Life, Love, Sex

Sleepy Writing

I wish I had more energy to write. I’m just finishing up with my obsession over the break up with Jefferson. Once I’m in France I really want to do my best to not give this any thought. I’m going an ocean away- I want all this to stay in NJ.

But for now, I want to indulge.

6 months ago, when every thing with Diva started, and the fights with Jefferson began, I started writing in a friend’s only LJ.

I half want to post what I wrote.

I was so distraught with everything that was going on. I was so out of control- I literally did not feel in control of my emotions and thoughts and behaviors and I felt so powerless to stop (acting out against D.). And it just snowballed. It kept getting worse. And it changed Jefferson and my’s relationship from there on out.

I didn’t get out of bed the weekend we had our first huge fight in February. I cried and cried because I thought I’d lost him forever. I nearly threw up from crying to hard.

I’d go back and do what I could to stop myself. I don’t feel sorry for what I’ve said to D. because of her, but because of how it’s affected me, and how it changed my relationship with Jefferson. Fuck, it changed me too.

This isn’t me. This hateful, vindictive person. I never used to be like this. And I certainly don’t want to remain like this.

I think going away will be good for me. I want it to be good for me. I need to break some of these habits.

I’m going to try really hard to not think, let alone write, about this while I’m in France. I wish I could just turn my brain off and make it easy.

I’m really, really sorry this all happened. And how it happened.

Delete

I’ve been busy and brave removing the remnants of Jefferson from my life.

I’ve deleted all his e-mails and set a filter for any new ones to be sent straight to the trash.

Next is my phone and all the text messages (including the “I Love You’s” and such) and removing his number from my phone.

Plus I took him off my feed reader so I don’t have to see if he writes something about me (even though I’ve asked him not to).

I’ll probably be debating for awhile on pictures.

This is good. It feels good. I feel freer.

I never thought I’d actually be happy to have him out of my life. Funny how life changes.

Bad Day

So my weekly therapy is tomorrow.

Boy do I have a shit load to talk about.  Not that I really want to talk about it anymore.

I wonder if she still reads.  I don’t think she does.  Even though it would be totally convenient when it came to catching up each session.

Today wasn’t such a good day.  I did something not so good for me.  Early afternoon I poured myself a gin and tonic and took one of my few remaining percocets from getting me wisdom teeth taken out.  Wow, let’s just say I’m a light weight.

I’m not very good with humility.  Mostly because humiliation is at root of it for me.  And not the good kind.

I wonder if it would be beneficial to just come clean about everything that’s happened these past 6 months.

I’d have to get some opinions on the subject 1st from my friends.

Tomorrow should be better.  I’m going to see Get Smart with Adam after therapy.  That will be fun.

Redirect

I had a small little break through this weekend. Jocasta helped me realized that my anger toward the she-devil was really misdirected. My problem isn’t really with her, she’s just a symptom of my problem with Jefferson. It makes sense right? I dunno, but that realization helped me let go of some steam. I feel less like I have this pent up hatred toward her. No, now I’m properly directing it to Jefferson.

Quietly though. I really have no urge to lash out at him like I did last year. It’s not even worth the energy.

But I’m still angry at him. I cried a few tears yesterday in the car, but just a few as he’s not worth my tears anymore.

I pissed over what we’ve become. We hate each other now. This is never what I would have wanted. I always wanted to imagine us being friends for a very long time.

I hate what I had to go through in the relationship. I hate that everything was always by his rules, on his terms. And if I didn’t like it, well, I knew going into it what to expect. And how having issues with the relationship was “drama.”

I hate him for making me believe he loved me. For making me think that I was actually special. That we were special.

I mean we were, weren’t we? We were Avah and Jefferson. We had something. I felt it; I saw it. It wasn’t all a lie. But it sure doesn’t feel that way now. It’s like we never had anything good.

I mean, 2 years into the relationship and he can’t tell me he loves me on his own? What the fuck is that?? I can’t deal with that shit. I’m not wasting my youth try to pull some kind of emotion from an old man.

(By the way, Gin and Tonics are yummy.)

I loved him. God I loved him so much. He was so beautiful to me. Once upon a time I only wished the best for him and would have gone completely out of my way to help him achieve it.

I am oh so thankful for this trip to France next week. My hatred for Jefferson is bleeding into all my other relationships and views on life. I don’t need that.

Didn’t he love me? Didn’t he care about me? Why wasn’t I special to him? Why wasn’t I ever enough?

Look at me doing this- doubting myself. I don’t want to be like this.

I don’t want to hate him. I don’t want him to hate me. And I don’t want to hate myself.

I can’t wait until this is all over. I don’t even know how long this is going to take. Oy, I don’t want to think about it.

Ugh, I’m so tired. I need to sleep.

I’m actually incredibly numb over this. I can barely feel anything. I say I’m pissed and angry and fed up, but really all it feels like is a blanket funk. I just don’t have it in me to be upset anymore.

I’m going to be numb while sleeping now.

This Time Last Year

A year ago I broke up with Jefferson in a very public and very emotionally charged fashion.

I tarnished his name and memory on the blog and cursed him out over e-mail. For a few short weeks I hated him. I hated his guts. I hated his mere existence. I hate the stain of him in my memory.

I was on a serious emotional roller coaster and it was an extremely hard time for me. This was a man I loved and I was torn apart over the pain I endured being with him.

After many weeks of e-mailing and thinking and more e-mailing, we decided to pursue a less intense, but still sexual relationship. I met him one evening late that summer, our first meeting after reconciling. I was nervous as fuck when I got to his door. I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decision. I swore to myself when I broke up with him that it was final. That there was no going back.

I stood outside his door for a few minutes; pacing. Wondering if I shouldn’t just turn around and go home. The deciding factor in why I chose to re-enter his life? The fact we were having company that night. Who am I to disappoint CL guys? Ha. But seriously, if they weren’t part of the schedule, I might be in a very different place right now. I may not have gone back.

And for every good reason. A year later I still question that decision.

Except I know I wouldn’t have the friends I do now if it weren’t for that one moment in time. I don’t think I would’ve gone to Floating World, so I never would have met Jocasta and Zelda or Eileen and Maymay or Tilda. I never would have gone to sex camp and thus I’d never have met Desire, Match, or Prince (et al: all the other wonderful people from camp). I wouldn’t have become friends with Boymeat and Lolita.  All these people I love and care about so much.

I owe all those relationships to the fact that I went back to him.

But it certainly doesn’t mean I have to stay with him. No, thankfully because I made so many wonderful friends, I feel strong enough to go out and explore and live my own adventures. And yay, that’s such a good thing, because I think we can all agree on the fact that being with Jefferson only stunts me. When I’m with him I can’t grow. And I can’t have grown and expect him to be at the same level as me anymore.

I haven’t decided what the appropriate direction is to take this post.  I could be brutally honest (my personal favorite of course), polite (yawn), or just ignore the issues.  But I think I’ll put a to be continued as I need to get to bed as I have a pretty full day tomorrow.

Feel free to start pondering.  (Hint, read my twitters from Tuesday)

The Lyrics

There’s no real music video for this song, but it’s the lyrics I want you to pay attention to anyways.

They Weren’t There, by Missy Higgins

You breathed infinity into my world
And time was lost up in a cloud and in a whirl.
We dug a hole in the cool grey earth and lay there for the night.
Then you said, “wait for me we’ll fly the wind,
We’ll grow old and you’ll be stronger without him” but oh,
Now my world is at your feet. I was lost and I was found,
But I was alive and now I’ve drowned.
So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song
So they can tell me I was wrong…

But they weren’t there beneath your stare,
And they weren’t stripped ’till they were bare of
Any bindings from the world outside that room.
And they weren’t taken by the hand
And led through fields of naked land
Where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away…
So I couldn’t say “no”.

You sighed and I was lost in you, weeks could’ve past for all I knew.
You were there blanket of the over-world and so I couldn’t say,
I wouldn’t say “no”. But they all said, “you’re too young to even know,
Just don’t let it grow and you’ll be stronger without him”
But oh, now, my world is at your feet. I was lost and I was found,
But I was alive and now I’ve drowned.
So now I will be waiting for the world to hear my song
So they can tell me I was wrong…

But they weren’t there beneath your stare,
And they weren’t stripped ’till they were bare
Of any bindings from the world outside that room.
And they weren’t taken by the hand and led through fields
Of naked land where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away…

But they weren’t there beneath your stare,
And they weren’t stripped ’till they were bare
Of any bindings from the world outside that room.
And they weren’t taken by the hand and led through fields
Of naked land where any pre-conceived ideas were blown away…
So I couldn’t say “no”.

I <3 Kink

I’m starting to wonder if maybe I like kink just a tiny bit more than sex.

I’m happier to get beaten up without getting fucked then I am to have sex and not get beaten up (at least on a regular basis).

Plus- an orgy with no kink? Meh.

An event, like Dark Odyssey without kink? I’d rather save my money!

I would seriously rather not have sex at Winter Fire then not get beaten up (or beat someone else up as was my mood at camp). Sex I can get anywhere. That’s easy.

But kink? That’s much harder to come by for me. On a good month I may have played twice. And that’s a good month!

A good month of sex is 4 or 5 dates!

Quite disproportionate.

And yet, it’s not as if I don’t fuck guys who are kinky! My circle of friends and playmates is really becoming almost entirely kinky in some form or another.

Ahhh…that’s bliss.

Maybe it’s so disproportionate because I’m slightly picky about who I’ll let top me- and it what kind of ways.

I’m certainly a snob for skill. Skill is way sexy.

Chemistry most definitely plays a factor.

Harry didn’t make the cut because he lacked skill, couldn’t provide the aftercare I needed, and just in general said stupid stuff.

As nice as Denzel is, I don’t actually feel any sexual chemistry between us.

And there are some who I have chemistry with- just not a top/bottom kind of chemistry.

This kind of stuff can get complicated.

Perhaps maybe things are even more complicated by the kind of bottom I’m becoming. I play a lot harder than I did 2 years ago. And I’m only continuing further on that path.

If you had told me a year ago that I would be into piss play and humiliation and even service I would have laughed so hard at you! I would’ve thought you’d lost your mind if you ever even suggested I might try anything that draws blood.

Now, name most things I haven’t done or are slightly scared of I just say to give me some time. Because it really is only a matter of time.

I’m in no rush, and I have no goals about what I want to become.

I’ve already gotten a reputation of being hardcore by some, but I look at others I consider heavy players and even fathom that I’m in the same league as them.

I guess it’s all a matter of perception. The person who deemed me hardcore was fairly vanilla himself.

I think maybe even though I don’t have concrete goals about how I see my path continuing, I do sort of want to be known as heavy player. And not because it’s cool or because it’s better- but it’s because that’s how I see myself playing.

Anytime someone even mentions the word “sensuous,” I turn in the other direction. I don’t want a sensuous top. I don’t want a sensuous scene. I want to be hit, and I want to be hit hard, and I want it until I can’t take it anymore.

Am I being clear enough?

I hope so.