not always

Unraveling the abyss -
that mad churn leeching behind me,
screeching bells in my ears -
your hand out, ahead;
I focus on you, clasp you -
Please don't let me go.

In your grip, cloaked,
I can look back, safe,
and see the horror you saw;
it was home
for so long.

But not always.

Not always.

organic equality

My relationship with Archer has reached clarification, mostly organically, over this past weekend. It's funny how sometimes things just happen at exactly the right time, especially when we know those things couldn't have possibly happened if we had planned them.

Maybe it's obvious, but I love Archer more deeply and wholly than I have words to describe. In my mind, knowing that to be fact made it obvious that my relationship with him is, hierarchically, what the polyamory world would describe as my primary relationship. Of course it wasn't obvious to anybody else, including Archer, because I hadn't said anything about it. I hadn't even articulated that to myself. In hindsight, I know that had the situation actually called for a decision, I would have supported Archer before all others. In my thoughts, though, I shied away from making that clear. It was as if my sense of fairness was in overdrive, making the unequal appear equal, to the detriment of both. It's better, and actually  more fair, to allow things to take their natural precedence; my relationship with Fae is not less good by being a lower priority than my relationship with Archer. The difference does not demean either, but calling them the same diminishes both.

patterns

I understand patterns at a level on which I cannot always articulate. There are times when I would have to ignore a level of nuances and details integral to the pattern's functional capacity, in order to put it into words quickly enough to make sense of it. It's as though I have the ability to comprehend things that actually overload my short-term memory; by the time I articulate one aspect, the rest of the pattern is gone, leaving only a vague, sensory recollection that defies my vocabulary.

It's very frustrating.

rope theory

rope & cord... pulled tight with tension...

If the rope disintegrates, the cord must hold by its own strength, creating stress in the cord until eventually the cord must either unravel or snap.... but if both are strong, the work becomes reciprocal, rewarding.

the rope: the people I get involved with, as defined by their loyalty
the cord: me, as defined by my loyalty
the rope and cord together: our relationship

See?

[I'm such  a visual person...]

the Wrestling Fairy and I

What do I want, really?

She's beautiful, my girl. Inside and out. And I love her. Is that enough? I'd like it to be an active love, but it hasn't taken that shape. It has been an underlying current, like an aquifer waiting to be tapped.

And, Archer wants monogamy... which he doesn't seem to see as something which would preclude me having a relationship with Fae (as I will call the Wrestling Fairy). At times I think this is because he doesn't consider my relationship with Fae to be more than friendship, because of its passive nature; at other times, I think perhaps it's just because Fae is a woman, and therefore isn't 'challenging' to Archer's very masculine way of thinking.

Both lines of reasoning bother me to degrees, though I do understand them from his point of view.

The first does make sense - if the relationship is inactive, it appears nonexistent because relationships are (from Archer's perspective) defined by the behaviors of the participating individuals. However, I've always been of the opinion that relationships are defined by the participating individuals; they can choose to define their relationship by behaviors, or not. They can choose to define their relationship by the emotions they share, and then choose their actions based on that emotion. That's the path Fae and I have taken. When we are in close proximity, we behave as any other couple. For now we are far apart in both geography and goals, and I have no desire to influence her life decisions. I do not want that kind of power in her life, no matter how much I wish she were nearer. I only want her company, either physically or spiritually, and I have that. I have her love; I love her. Yes, "girlfriend" is a poor word for our relationship, but what other word is there? It works well enough, as a label, as long as it isn't dissected. What bothers me about Archer's evaluation is that it allows him to define my relationship with Fae in a way that is inconsistent with my feelings for her, and for my relationship with her. I do not know whether it bothers me more that it is inconsistent with my feelings (and could possibly indicate that my feelings are not the defining key to a relationship), or whether it is only that his evaluation seems to wrongly overstep the bounds of what another person does or does not have the right to define. This is where I am, on that.

The second reasoning makes sense only from a biological, primitive 'male mind' perspective, and I don't consider it inherently wrong - after all, our biology got us quite far as a society - but I do consider it, well, unevolved. And, I'm certain that it's not a rationale Archer would use in any logic-based debate. It's a feeling, a biological impulse; and in that light, it's understandable despite its unappealing, tradition-based footing. I think it's wise to acknowledge such feelings and take them into consideration, but not necessarily make decisions based on them. To be clear: I don't consider relative gender to be a valid reason to define a relationship out of existance.

From my point of view... I'm stuck on the first line of reasoning.

I need Fae's perspective.

semi-obligatory holiday rant

I don't care much about most holidays. I care about the ones relevant to my spiritual path, and the few others which pertain or appeal to me.

The wheel of the year is vital, as is Veterans' Day. Valentine's Day is important, maybe because my romantic soul just digs the hell out of an excuse to shower my lover with... love.

Christmas, not so much. For my child, Christmas is the day during the Yule season on which Santa comes. I don't celebrate it, except by spending too much on my child - I think Santa is important for kids. All these other little holidays we "celebrate" by taking the day off work, are unimportant except for the ways they alter my schedule.

*sigh*

Somehow, I end up spending time and energy on holidays I don't care about, and not the ones I do care about.

I can't remember a worse Valentine's than this one. Given my memory, that might not mean much. But it still sucks.

Wish I had a modem right now, so I could tell the world to FUCK OFF.

[/rant]

(@0226h 15 February)

the morning after

Hungry this morning. Haven't been hungry in the two days of tension. Never lost my appetite over a man before. It's like my body has been ok with losing past lovers - life would go on without them, be better even. This time, it wasn't ok.

boundaries

I can't seem to find them. Either I let people walk all over me, or I stand too firmly. Either way, I lose.

I can't help feeling like driving away tonight was the biggest mistake of my life.

my body, my skull

My body has long been my enemy. It has been a less-than-appreciated vessel for my soul, distinct from my Self and not what I would have chosen.

Parts of it are ok. I like being built like a woman, moving like a woman. I like sex as a woman very much. I hate - have always hated - that I have a uterus. If it would just be still and stop with that cycling crap, we would have been fine. The damn thing nearly crippled me when I was twenty-eight. I had to convince a surgeon to scrape its walls out before it would leave me alone. And still, it presses on my spine and makes life uncomfortable. But at least I can function now, and I don't have to fear pregnancy.

Oh yes, I feared pregnancy. Hated the whole concept - spend nine months destroying the parts of my body I liked, just to spend more eighteen years feeding a parasite that would demand all of my time and questionable resources? No thanks. Not my cup of tea. As I got older, I thought about it a bit more charitably. I knew I had no maternal drive, no concept of how to socialize with any children, nevermind raise one. I came to believe children were precious, and should be raised by other people. People who actually wanted that kind of work. People who didn't mind if their body didn't pop back into shape afterward. I was not one of those people.

The day I learned I was pregnant, I began a not-slow descent into clinical depression. The docs called it post-partum depression, when they noticed it. I disagreed, and didn't take the prescription. My dog ate it, all thirty day's worth, less than a week later. I called the doctor's office because I wanted to know if my dog would be ok. They thought I had tried to overdose and wanted more pills. They tried to send me to drug counselling. I stopped going to that doctor.

I tried to play the mother role for my child. I still try. I'm a terrible actor. It's a little easier now that I'm not changing diapers and the primary concerns are psychosocial. Almost nine years in, I'm starting to feel like maybe I can play this role convincingly enough to raise a happy child.

I'm barely even bitter anymore.

To be clear - I have never blamed or harbored any resentment toward my child. I blame myself. I blame my child's father, to a lesser extent. My child deserves better than the two of us.

My body will never be as healthy as it once was, but I suppose I've made my peace with it. I'd like to do better by it.

More, I'm curious about people who feel as though their body is integral to their Self. What does that feel like? Can I get there? Do I want to? It seems wierd.

When I was a child I wanted to be a boy. Menstrual cycles sounded gross and terribly inconvenient, and giving birth sounded like a horror show. Boys got to pee standing up and fight. I wanted to be like Bruce Lee, but my body would never be that capable.

Dancing convinced me that being a woman had perks. I liked being feminine, once my body started to take that shape and I learned to move in ways men could not. Whatever else stripping did to me, it taught me to love the shape of my body. I became downright vain. I made less money than other strippers, because I had more fun. I danced - not many strippers do that because it's not what makes their money. That was the closest I have ever been to feeling at home in my body.

Having my child taught me to throw my vanity away. I wouldn't have survived with it intact.

... Perhaps all this is why skulls interest me on such a strongly emotional level. They seem almost to be the other side of my equation; instead of souls barely inhabiting their body, they are the body souls cling to. The remnants of a soul are almost palpable in a bone, especially a skull. What causes these souls to cling so forcefully to their defunct bodies? Will I do the same?

There is something indescribably precious about these remnants; they give me hope.

words, text and speech

Why can I write, but not speak?

Thoughts are transient; text is lasting.
Especially in my mind, my memory.

I speak better - more clearly, more forthrightly - when my hands and part of my mind is occupied with something unrelated to topic (like playing minesweeper while discussing deeply emotional topics with my mother). I don't know why.

But always, regardless, I write more faithfully to my thoughts than I speak. I don't understand it, though I can pick out events in my which seem related.

I remember when I was ten and I moved from a school in yankee suburbia to a poor urban school. Racially and economically, I was in the minority for the first time in my life, and I had no idea how to conduct myself. I sensed that the way I talked was offensive to the kids I was trying to befriend; they thought I was a snob. So I changed how I spoke. I became cruder, less mannered, and generally quieter. Other kids only talked to me when they needed help with their homework.

Four years later I moved to a school that was rural and poor, though it had a thin layer of wealthy kids riding it out til graduation. That was when I realized people didn't appreciate being corrected. So I changed again. I dumbed down my speech, only bringing my intelligence to the conversation when I was actively trying to hurt or embarrass someone. Predictably, it atrophied - as did my ability to speak intelligently in any context that was not an insult.

But I don't feel these incidences fully explain my inability to express myself now.

So many puzzles... I get the feeling they will all make sense only when I find a way to fit them all together into a single mosaic.