BlogSpot Entry
Apr. 8th, 2002 10:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookofmirrorsMonday, April 8, 2002 03:01
Well, I thought I had deleted this particular link, since it's a repeat, and having it as part of the blog itself seems to make the outside world unable to access my page. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be gone. So, my plan is to type this whole thing out, then copy it, then try to delete the whole damn thing, and repost what I copied as an edit of the other post. We'll see how that works. I had the damn thing working last week. Scott says I should just trash this one, and sign up again, but I like the web address I've got.
Anyway...
I started this as a sort of online journal, and intended to write in it every day. Obviously, that hasn't happened. Partially 'cause I've been trying to get the problem with having 2 identical posts and not being able to access the page fixed, and partially just 'cause I'm lazy. And, truth be told, I'm no doubt avoiding having to think about things too much. Probably afraid of what I'll see. Mikey was telling me just the other day that he thinks I'm eager to accept the judgement of others, because to reject their judgement would mean that I'd have to really look at myself, and come up with my own judgements. I think that has a lot of merit.
But that's not what I'm going to talk about tonight. Tonight, I'm going to talk about my relationship with my husband.
I can't say enough about how much I love Glenn. He's what I'd given up looking for. I knew from our very first date that I would be less myself if I didn't share the rest of my life with him. Problem is, I didn't realize how truly hard it is to be yourself. First of all, I didn't realize how much of myself was a facade. Since it's a facade, I never felt fully invested in it, so I could just blow it off as not being "me". The trouble with that is, when you're living a facade, you forget what you is. So, you know you're not the facade, but you've forgotten what the facade is hiding. And by the time you figure that out, the facade feels more natural. This is the state I'm in now. Oh, but it gets better. My best friend Rob has a saying - "The best way to fool a mage is with the truth." And the fact is, my facade is nothing more than one of my true facets, just run amuck. (Interesting, now that I notice it, how similar "facade" and "facet" are...)
My facade is sex. I'm a very sexual creature. My words, my gestures, my eyes... all seductive. Men, women, I don't care. I'm not about everyone fucking me. I only want everyone to WANT to fuck me. Every time they lay eyes on me, I want some portion of their conscious or unconscious mind to be thinking about having me. There are VERY few exceptions to this. Even people I would never want to have anything to do with, I still want them to crave me. This is how I get validation. Part of this is undoubtedly 'cause I'm not one of the so-called beautiful people. I'm fat. And I'm not one of those thin chicks who gains 5 pounds and despairs about it. I'm 5'4", 250# - clinically obese. No good excuse for it - I just like to eat, and do it for the wrong reasons, and I do it too often and too much. Society says that's ugly. So, I wanna make sure that I can rise above that. The logic goes like this: I'm fat. Society says fat is ugly. Person X is a member of society, and therefore representative of said society. Person X thinks I'm ugly, since s/he is a member of society. People don't fuck ugly people. So, if person X fucks me (or wants to), then s/he must not think I'm ugly. Therefore, I'm not ugly. If I'm not ugly, I must be all things ugly is not - beautiful, worthwhile, loving, wonderful, ad nauseum. Problem is, I know what I load of twisted shit that is, so I don't really believe it. So, here's the fucked up thing... instead of realizing how fucked up that is, and discarding the whole line of logic, I try to get more people to wanna fuck me.
Enter my husband - a beautiful sexy man who happens to have a nice dick. And, lo and behold, the sonuvabitch doesn't spend every waking minute thinking about fucking me. And the above fucked up logic works both ways - if he doesn't wanna fuck me, and isn't spending every spare moment pining about the next time he can get in my pants, or at least cop a feel, he must therefore think I'm ugly, and I'm therefore not all the things ugly isn't, which, of course, means I'm all the things ugly IS, most of which is unloved and unlovable. So, every time he has the proverbial headache, all I hear is, "I don't really love you." Twisted and sick, but there it is. In the meantime, he has his own issues that make him have a low sex drive. Huge clash, obviously.
So, we go into therapy. We get a really great therapist. My background in college is psychology, with a mental health worker certification, so I know a good therapist when I see one. So, she points out that sex is my escape from pain. Y'know, you'd think I'd have known that. I'm sure on some level I did, but when you hear it from the lips of a professional, and worse yet, you know she's right, it completely changes how you look at it. It also completely changes how your partner looks at it. So now, every time I go off on a sexual tangent, he gets upset. And I know exactly how he feels, because whenever he goes off on a gaming tangent (his escape), I feel the same way. Makes you wanna give all that shit up altogether.
Problem is, remember the fooling the mage with the truth quote? I am, in fact, an extremely sexual person. I love sex. I love sharing that with another person. Orgasm is wonderful and pleasant, but is merely a kickass side effect of that closeness. I have no desire to be a less sexual person. I'm a pagan - I celebrate my sexuality, and I personally think everyone should do the same. So, where to go from here? I do sexual things so automatically, I don't even think about it. I hate boundaries of any kind, and I don't want to spend time second guessing my every motivation.
The fact is, that's exactly what I'm going to have to do. There's nothing wrong with being a sexual creature. There's nothing wrong with being an extremely sexual creature. What's wrong is being an extremely sexual creature for the purpose of being loved. And I'm just going to have to force myself to stop and think about my motivations behind my sexual acts. Am I just having fun, or am I asking for love? That's what I need to pay attention to. And if I can't stop myself before I say something, I can't just figure that since I have an inch, I might as well take a mile. I have to think damage control. And, while Glenn would be more concerned with the tender sensibilities of those around me (himself included), I need to be selfish about this, and think of the disservice I do to myself by not developing my other facets, all of which have lovable qualities.
Now, if only I can keep telling myself that long enough to believe it.
--K'La
Well, I thought I had deleted this particular link, since it's a repeat, and having it as part of the blog itself seems to make the outside world unable to access my page. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be gone. So, my plan is to type this whole thing out, then copy it, then try to delete the whole damn thing, and repost what I copied as an edit of the other post. We'll see how that works. I had the damn thing working last week. Scott says I should just trash this one, and sign up again, but I like the web address I've got.
Anyway...
I started this as a sort of online journal, and intended to write in it every day. Obviously, that hasn't happened. Partially 'cause I've been trying to get the problem with having 2 identical posts and not being able to access the page fixed, and partially just 'cause I'm lazy. And, truth be told, I'm no doubt avoiding having to think about things too much. Probably afraid of what I'll see. Mikey was telling me just the other day that he thinks I'm eager to accept the judgement of others, because to reject their judgement would mean that I'd have to really look at myself, and come up with my own judgements. I think that has a lot of merit.
But that's not what I'm going to talk about tonight. Tonight, I'm going to talk about my relationship with my husband.
I can't say enough about how much I love Glenn. He's what I'd given up looking for. I knew from our very first date that I would be less myself if I didn't share the rest of my life with him. Problem is, I didn't realize how truly hard it is to be yourself. First of all, I didn't realize how much of myself was a facade. Since it's a facade, I never felt fully invested in it, so I could just blow it off as not being "me". The trouble with that is, when you're living a facade, you forget what you is. So, you know you're not the facade, but you've forgotten what the facade is hiding. And by the time you figure that out, the facade feels more natural. This is the state I'm in now. Oh, but it gets better. My best friend Rob has a saying - "The best way to fool a mage is with the truth." And the fact is, my facade is nothing more than one of my true facets, just run amuck. (Interesting, now that I notice it, how similar "facade" and "facet" are...)
My facade is sex. I'm a very sexual creature. My words, my gestures, my eyes... all seductive. Men, women, I don't care. I'm not about everyone fucking me. I only want everyone to WANT to fuck me. Every time they lay eyes on me, I want some portion of their conscious or unconscious mind to be thinking about having me. There are VERY few exceptions to this. Even people I would never want to have anything to do with, I still want them to crave me. This is how I get validation. Part of this is undoubtedly 'cause I'm not one of the so-called beautiful people. I'm fat. And I'm not one of those thin chicks who gains 5 pounds and despairs about it. I'm 5'4", 250# - clinically obese. No good excuse for it - I just like to eat, and do it for the wrong reasons, and I do it too often and too much. Society says that's ugly. So, I wanna make sure that I can rise above that. The logic goes like this: I'm fat. Society says fat is ugly. Person X is a member of society, and therefore representative of said society. Person X thinks I'm ugly, since s/he is a member of society. People don't fuck ugly people. So, if person X fucks me (or wants to), then s/he must not think I'm ugly. Therefore, I'm not ugly. If I'm not ugly, I must be all things ugly is not - beautiful, worthwhile, loving, wonderful, ad nauseum. Problem is, I know what I load of twisted shit that is, so I don't really believe it. So, here's the fucked up thing... instead of realizing how fucked up that is, and discarding the whole line of logic, I try to get more people to wanna fuck me.
Enter my husband - a beautiful sexy man who happens to have a nice dick. And, lo and behold, the sonuvabitch doesn't spend every waking minute thinking about fucking me. And the above fucked up logic works both ways - if he doesn't wanna fuck me, and isn't spending every spare moment pining about the next time he can get in my pants, or at least cop a feel, he must therefore think I'm ugly, and I'm therefore not all the things ugly isn't, which, of course, means I'm all the things ugly IS, most of which is unloved and unlovable. So, every time he has the proverbial headache, all I hear is, "I don't really love you." Twisted and sick, but there it is. In the meantime, he has his own issues that make him have a low sex drive. Huge clash, obviously.
So, we go into therapy. We get a really great therapist. My background in college is psychology, with a mental health worker certification, so I know a good therapist when I see one. So, she points out that sex is my escape from pain. Y'know, you'd think I'd have known that. I'm sure on some level I did, but when you hear it from the lips of a professional, and worse yet, you know she's right, it completely changes how you look at it. It also completely changes how your partner looks at it. So now, every time I go off on a sexual tangent, he gets upset. And I know exactly how he feels, because whenever he goes off on a gaming tangent (his escape), I feel the same way. Makes you wanna give all that shit up altogether.
Problem is, remember the fooling the mage with the truth quote? I am, in fact, an extremely sexual person. I love sex. I love sharing that with another person. Orgasm is wonderful and pleasant, but is merely a kickass side effect of that closeness. I have no desire to be a less sexual person. I'm a pagan - I celebrate my sexuality, and I personally think everyone should do the same. So, where to go from here? I do sexual things so automatically, I don't even think about it. I hate boundaries of any kind, and I don't want to spend time second guessing my every motivation.
The fact is, that's exactly what I'm going to have to do. There's nothing wrong with being a sexual creature. There's nothing wrong with being an extremely sexual creature. What's wrong is being an extremely sexual creature for the purpose of being loved. And I'm just going to have to force myself to stop and think about my motivations behind my sexual acts. Am I just having fun, or am I asking for love? That's what I need to pay attention to. And if I can't stop myself before I say something, I can't just figure that since I have an inch, I might as well take a mile. I have to think damage control. And, while Glenn would be more concerned with the tender sensibilities of those around me (himself included), I need to be selfish about this, and think of the disservice I do to myself by not developing my other facets, all of which have lovable qualities.
Now, if only I can keep telling myself that long enough to believe it.
--K'La
