Saturday, August 22, 2009

Day After Day.....

Day after day I find myself sitting here. So desperate for adult conversation, for companionship, for any sort of interaction that isn't in the babble of a two year old, that it's a vibrent red ache in my chest.

I'm so lonely. And I feel like I'm a horrible wife. My excuse is that I can't be on the kid's schedule (up around 6:30, bed at 8) and on my husband's schedule (up at 1pm, works til 8, up all night and goes to bed at 5am) at the same time. At their age (2.5 and 8 months) the kids need someone to watch them constantly. I just feel like I'm neglecting him. :(

I hate being unemployed. It's got me to stressed I barely eat, and I'm too stressed to get off, unless someone spends a lot of time working on me and even then it doesn't work sometimes! It's just become too much of a hassle for hubby, so he finds his pleasure and goes on his way. But can you expect me not to be stressed!? Our rent was so late last month that we were one day off of them going to the courthouse and filing an eviction notice before we got it paid! The money that was supposed to go to getting me a laptop for school (my disbursement money from my student loans) went to paying my rent and putting food in my fridge, because the person who said he was going to pay it (my useless father in law)went and did stupid shit like buying a UKELELE! -screams her frusturation at the sky-

I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm lonely, and I'm lost, and I'm afraid. Who knows what's going to happen come the first of the month? Hubby's job has been changed (Was origionally an hourly telemarketing job, is now a comission only sales job). There's a potentional to make great money there, at 40% comission, but there's also the potentional to make no money at all. I've been searchign for almost three months for a job now, even to the point of whoring myself out to the tourist industry, and all for naught! I'm hopeless, and helpless.

I want to scream, or cry, or pick a fight and get the fuck beat out of me, or something. I enjoy physical pain, it's this mental anguish that kills me. After spending my whole life fighting to keep my mind to rights because of bi-polar disorder, PTSD, and a plethora of other mental problems, it's all falling apart. I can't hardly make myself get dressed in the morning. My hair is a mess, my feet are bare, I'm still in my pajamas, and I can't make myself get up from the computer except to go to the bathroom.

What the fuck is wrong with me!?

Thursday, August 13, 2009

To Judge.....

 A woman walks alone through the mostly empty aisles, pushing a stroller. The stroller holds a baby girl, and an older boy follows at her heels. The looks she gets attempt to give her pity that she is alone with two children. She wears a wedding band on her finger, though no one seems to notice. They judge, they think her a young single mom, and don’t even think to ask.

 She is not formally dressed. A pair of khaki capris, an orange tank top, black work boots and white socks completes her outfit. The looks are outraged that a mother, even a young one, should dare to dress in such a way. The older women are offended that she shows off her body, the younger ones disgusted at its appearance. They judge, and do not even consider from whence she gained those marks.

 A heavy steel collar sits at her throat, its chain dangling down between her breasts. The looks are frightened of what they do not understand. They turn away and shake their heads, not knowing why she consents to wear such an accessory. They judge, and they do not care to know.

 Such are the thoughts that crossed my mind as I took my two children to play at the local shopping mall. The looks, the snide comments both spoken and thought, both seem to wish to attack that which I am, and that which I choose to be.

 I walk alone, with two children, because my husband sleeps during the day to get ready for his night job. I wear my wedding band prominently on my left hand, as is traditional and proper, though no one seems to have the foresight to look for it anymore. They would prefer to jump to conclusions, and to be as nasty as possible while doing it. They do not care to discover that I am not, in fact, a young single mom, as they seem wont to believe. They do not care to know anything that does not fit into their safe little box.

 My appearance is not incredibly vulgar or strange. I dress sensibly for Florida temperatures, when my car does not have air conditioning. In this case it was a tank top and a pair of lightly colored capris. Why is this such an affront to the ambient population of St. Petersburg? We’re a beach town, but still the population of the town wishes you to walk around covered from neck to ankles, and doubly so if you have children. When did the wishes of the populace begin to outweigh common sense? 

 My collar is the piece that gives them the most pause. My heavy steel choke collar sits at my throat and does not leave it. It is a symbol of my subservience to my mate, but for most it just marks me as some sort of deviant, certainly someone who should not be bearing and raising children. I choose to wear my collar out of deference to my mate, not from some trend or fashion that may come and go. This is my lifestyle, but they choose not to see. They would rather see only what they wish to see.

 I do not understand why it is seen as almost an obligation to judge and ridicule those who are different than you. I do not judge, I have no desire to judge anyone. Why, though, does it seem that all anyone wants to do is judge me?

Friday, August 7, 2009

Driving a wedge....

 Does it come down to me driving a wedge between myself and my blood family, to keep my life whole?

 For the past three years, I’ve tried my best to keep the peace between my family and my husband. I’ve bitten my tongue while they’ve degraded him, and attacked him and his character. And I’ve suffered the disappointment from my loving husband that I did not stand up and defend him.

 This morning was the final straw. My husband is not one that functions well during the day at all, and he’s been forced into working a day job. It has been difficult for him to change his sleeping schedule around to the point that he is getting enough sleep to handle his job and to take care of his other responsibilities. I understand this.  

My paternal grandmother took it upon herself to schedule me for a dental appointment to have my teeth cleaned, for 10:45 am this very morning. Not taking into account the fact that my husband has to go to bed at 6:00 am when I wake up, in order to be able to get up and work in the afternoon. I called her this morning, and asked her to reschedule, politely.

Nope. She wasn’t having any of it, and went off on how my dear husband is such a bastard, and he’s selfish and he thinks the entire world has to revolve around him, blah blah blah, and it goes on and on like that. I finally told her to shut up, that she was being obnoxious, that she had no right at all to insult my husband or my family like that, and to cancel the appointment. And I hung up on her.

Now, maybe I didn’t handle it in the best fashion, but I am sick and tired of people, especially my family members, coming to me and thinking they can insult my husband! First of all, why is it my responsibility to be the scapegoat here, so that you have someone you can bitch at and know your insults will get to their intended target, without actually having to confront that target?

Secondly, where do you get off scheduling me for a dentist’s appointment, without so much as a by your leave? Yes, my teeth are not perfect, but I brush them each day. If they’re not as white as you would like, then that is your problem now isn’t it?

I’m done. I’m tired of letting you all walk all over me, insulting my family and my lifestyle. So, it is not perfect. So, we’re scrounging from month to month to make sure we have enough money for food and diapers. I will NOT have you insult me, or my family, or my life, or lifestyle. This is my den and I am the ALPHA BITCH! So I will drive that wedge if I must. If you wish me in your life, you will figure out that we come as a package deal, or not at all.

What am I?

What am I?

We can start with the basics, as that is usually a good place to start. Woman. Wife. Mother. Lover. Friend. Gamer. Auto Mechanic. Very simple, and yet extremely complicated.

 Not so simple, then, and not so basic.  

  Psychic Vampire: I feed on the energy of other people. It’s not something I try to do, or that for the most part I do voluntarily. But it is there and it is part of me.

  Masochist: Yes. I delight in physical pain. But what difference does it make to you or to anyone where I find my pleasures? Why should it matter to anyone that I feel my best just after a sparring match or a fight, that I love to display my bruises and scratches and claw marks and bites? I am never struck in anger, I am never abused. So why should it matter to anyone but me?

 So I have some of the stranger fetishes that turn me on. Again, it is my own pleasure. Why does it matter so much to everyone else, if I enjoy being bound, or whipped, or bled. Does it really matter so much that the taste of blood on my lips drives me to utter madness, or that the full moon drives me to distraction? That the spirit of the wolf is tied so tightly to me that I don’t know where it ends and I begin?

 Why does it matter so much if I choose to wear a collar, given to me by my husband? Is it truly any different than wearing a wedding band? It is a physical representation of the same bond. Why should it matter to you if I choose to sit at his feet, to serve him as I can, as it pleases him? I was not taken, I came willingly too him. Why is that so hard for people to understand?  

They can live in their little boxes if they want, they can go about their lives with the naive notion that everything is just the way they set it in their own little world, and no one can break them of that idea. That’s just fine. I’m happy with the way my life is. I will teach if they want to learn, but if they seek to change, they seek in vain.

I am me. And that is all that matters.