Progress?

I haven't done my physical exercises in awhile, but my mental exercises are through the roof. I feel a great shift in my thoughts and urges. So let's just hope my body is willing to cooperate.

Never Enough

Whatever I do is never good enough. I'm not trying hard enough, always behind the curve. I'm selling myself short, I'm not growing, my attitude is bad, I'm the reason that bad things happen to me...yada yada.

Well you know what?

You don't get to pass judgement. You, who stands atop of your cushy pedestal. You don't ever have to take your own advice. You can just look down on me, flapping your lips and proving about what you know about the world. But you don't know. Because you don't live in that world. You live in your comfortable, normal world, where you are blind to suffering.

You don't get that right. Nobody does.

I have to work really fucking hard sometimes, just to do a half ass job of living my life. Something you will never understand, you neurologically typical person you. There's no crippling depression, hours sucked into the void of compulsions, bouts of panic and paranoia, hysteria, stomach pain that keeps you on the toilet much longer than you need to because you were nervous about something stupid. Invasive thoughts that keep you from enjoying life, scabs and scars, picking and picking and plucking and bleeding. The tape loop, over and over. The numbness, the anger. The inexplicable things.

I'd like to see you sit in front of a mirror with your legs spread, trying to put a single finger in your own vagina, but failing. Failing at touching your OWN body. How humiliating it is, to be an enemy of yourself. How vulnerable it feels. How disgusting and degrading the assumptions are of my character. How stupid you feel when you fail that simple task. How alone you feel when no one else understands your pain. How scared you feel when you posture that you might be stuck like this forever. Only half useful.

So fuck you dude, just fuck you.

Something that really bothers me

I really don't like it when guys make jokes about not pulling out during sex. It makes me feel immediately uncomfortable, and it happens a lot more than you might think. As a woman that is like the scariest, rapiest remark you could make about something that started off as consensual. I never would consent to sex with a person that I thought would impregnate me, willingly or otherwise.

I don't ever want to be pregnant. Ever. I never want to formulate another human being and push it out into the world. In fact, I've come to the depressing conclusion that if the world ever found itself in some abortion lockdown and I would be forced to deliver a baby, that I would actually off myself first. I don't ever want to be responsible for bringing another human into the world, even if it meant taking myself out.

I know this sounds really extreme, and of course I might not feel the same way if I was in that situation, but currently, that is how I feel. No babies. So obviously, pull out jokes scare the shit out of me. And guys, you never have to deal with a pregnancy scare. But oh! Child support! crazy lady hormones! Crying Babies! Yep...not the same. 

My body is mine and mine only. And I hate having to feel like a killjoy for being offended by what was supposed to be a lighthearted remark. But it's not for me, that is a loaded gun right there. 

Shut Up

No, you don't get to say what's right and what's wrong.

You don't get to say how I feel. 

Because you don't have that kind of control over me, you lost that. And now for some reason you think you can pop back in my life to nitpick again. What are you trying to accomplish here really? Why must you repeatedly make assumptions about me and my life?

You have put me in this box, and this box is labeled WRONG. Everything I do always fits in this box. Because it needs to be this way for you. Because if I'm out of this box its challenging you somehow, its getting in the way of your perceptions. It's scaring you. And you don't like to be scared. You want to be tough and right and made of stone. So you must put others down, especially the ones who seem weaker than you. Those who seem complacent and full of love and trust. They lay it all out for you, but you aren't listening. Because you are busy packing their words into the box.

Well, I have news for you. I LIKE the way I am. The regular me. The chemically right me, and the chemically wrong me at times. I like being pessimistic, self denigrating, depraved, cynical. I see the world exactly the way I need to see it. I like that even though I seem set in my ways, I can always take a step back and look at the big picture. I like that I'm easy for most people to talk to, honest and open, not taking myself too seriously, able to laugh at shitty things that happen to me, introspective.

I have many faults, but these are mine and my own to fix as I see fit. And I'm constantly growing and maturing and learning and being in so many ways that you'll just never understand because you are busy just filling your cardboard box of assumptions.

A disorganized rant

I wish that guys understood how stifling and damaging it is to have your entire gender's sexuality be written off. That all mainstream sexuality presentation focuses always on the women, on the women's body, on its appearance and performance. It is always viewed from the men's perspective. There is so much leeway given to the background person, they can look different, act differently, be different than the norm - as long as they have a dick. It puts a lot of pressure on woman, because just to simply exist as a sexual object requires a lot of work. Perfect hair, makeup, boobs, labia, smooth hairless skin, stretchy vagina, perfect voice and perfect orgasms. And on top of that, we aren't actually supposed to like sex. Unless its sexily forced upon us. In which case its okay to like it, because of some secret desire to be dominated.

I consider myself to have pretty mild sexual tastes. I crave neither domination nor submission. I like a man to go down on me, I return the favor. I like things to be slow and gentle, I like there to be a lot of skin to skin contact. I like it when I man makes noise. I like body hair. I like having body hair.

And yet, finding media with these things in it is really hard. Disappointingly so. But by stating my opinion, I am making some sort of ripple in the waters of mainstream sexual doom. I am a woman: I like sex. I like watching people have it. I like jerking off to it, because I like jerking off. I get horny, just like every other sexual human. And you know what? I have frizzy hair, acne, a low manly voice, pubic hair, big uneven labia, a broken vagina and an orgasm that's hidden deep within a temple of doom that even I can't access.

But you know what? I'm plenty sexy, and desirable to others. And it's taken me many years to get to that point. Sexiness is a mindset, not an outfit.

Tics

Sometimes, when you live with a mental illness, you forget you have it. Because your brain is always that way, its really your only standard for normality. Its not like you know any other way to think! So really, the only way you know that your sick is to look at others. (Well not really the only way, but the main way) So sometimes, when you are at home a lot like I am, chilling on the internet, not seeing a lot of normal people, you sort of just stop thinking about it.

Until one day.

Then it dawns on you that something is off. And it's disappointing. Because you thought you were normal. You weren't like those other sufferers, you triumphed. You 'grew out of it' 'sucked it up' 'just stopped' etc. Which is ridiculous really. Its not like anyone would really try to be sick! You just are sick! Believe me, if I could have just sucked it up, I would have done that a long time ago. Probably about eight years ago, when it first dawned on me what was wrong. I would have stopped pulling out all that hair, obsessively shaving, laying on the floor with crippling depression, thinking extreme invasive thoughts that made me feel sick all the time, ruining my relationship. Why the hell would I want that?! Of course I can't help it.

I say all of this because yesterday I realized I acquired a new tic. It's really annoying. It makes me think that my forehead is too stiff so I keep raising my eyebrows to alleviate it. But it doesn't help of course, because its a dumb tic. My neurons are misfiring and telling me I have to do this. And its fucking annoying and it makes my head hurt. God. It makes me think, what have I done to deserve all of this?

I have done nothing, I just am. I am just a glitch in the system. I have come extremely far, even being a glitch, and so have many other people. Because let's face it, how many people aren't glitches in the system? Don't we all have hurdles, things we can't control?

Can you guess what I did last night?

I lost my virginity. You may be wondering, IS my vagina is fixed?! Nope. I can't even get half a finger up there, let alone a dick. Better get a little more creative than that.

It was a good time though.

Is it so much to ask?

For my birthday, all I really wanted was some sexy times. With someone sexy. I wanted to down a couple drinks, look pretty, feel confidant, be flattered, get off. Like a slutty slutty adult would, cause let's face it --  I'm curious. I want to be that slutty adult. Because it feels good, because it just does. I want to know what he feels to be jerked off by an experienced stranger. How good are they? How drunk to they have to be? Will I come? Will it be awkward or scary? Will we talk afterwards? I have no idea, but I'm very curious.

Instead I got chicken nuggets. What a lucky girl I am.

What Ifs

So say I'm suddenly 100% better one day, that all the vaginal woes that have plagued me just disappeared, and I'm having vaginal orgasms and crazy threesomes with hung dudes and all is well and good. What has really changed? Has the basic makeup of who I am changed? Sure I'll be excited about for awhile, I'll probably tell some trusted friends. I might shed some tears of relief. But other than that, the basic core of who I am will be the same.

Or so I'd like to think. At this point in my self discovery, I have a pretty good idea of the type of sex I'd like to have, and it's gonna be good. It won't be forced, it will be slow and gentle and sexy and relaxing. It will be with people I like. Some days it can be harder, some days it can be softer. Sometimes we can experiment with different positions and methods. Sometimes we talk dirty, sometimes we just laugh, sometimes we are just silently breathing. Sometimes will need lube, other times we will be overflowing with natural excitement. And afterwards, we might take a shower, or maybe we will just fall asleep.

And it sounds quite nice. But wait a minute...I'm already having that kind of sex! Confused yet?

The fundamentals are the same, the mechanics are different though.

A Strange Reaction

I had a strange reaction today during my self therapy. I was putting in a finger and I hit the usual burning spot, so I pressed a little harder. And it burned like fuck. Enough so that I actually exclaimed some swear words. But I kept my finger there, waited for my body to accustom, and it did. It was utterly unremarkable to me after that. Except maybe like thirty seconds later I suddenly felt like I was gonna throw up. Like a very urgent need. I actually had to get up and lean over the toilet for a minute before the feeling subsided. My vagina however, was unscathed seconds later. Its funny how that disconnect between mind and body is. Its like I actually offended my body somehow, while my mind for once was actually fine.

I have much to learn.

Butt Plugs, Houseplants and Frozen Mice

An interesting day of errands, I'm excited to get to work.