It’s been a while… but! I am back. With a bang? At least a small knock.

My dad posted this – and I watched… went about my business… watched again.

It has validity in a world where a lot of what I read/see/hear is only as valid as the current Wikipedia update.

YET. Yet…

Being some with social anxiety, I find that I am having way more meaningful interactions with people, through the safety of the screen – then I might have otherwise.

The ability to monitor and edit what I say, to check my spelling obsessively, to only portray those points and thoughts in my head that come across the way I would have wanted them to – had I said them aloud… is extremely important to me. I say things that I mean, I express my beliefs, I am willing to be ME, candidly (sorta) without having people watching me.

It is part of what makes my brand of social anxiety – the kind that falls under the spectrum, but lets face it, is unique to me – so easy to shed when I am behind the safety of my four walls.

In highschool – I joked. I knew I was different and quirky and tried (mostly failed) to fit in. I tried to hide my ineptitude behind the books, the few close friends, and my air of “pfft. I don’t give two shits”. All of which was a lie.

I cared. More then I probably should have back then. But I cared. I scrutinized every. single. thing.  What someone said, or didn’t say. The parties I didn’t get invited to. The friendships that seemed to so easily come to everyone else. It caused me to miss out on probably quite a few opportunities, because in my socially anxious mind… it was never simple.

I personally suffer from a (few) handfuls of mental illness issues. The majority of them resulting in me being more comfortable behind my computer screen. But if I didn’t have the ease of social media? I would truly be lonely. I would be alone – without the option of the friends I have made through social media. Does the fact that the majority of the people I know don’t live anywhere close to me, bug me? Sometimes. But the fact remains… I would be way more lonely if I didn’t have them.

 

It’s been a long time

It’s been quite a while since I have blogged on here. 

I have started a new blog that is a little more.. vanilla friendly? Which can be found by searching for remittingdust.wordpress.com

 

There I blog about video games mostly. I am striving to write about videogames and mental health issues… I just think i made myself too strict of a schedule – so I am having a hard time following/getting all the content I want in there. What I need is to take an entire day to write up a weeks worth of posts. That way I can always have something done. :)

Anyways… here is something awesome:

 

This was something a friend of mine, A, was sent by her new beau. It is adorable and romantic, and TOTALLY NERDY.

My heart longs for something this geeky and awesome.

A:

This is the kind of man I fell for…

So this is my formula for how much I miss you measured in metric tons. It may need some adjusting, but In so many words this is how it works.

M=(t+h)²+(a+T)
where
M= how much i miss you in metric tons. The formula is solving for M.
t²=how many times I think of you per hour on average. squared.
a=how attracted I am to you based on common denominators of attraction like, physical and sexual attraction, and personality, you maxed out with 10/10,,
T= the time I’ve been away from you rounded to the nearest hour which is approximately 130hours.
And
h²=how much i hate you squared, but dont worry it came out to -5. so (-5)²=25, I had to calculate in every possible variable into this. 
So this formula
M=(t+h)²+(a+T)
turns into this. And worked out following algebra rules.

M=[4+(-5)]²(10+130)
M=(16+25)(140)
M=(41)(140)
M=5740 metric tons.

So I miss you a lot..
And I didn’t even calculate in the power of your eyes and kiss..

After effects

After a week of … that…. I am going through “drop”.

It sucks.

I’m on edge. Looking for that connection … that… missing piece.

Wtf is wrong with me.

Would the void be filled with anyone?  With anything? Did I just fuck things up even more, by letting myself feel again?

I don’t feel guilty.  I think I’m jealous.  Which is just as stupid. I have no claim. I never did. I actually *honestly* am okay with that.

I’m not like normal people.  I don’t understand the restrictions people put on their love for each other. Restricting how someone , who you say you love, can interact and love others. .. just doesn’t compute. 

It doesn’t mean that every once in a while.. I don’t long for others to feel the same way I do.

I find… that the one(s) who matter the most to me? The one(s)… who gets me? We connect to each other – usually in ways that are confusing. For both of us. Lol.

It is what makes me want to keep them in my life. However I can manage it :)

Once my head stops spinning from the whirlwind of excitement and… insane contentment…. I think I’ll be fine?

Though… what I wouldn’t give for a steady diet of … that.

Sigh.

About that update..

Holy fuck there is no way to honestly have this blog be related to where it needs to go.

So. Will make a new blog. One that isn’t as rife with life. Though I will probably bring stuff from one blog to another.

A different direction

I have come to the realization that I want to take this blog in a little bit of a different direction. 

I am still going to post things that enter my mind. Things that I battle on a daily basis. My mental illnesses and all that entails. I also want to connect it with other aspects of my life. Ideas.  Things that I have found really useful when dealing with my mental health issues. Ways to potentially give others those same useful tools. 

I want to help fight the stigmas. I want to share my musings and ramblings in such a way as to make sense. 

I want to further myself, my life, and … I guess my blog :)

So my blog will continue how it has. Hopefully I will be posting a whole lot more. I will strive to. It will now have added aspects.  

I debated starting a topic specific blog. But that topic, could not be valid without the bigger picture. The entirety of the experience.  

The more personal/private posts will be locked. Those with the password will be still able to see them. They are part of me – but not current to who I am, and what I want to do. 

 

Guys. I think I just became a “writer”.

Yum

*Preen, preen, preen*

*gush, gush, gush*

*love it*

*feel special*

*you’re amazing*

*thank you*

Its been a while…

It has been a while since I wrote. Not because I didn’t want to write, or because there was nothing to write about. I just didn’t write.

But then I read this:

*Things vanilla folks just won’t understand.

Vanilla folks like to joke about imagining what someone’s “O” face would look like well there is a difference with us kinksters. We like to imagine what someone would look like with mascara and tears streaming down their face. Wanting to see their face red from a hard slap, terror in their eyes as they are begging in hysteria. Get the distinction or how about I give you a little personal taste?

What it is like to wake up with pieces of candle wax from your play the night before wedged in your ass crack and under your sheets…”how the…?” Or finding that lost toy in between the couch cushions, freezer or in the silverware drawer. Like I said “how the hell….?”

Laughing at yourself because every time someone happens to say “Red” in conversation it makes you immediately stop what you’re doing. Pay attention to those who react like this however so slight and you have caught a kinkster by the toe. Sometimes it is amusing to fuck with each other when out of play. ” Red this, red that. Oh like my red dress….?” Instant catatonic look every time….GRINS lol Oh yeah.

How intensely erotic it can be to have your Dom glare at you to stay silent with a finger to his lips as His boss rings over the speaker. All the while you’re trying not to scream out in pain every time you move thinking in your head, “Holy shit! Holy shit, better not fuck this up!” Or on the flip side being the Dom trying not to throw a kanipshin while your boss calls and interrupts what was coming to the juicy part of the session…fuck!

Trying to contort your body in unnatural ways to get a good picture for your Dom because the lighting, mirror, camera is not obeying you and can become down right comical….take note Hollywood! Hoping you don’t throw out your back, and thinking, “ugh this isn’t sexy,” but cross your fingers you capture it!

Or how about no one tells you how frustrating it can be as your running to plug your phone in before you lose power because the task must be done NOW! Running around the house in a naked frenzy with nipple clamps, plugs, lube, clothespins, hooks, wax and hopefully all sharp objects in their rightful place can become cumbersome. I can’t say how many times I have jumped like a jack rabbit thinking somebody is coming home!!!

Smiling at the bruises, marks, scratches, bite marks, burns, holes, aches caused by the One you adore and serve so proudly. Nothing feels so good the next day to know you have been used for someone else’s pleasure and that is indescribable elation.

You can never imagine the highest of the highs and the nightmarish lows you will feel in D/s. You will not only FEEL things you never thought possible before but also it makes you stop and ponder about yourself, your Dom, others, your dreams and bettering yourself. If you are some one squeamish of self-reflection or shy away from intensity…this is not for you. Get ready for the biggest fucking microscope as you bare all for the other bound to you, there is no hiding those intimate tid bits from them or yourself.

It is all about perspective and discipline not just raw sex. It is amazing what you can condition the mind and body to accept in play so it is a sensitive issue for us. We are NOT uneducated, mindless, back-alley spooks. Uh…nope. We do NOT rape (non consenting) women, exact senseless violence (pre-negotiated thank you!) on each other and we DO kiss our children goodnight. We do think through our play times, its not all wild orgy shin digs, sorry to disappoint. Just because you happened on it doesn’t mean it was planned accordingly. Nope! We take pride in our skills and techniques. More to it then getting kinky laid and notches on bed posts.

Explaining to your nosy in-laws why you own a 6ft. jump whip with no horse, loads of medical equipment when your an office clerk, a locked room no one has been allowed in or why you have a trunk full of men’s size lingerie and shoes that don’t fit you….

They don’t understand that pony and pet play is good for your animal and that they need to go for walks, loved and be trained too! Be a good pet parent…adopt a rescue. lol

Everything is seen through the lens of a kinkster even my kid’s children’s programs become sources to snicker about…”Mommy why does Bert and Ernie have a whole mariachi band in bed with them” or “Mommy Elmo says to bend over and touch my toes?” I’m going to go to hell for that one…

Trying to get the kids to sleep so you can try to do that session with your sub or Dom at the appointed time can be a harry exercise in itself! Or how about having to decide that the person not tied up or indisposed today gets to answer the baby’s cries. ;) “Safe, not it!” lol

Watching forensic and detective shows make you snort your tea out of your nose and double over on the floor. Giggling at how much they get the kink community wrong when referenced. Love it when the in laws (gasp) try to talk about the kink community not knowing I could give them personal insight if they wanted to truly understand it lol. You also ask yourself, “what was so bad about being beaten with a club and tied to a fence?….or even better, “wow I did that last weekend, not so bad!” You begin to realize you own some of the same items you see in Dexter’s collection, fantastic coincidence!

People start to complain about missing household items that have become part of your stockpile of sexual deviant implements. “Hmm, that cat scratching board made with twine is an awesome paddle, who would have known!?!”

You go shopping with a wicked grin on your face as you push a naughty evil cart full of needles (pushing old ladies out of the way),candles, fish hooks and weights, lbs. of ginger, latex gloves, enema kits, icy-hot and a jug of milk for the kids. You know who you are….

Once you peg a man you just don’t look at them the same every time they bend over in your presence…like the grocer picking up apples you imagine how well they’d take it for you. Hey! You have to find the kink in every opportunity you can squeeze out of the mundane. Its how our brains are wired, how we keep the cogs lubricated.

When your in the coffee shop you look around to figure out systematically who would get tied up first and how. Muttering out loud, “Oh my god why am I doing this? I’m not even fully awake yet!” Or trying to gauge what D/s orientation a person would fall into in the kink world and how far they would go.

Well placed disguises and composure could fool you unless you have that sixth sense. That business man in the tailored suit has an anal plug in his ass and that mother with the three children fawning around her….yeah she cages her pet dog submissive when she goes out. Key point vanillas: we are everywhere. Sometimes it is even hard for US to recognize another standing next to us too.

The things we do to each other, even the painful degrading stuff bonds and creates such intense intimacy that you just can’t substitute in a vanilla dynamic. Case in point, would you let your vanilla partner take your life into their hands with complete trust to bring you to extreme limits and pull you back out. Do this without you going into shock, mental, emotional and or physical damage? I didn’t think so, so please don’t whisper behind closed doors about what makes us satisfied because it is more personal then you could imagine.

The most important thing vanilla folks won’t understand…we NEED this like air to breath. It can’t be removed and cut out like an obscene infection, discarded as waste or forgotten. This is who we are and it fulfills us closer to a completeness we would find hard pressed to get any other way.

- Tammi Byrum

https://fetlife.com/users/2089698/posts/1635037

It resonated with me.

Those last two paragraphs, the truth of it brought tears to my eyes.

It is hard for me to communicate things. Very hard to communicate the WHYS of my need for kink. Especially to those who don’t understand.

I want to be degraded. I want to be slapped, spit on, and called mean names.

I need to be hurt. Physically hurt. I want to be made to cry, tears and snot running down my chin.  The sight of a mascara streaked face after a good session makes me go goey inside.

I like to be tied up. Forced to do things I would never do in a million years.

I want to feel hands around my throat, squeezing until I see spots. I find the idea of waterboarding hot.

Cut me. Punch me. Kick me. Flog me. Tie me up and smack me around.

All those things just flat out fucking do it for me.  They make me squirm and want to do bad things to myself.

The person I want to do this with? I don’t want them to love me enough to do it for me. I need for it to be something they crave as well. To willing put my life in the hands of someone,  who I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, wants to do bad things to me? Yes please.

I seem to fall into what some might call “edge players”. I don’t do things “safe sane and consensual”. I prefer “Risk aware Consensual kink”. Where I am willing to have the limits of my body, mind, and soul…. tested. Poked. Prodded. Sliced. Broken through and then celebrated as a new personal best is achieved.

I am a firm believer in consensual non consent. Giving my prior consent, knowing that I may be asked/made to do something I don’t want to do. Even better: being forced to do something while I’m struggling to run the other way. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.  Any or all of the above.

Everything I want and need? Depends on trust.

I need to trust that, whomever I give my self to: the one who (even for a moment), holds my life in their hands… I need to know that they know what they are doing. I need to be able to trust myself. To be able to decide when something isn’t right for me, and say so. To trust that,  if I let myself fall down the rabbit hole… there will be a way to find myself back. Or rebuild. Or move forward. Whatever it is that is needed right then.

I need to know that the one I am doing theses things with can help me with that. But I need to know that of they can’t… I can find my own way.

Scenes done in play parties; at events and workshops;  demonstrations in public;  have a safety net. It may not be fool proof but it is there. We have people who monitor the play. Make sure limits are respected. That things aren’t done to the extent of irreparable harm. There are guidelines to follow.

It is safer. Safer than running off with someone you barely know. Though its not safe. Its just safer.

But deep down… that place in me that cries out for attention?  It doesn’t want a safety net. Doesn’t want, or need, the watchful eyes of sanity. It wants the most depraved of things – and it doesn’t care what happens afterwards.

So yes. Yes I DO need to find someone who wants to hurt me. Someone who’s sadism connects with my masochism. Who finds the idea of seeing me with a face streaked with mascara, drool and snot, as hot as I do.

I have recently had someone dear to me tell me what I need to find. I respect that,  what they say I need, is what is right for them. What they feel they would need if they were me. But they are not me. I don’t need the nice,  spiced with some naughty.  I need the depraved spiced with nice.

My kink, though often sexual (for me) – does not begin and end in the bedroom. It is my whole being.  Every thought, breath, action.  All of it- needs a different kind of loving.

*I have no dea where this came from. I read that post…  had some conversations… and it had to be said. 

Could I live without all my needs being met? Yes. Would I be happy? Maybe. But I would never, really be content. It is almost a deal breaker for me.

A post from the draft pile. 2 years old now.

I have this friend. An amazingly wonderful male friend. He has been a very big supporter in all my emotional/physical endeavors.

I adore this man so much! Such a wonderful friend, and though he himself has been having some interesting times lately – he is always there to chat.

We were discussing things today about how times change, and about how much he loves cuddling his wife. He told me this about “megacuddles”

“There’s this smell? Right the back of her neck… and it makes time stop and angels and unicorns orgasm at the edge of my vision. Really.. it will be worth it.” -( said in response to them being together all the time again now that there is less work commitments.)

That right there? That saying? That expression of romantic feeling and contentment? That is what it is all about.

I am going to go and wrap myself up in the warm fuzzy feeling that one tidbit of information invoked in me.

Tears

My birthday is this week.

I’m going to be 27.

Having spent this month living in a physical rehabilitation facility – geared specifically towards seniors and geriatrics. … I know that I have only been around for a fraction of a lifetime. I’m surrounded by those who have led full lives. Careers, travels, marriage, children. They have seen it all…and acomplished so much.

I can’t help but feel lacking. I had so many goals that were going to be completed by now. I was going to be done college or university. I would have had at least one child by now; and hopefully in a stable, loving relationship. I may not have lost weight, have had the perfect job….or even the “magic” romance. Yet – I would have acomplished something. Becoming a mom.

I think that has been the reason for the crying lately. Everything is reminding me of what I haven’t done, what goals I have failed at, the children that aren’t there.

Logically – in an emotionally healthy way – I would be happy of what I do have, rejoicing in what I can do – not foxused on what I can’t. Logically. …

I don’t know how to be logical about this. I’m trying – really I am. Letting go of dreams is hard though.

When I was younger I had extremely irregular cycles; debilitating pain,  almost always sidelining me for the better part of a week. When they did an exploratory scope – it was determined that only one of my ovaries had developed fully and properly. That the one was small , with a large space around it (where they said cysts and hernias could occur), and they didn’t know if t functioned.

At 15 (ish) I was informed that I had half the reproductive capacity of the average female my age. I was told my irregularities were more then likely caused by this imbalance – and that it may have been caused by one or more of the psych meds I had been on for the past few years. And oh yeah – since most women had two ovaries, and the average start of menopause was the 50’s – they predicted that for every year after 25 I didn’t have children …. my chances dropped exponentially. Nice huh?

All I have *EVER* wanted was to be a mom. To have my own children. To share my knowledge, experience the joys and heartaches, to love and raise a child from conception – through birth – and the rest of life. I wanted those late nights. Those random cravings. The tears of frustration when they won’t listen, and the ones of joy because they drew you a picture. I’ve known – that if I did not acomplish any other thing in my life – I would still be complete.

Hearing this news put a giant ticking clock over my head. Half the time of my friends. Twice the chance of failure.( I have miscarried. That is a different story all together. )

I have been told not to worry. That it will happen in time, that I could get invitro or adopt.  That things aren’t as bad as they seem…

But – I have a mental illness. I have been on disability for the last few years. My medications can cause birth defects. I could never afford invitro on the small monthly amount I get. I would not get approved for adoption. Not without a job and probably not with my mental illness.

So I’ve tried. To get pregnant. Since 16 I have tried – sometimes actively (on my part) sometimes not. Always hearing that clock ticking away, faster and faster. There is one crucial part of the equation. I have been lacking though….sex.

It has been a little over two years since I have had sex. Over four since having regular and unprotected sex. Yes – I was in a relationship until this past October.  No that did not mean he would have sex with me. (Again – different story).

So here I am. Turning 27. Two years after my clock sped up to double time. Careerless. A college drop out. Single and on disability.  Celibate by bad luck….and childless.

So yeah, that could explain whats going on. Why I am having such a hard time looking for the good. Why I get angry when I see a parent getting mad at their child – when they are just being a child. Why I don’t want to talk about my life…and what I haven’t acomplished.

I’m crying because every day – a chance of fulfilling my dream of becoming a mother – slips further and further from my grasp. My heart is breaking every time that clock picks up , just a little more speed.

Yeah…..that explains it.

Princess with the peg leg (or how I came to break my leg getting on a horse)

Dez lives about 1.5 hours from my moms house. She is my longest relationship outside of family. We met in March when we were in grade 2. I had just moved into the area and it was my first day. No one else would show me around. … *Eventual story to come*… we have been best friends ever since.

It was…wow… can it be 20 years? Grade 2…. I started kindergarten at age 5. Grade one was 6 years old. Grade two – I would have been seven until the end of May. We met in March. I am turning 27 end of this month… that is 19…not quite 20 full years of friendship. BUT HOLY FUCKING COW BATMAN!

I have just decided the next bit has to be its own post because, well.. it’s my fucking blog. So suck it.

 

So – that is where the last post left off.

Dez happens to live on a chicken farm. Not her chicken farm.. just one she lives on. She rents out part of the shop with her boyfriend. They have semi converted the shop space into living space. The other part of the shop is rented by another man. No actual connection to Dez.

K – also lives on this chicken farm. She is another one of Dez’s best friends. She rents the carriage house on the property.

An older couple rent the main house. Again – no corrolation between Dez and them.

So: recap. Dez +1 living in part of a converted shop space.Person renting out other part of the shop. K +1 Living in the carriage house. Elder couple renting main house.  2 large chicken barns, a regular barn, 8 horses.

The animals are as follows –
Dez: 2 dogs (woo and dangerface). 3 cats. (r, f, j), Horses( The Duke, Luna, Splash)
Dez + Ryan : 3 cats (s,v,c)
Ryan : Horse (Nikki)
K : 2 cats (e,r + 3 kittens) , Horses (m, l)
Ryan+K: Horse – D
Dez + K: Stallion

Anyways.. there is a manangerie of animals there.

I was visiting, had gone to see them starting on the 7th. We were going to look into housing options in the area for me, I was going to spend some time with the horse, do some help gardening – etc.

Everything was going great. I had been there for almost a week (Longer then I first intended.. but still good). Dez had been working long hours at her three jobs, K was away, and Ryan was also working. That left me free to roam on the farm.

I spent hours and hours with the horses. Brushing them, Deshedding them. Having long- thought provoking- conversations with them. Basically they were my main contentment while being there.

When K came back home, it was talked about me learning from the bottom  up,  how to ride. I had done some trail riding before… but didn’t actually KNOW how to ride. This was a big thing, not only because I was super excited to get to ride, but because K and I had a bit of a funny sorta relationshipish  thing going on.

Anyways- The morning came. K had actually taken off her air cast. She had broken her foot 6 or so weeks before and was just able to start taking her boot off. We haltered a horse and went to the side pasture to start. First things first, being of course, to get up on the horse without a saddle and to ride bareback. To feel how the horse moves and acustom yourself the rhythm of the horse. Seemed all fine and dandy to me:)

I got up on the stump, K led the horse over to me… and I attempted my graceful mount. I promptly fell backwards and landed on my butt in the mud and horse shit. Nt to be deterred, and with promises that most people fall… I went to attempt again. Now, there just so happens to be a way you have to jump onto the horse, to be able to balance and swing your legs over. I don’t have balance at the best of times.

I made another attempt at jumping… and fell back down onto my feet. My leg promptly snapped. It was a loud sound. Very gross. I fell to the ground in the mud and shit, hugging my leg and screaming that I had just broken it.

I managed to do quite a number on it. Broke the tibia. Fractured the fibula. Dislocated my fibula from my ankle and my ankle from the rest of my foot. A total number. I ended up getting surgery. I have a 6 inch plate in my leg and nine screws. So far I have been in hospital bed since April 13, It is now May 1st. I will still not be able to put weight on it for another 4 weeks. THEN the real physio starts. Luckily for me.. I will be living at the rehab centre. Awesome huh?

And that is the story of how I broke my leg. I am the only girl I know of, or have heard of – who broke her foot horse back riding…. before even getting on a horse. WIthout even getting to ride even ONCE. C’est ma vieImage

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