it. Then I colored in my favorite book.

Breathing from my feet. Holding my eyes closed with the palms of my hands and I smear my mascara.

I’m happy all by myself. I’m sad all by myself.

I want to count the orgasms like rain drops. Instead I slide chocolate into my mouth and lick my fingers.

Have you ever wondered what standing in one place, waiting for a sign feels like? Do other people have these experiences standing on the back porch watching bugs kill themselves?

Waiting on tomorrow

When you ache and itch.

When the throb becomes pain.

Twisting and turning.

Trying to find the spot where it doesn’t hurt.

Holding your breath. Pressing the desperate places.

Remembering the moments when you didn’t drip with angry need.

Going backwards isn’t an option.

Going forward with the ache deep in your soul.

Wondering if you could dig a knife in far enough to carve out the dark spots.

Waiting.

Zipping up your jeans two sizes too small. Pulling on your shoes.

The front door shuts behind you. You can’t feel your feet and the knife sits in your brain, twirling.

Maybe tomorrow.

I know what I’m about, Son.

A long time ago when I was a different woman I needed someone to take care of me, even if the taking care part wasn’t particularly efficient. I had no faith in myself and would panic when left to figure things out on my own. But I was also stubborn and instead of guidance, I was given the line “I’m just going to let you butt with your own head”. I was expected to fail at whatever I was doing, and more often than not, I did.

As I slowly morphed into this woman I attempted to give my reigns over to someone else here and there or seek counseling from a trusted source. But I’ve had that stubborn streak or untrusting bit of myself always waiting. Eventually I trusted myself enough to not have the urge to hand my reigns over to anyone.

I know I should go to the gym, drink water, and pay my bills. I know my children better than anyone and dont need the obvious “Dont you think Youngest should clean her room?” pointed out to me. I can change my own lightbulbs. Or I can sit in the dark.

Now when I “butt with my own head” I take responsibility for my own actions.

Deep breath

So I don’t identify as submissive. If a man attempted to tell me what I already know, I’d laugh in his face. Keep your mouth shut. Stay in your lane. I know what I’m about, son. I like my messy life just the way it is, else I’d change it.

So the other night The Chocolate Man was in my kitchen with his flashlight peering into my fridge. I said “Hey, if you want to track down a light bulb for that fridge, feel free. I’ve purchased about 7 different bulbs and none of them fit.”

I sat stunned at myself for a moment.

I was cuddling on the couch with The Daddyman and he asked me what I want out of this. I’m resourceful and responsible. I trust myself. I love myself. I don’t need anything. I want fun and easy. I want no pressure. I want just hang out without definitions.

Again after I said these things, I sat stunned at myself.

Let’s not get things twisted. I’m a mess. The difference between now and then is then I used to crave acceptance and help to be less of a mess.

Now?

Fuck it.

Melting into my breath.

When it gets really quiet, I lay in bed watching the candle flicker until I reach over and smother the flame. I breathe deeply and sink into my mattress. I should relax and drift off to sleep. But first my brain has to tell me about the things I’m missing. I breathe and remind myself that I’m enough.

I dont need dark things anymore. I have so much light, an abundance of light. I have sabotaged any healthy forward motion I’ve ever created. Well, I’m not going to take all the blame.

It doesn’t really matter who is to blame when it all leads back to me laying in the bed, trying to be mindful of my breathing.

I guess in ways that meth and mania aren’t good for a person but sometimes touching the fire is worth getting burned, its like that in my head when I can’t sleep at night.

Sometimes monsters are under my bed.

Skin

I like skin.

Let me rephrase. Explain. Attempt to not sound like a serial killer. ….

When I have a connection with someone, I want you to touch me. But don’t just reach out and touch my shoulder. Find my skin. Sneak your fingertips under my sleeve. Touch my wrist, scratch your nail across my neck. Find that spot of skin that makes me stop and lean into you. And if you are thinking anything sexual then we don’t understand each other. I’m speaking of a human physical connection that comes only after an energy exchange happens. Something inside me needs something inside you to connect to.

This morning my daughter laid her head on my chest where my breast used to be. My fingertips touched the shell of her ear. She snuggled her face in my neck and I ran my hand along the back of her arm until she fell asleep.

Touch is just something I need and I refuse to spend time with people that I don’t want to hug and touch and hold me.

Having had a partner that doesn’t require touch and actively avoids it, and a partner that needed my skin as much as I needed his I recognize exactly the kind of partner I need.

Having a friend that tenses up and a friend that melts when we hug, I recognize exactly the type of person I want to spend time with.

This is where Amber, Summer, Amanda, Pete, Rhonda, Terry, and Brian shine. This is when each of my children know exactly when to grab a blanket and cuddle. That sweet spot. Melting into someone and giving what you have, accepting what is offered. Chin touches me without thought. Alisha hugs me with joy. Geo holds my hand while we talk.

Sometimes it’s very much on purpose. Other times, it’s an organic subconscious moment.

Recently I’ve thought about my abundance of skin and how I used to hate when someone would touch my belly or my old scars. I remember years ago when Amber touched my skin and I was so afraid of what she thought, and a few weeks ago when we stood together touching and she remarked that our bellies were touching and I didnt even notice. H and I were just talking about how wonderful it feels to finally be able to melt into someone…..

I’m so grateful I’ve surrounded myself and surrendered myself to people that need my skin as much as I need theirs.

I love the skin that touches me, the skin I touch.

I love the place I’m in where skin heals me.

Finding the places I fit…

I was holding my breath, waiting for something. I’d go to work and come home. I wasn’t lonely or desperate. I have purposely filled my life with people that love me, people I love.

I didn’t seek out a relationship with any zest although I bemoaned the lack of intimacy to my friends. My daughter said “Date a girl. Guys suck.” I bounced around that idea until I decided I just didn’t want to date anyone.

Besides, I have Prince. But it’s more than a physical fulfillment that I’m peaceful about.

I made decisions last year to not go backwards. So far, that’s working for me. I feel good. I’m content. I’m happy.

I got a crush that felt fun. We settled into a friendship that is unique and flirty.

I went out to Loda with Alicia. I go sit on Terry’s couch and he listens without judgement and gives me peace and insight. I reconnected with Richard and Amber and went to a Steampunk thing. I spent the night with Summer. I know Dame and Histy are mine. I look at Rhonda and Amanda and see acceptance and parts of myself. Desiree and Heather. Greg and Chris. Michelle. My childhood best friend Dawn, is moving home.

I talk to my brother and my sister and don’t take them for granted.

My children are evolving and finding their way. They are my best friends.

My life is full. I’m happy. Isn’t that a grand declaration? Like…. really for real. Happy.

Enter TheDaddyMan, his tribe, and The Chocolate Man.

Summer and I went to TheDaddyman’s house and he welcomed me as if I belonged. His wife, Audrey welcomed me as if I belonged. Brian, Christian, Katie and Fred all welcomed me as if I belonged. There’s wine and food and rope. There’s long conversations and cuddles on the couch. There’s spankings and connection. It feels like family. He tells me to come back soon because he likes when I’m there. Audrey says please come over more often. I realize I love them. And I smile at how wonderfully unexpected it is.

The Chocolate Man and I have known each other for years. We have stayed in touch sporadically. We will chat for a few days and not speak for months. I took for granted that we’d just be friends forever. But he needed a taste tester and when it comes to chocolate, I’m your girl. Everything unfolded organically until one moment he was my friend and the next he was the person I have to touch. I like being around him. It’s comforting and calm.

I never thought of myself as poly. I think maybe I was just doing poly wrong. But I really like that I can sleep in the bed with Summer and stuff can happen or not. I like that Brian and I cuddle and look at Audrey’s butt together. I like that TheDaddyMan wants to eat me alive. I really like that The Chocolate Man wants to kiss me midsentence and doesn’t mind when I bite him.

What I really, really like is that I fit in all of these places.

Finally.