A fine line

With the arrival of this new man in my life I am finding that I’m walking a fine line.
Both my husband and my sub are insecure to a degree. My sub far more so than my husband.

My sub has become quite possessive and jealous of me. I understand this, based on where he comes from. I will not permit him to use that to control me, but I want to make him feel more secure about my role in his life. I love him deeply.

And then there is my husband. He and I have been together for a long time, to hell and back. He is my soul mate and my life partner. I love him deeply.

I don’t want either of them to feel like they are being threatened by the other. They offer very different things to me, and I love them both. And yet I am having to walk this line about how to speak to them both about the other.
My husband knows that my sub has engaged my brain in a way that my other lovers haven’t. And so he feels threatened. The other lovers I’ve had were pretty much just for sex. But my sub is more than that. It goes deeper.

Neither of them have anything to worry about on my end. They will not threaten each other’s place in my heart. Though I give priority to my husband of course, I would protect him first. I don’t want to lose him, not ever.

So I keep a lot to myself. My thoughts, my feelings, my desires. I have never had two men in my life before that I love at the same time. It’s an unusual place to be-for me. I know Polyamorous people do it all the time, and respect that they have it figured out.

For now, I walk softly, reassuring both my husband and my sub that they are special and try my best to respect their own needs and part in my life. I hope that whatever presents, no one is hurt. I love them both so much. With them, I have everything I could have ever wanted in life. I hope I’m giving enough in return.

Some big ah ha moments

Lots going on in my life right now.

NRE with the man that I am considering as my sub. It’s gone deeper than I could have ever hoped. I love him immensely. And I’m excited for what might come.

My MIL is dying, we’re not sure she’ll last till the end of the year. Her Alzheimers has progressed rapidly. Her body is shutting down, she’s becoming very primitive in her needs and emotions. Her home is dark and dirty, she won’t let my FIL go out except to buy groceries. I hope that her passing is smooth and doesn’t take too long. It must be such a horrible place to exist for her right now.

My first big ah ha moment was about self worth. It’s something I’ve struggled with for my whole life. And while I am fairly confident, I still struggle deep down with feel like I have worth at all. Especially when I am not feeling well, which is often these days.
But I am working with my sub to build his confidence, and in so doing, revealed something that when turned around, helps me.
My sub was raped multiple times as a boy. He’s been abused and treated like shit for his whole life. And yet-he has incredible depth and capacity to love. And give. Despite everything he’s been through, he makes music, has a sense of humour, is loving, forgiving, willing to learn, open minded. He is worth a great deal. Even though he doesn’t see it. I see it. Whatever has happened to him, he still shines through it all.
And that has helped me to understand what value others see in me, even when I don’t. Thus, I must conclude that I have value as well, despite all of my struggles and shortcomings. What a huge revelation to me.

The other ah ha moment was when I thought about how my husband has had to take over so much in our lives right now. Something clicked inside me. I have always felt so guilty, thinking I should do more, I ‘could’ do more. And the truth is, I could. But if I do, it will cost me my mental health. I am not lazy, despite my desire to feel comfortable. What I realized is that he is taking on stress that he’s never had to before, in order to spare my mental health. That isn’t because I am lazy, it’s because he cares enough about my mental health to put in extra effort to protect it. And in that way, I suddenly was able to let go of a lot of guilt. It’s not done because of resentment, but because of love. He has the energy and ability. I don’t. And when I do, things are different. I do more, am more involved with our family, more energetic.

I’m glad to make these big leaps. They will help me a great deal as I work through the next few months. I’m excited and empowered. And ‘less’ guilty. Onward and upward!

My friend was raped

I’m not even sure where to begin this post. My heart is broken, and my mind is a mess.

On Saturday my dear friend was raped. And they blame themselves. Because even though they said no, several times, they froze when the person went to take advantage.
I’ve been talking with my friend, went to see them today as soon as I found out. They’re a mess of course. Going between feeling numb, ashamed, guilty and crying. On the beach we sat for a bit and I asked what I could do, because police should be involved. They said no, because no one would believe them. Because they hadn’t stopped the person from raping them.

Being that we’re both involved in the local kink community, I asked for the name of the person that assaulted my friend so that I could advise our community leaders. There should always be a no tolerance policy for sexual offenders.

But it’s complicated.
My friend has a pre-existing condition of PTSD. Thus-the freezing. From being raped many times in the past.
The rapist was a trans-woman. They’d had sex the night before, and cuddled. And so my friend feels that their multiple no’s the following day didn’t count. Even though my friend said they didn’t want to have sex.
And then, this woman that assaulted him -another woman stepped in and defended the actions of the first woman, saying it wasn’t a big deal and that my friend was fucked up sexually. That they should make a big deal of it.
And here’s the kicker: my friend is a man.

He knows he can’t talk to anyone. No one will believe him. No one will understand. No one will help or pursue the woman that did this to him.
My friend told me that he was shaking and crying when it was done. But the woman kept going ahead anyway. And then, he said he shut down and figured rather than fighting her off and risking getting charged for assault, he’d just let the rape happen and deal with that.

How sick and fucked up is that.
I held him and he was crying silently in my arms. He’s been sick all day, unable to eat. He gouged his arm with his fingernails after it happened.
And yet, he has to bear the weight of this.

For all we know, the woman has done such things before, or will again.
And if it was against a woman, there would be outrage.
But my friend has to bear it alone. He has no words that will be heard.
Even reaching out to the community leaders, I suspect they won’t take it seriously, because he’s a man. And because she’s a trans-woman. And because I can’t give the details of his identity. He’s ashamed.

How is it that people can do this. How is it acceptable to our society that it happen to my friend. He’s bigger and stronger so should have stopped her. He’s a man so he should suck it up and stop making a big deal of it. Meanwhile, he was frozen in PTSD and raped.

I can’t really focus tonight. I’m beside myself.

Fucking OUCH

I met a guy about three weeks ago. He wanted to be my submissive and we chatted extensively online before meeting. We connected on many levels, BUT, he was not my physical type.
When we met for the first time it was awkward as fuck. And I knew that I couldn’t be with him. There was no sexual chemistry at all, despite our steamy connection online.

After a time, we spoke again, and attempted to figure out whether we could be in a Domme/sub dynamic without the physical. After a few days, we met for a movie and he was all over me physically. I didn’t like it. So, I told him it wasn’t going to work.
He came back and apologized and we tried to negotiate further to establish boundaries. We connected strongly online again.

Then… today. Ugh.
I picked him up to take him for a walk, something we had planned to do as friends, no physical contact. He wants to lose a lot of weight, so we thought we could walk and hike together. It got steamy.
Tonight, more steam. So much so that my panties were soak and I was crazy to orgasm.
Online, I led him through a number of tasks, with him sending me audio as he completed them. Each one made me more aroused.

After two days of edging him, and having him use the paddle on himself, I let him cum. I told him, I need to cum now, because his sounds were so sexy.
His message to me? “Cum for —“, then immediately afterwards, “Update and —– and ——” Two other women he wanted to play with. I asked him to hold off telling me about his other romantic interests until after I’d had my orgasm, and did my thing. Sent him an audio file. That was about an hour after he’d had his orgasm.

His comment, “You have a set of pipes on you, I’m hard again but I need to save it for —-” And then, “Anyway, update on —– and —–”
I literally was still coming down from my orgasm when he wanted to tell me about the other girls.

I have had sex with men who disconnected after cumming, and just sort of waited for me to leave.
This felt worse. It felt as though I was a distraction from his pursuit of the other women. He’d had his orgasm, and mine was pretty insignificant.

Today after we’d met for our walk I wrote about how vulnerable I felt. How I had been caught up in my feelings for him and how scared I was with the new dynamic.

And then… tonight.

I mean, if you were fucking someone, then as soon as you’d cum and they had just cum and you sat on the bed and started to tell them about the other women they wanted to fuck, it would really suck.
It knocked the wind from my sails.
All of the concessions I’d made to try and make it work with this guy… all the feelings I let myself catch for him… and he dismisses the very vulnerable state I was in like it was nothing more than an m&m in the bowl.

It hurt. I feel so incredibly dismissed. And I’m not sure if I can move forward with him, knowing he’s capable of this kind of thing.
Just ouch.

A bit life changing

About a month and a half ago I took a rather big leap for myself and purchased some CBD/THC gummies.
I was nervous because any time I’ve tried CBD or pot before, I’ve either thrown up, or been fucked up to the point of hating the experience.

So I tried these. 5mg THC to 25mg CBD. First time I took one, it took my anxiety down from and 8 to a 2. Second time I tried one a few days later, I was very happily high. We’re talking squinty eyed, stupid grin, giggling at everything high. It was great. I slept well that night and thought, okay, maybe I should try again, but at a lower dosage so I don’t get high.
Half a gummy did nothing.
Tried a full one another day when I was anxious and didn’t get high but anxiety went down again from an 8 to a 2.

All this happened while I was dealing with a tooth extraction. I have to be sedated for anything to do with dental work because I have serious trauma responses to things covering my face (smothered as a child).
It has truly TRULY been life changing. Not as in, a move or a new partner. But knowing I can fall back on it and not have to struggle through all my self-care tricks when I’m already stressed, amazing. Not having to feel like shit during PMS all the time? Amazing.

Now I don’t have to fight all the time. And, I don’t put something that can really harm me long term or leave me dependent into my body. I don’t take one every day, so far only when anxiety is rough which is more often during PMS. My life has improved. My fight is not as great. I have the munchies. 😉

Today I told my mum I love her

We’ve been estranged for 4-5 years. Got to a point in our relationship where I was so anxious being around her that I pulled the plug. Two years of no contact at all. Over time I started allowing my kids to see her again, and then me, in passing.

Today she was bringing home my little boy (6 years, total gigglepuss, Autistic) and the two of them were wrestling on the driveway. I saw them both as their purest selves, full of love and joy. And I felt a moment of love for her.
So, I told her. She didn’t reply, but blew me a kiss.

Way back before we became estranged I told her that I wished she and I could tell each other that we love each other more often. I almost never heard it growing up. And I felt the lack of it. Between her constant judgement, punishment for my disorders, and manipulation, I felt pretty much like she hated me.

It’s not her fault to a point. She grew up with a narcissistic mother. A true narcissist. I thought for a while my mum was also, but then realized she was parroting her own mum. And now, my mum isn’t capable of unlearning her behaviours. She doesn’t see it. It’s always put on me for being the one at fault. My problem.

It made me feel sick to my stomach to say that to her. I wondered for a while if I should have kept my mouth shut.
But I think, even if she’s fucked up, and fucked me up, she still should hear that somewhere in my heart, I love her.

And I desperately wish she could learn to say it to me.

My trauma-the birth of my first born, and my near death experience:

First began contractions 45 hours before I gave birth, which was the 9th.
By late that first evening, they were coming hard, but every time I saw a pattern developing, they would ease off for 15 minutes or so, then start up again. They were very painful, and I was having difficulty with some of them focusing and breathing through them.
After about 16 hours of this, I decided to call the midwife to have her check me to see if any progress was made. I was only about 1.5 cm dilated, and 50% effaced.  Very disappointing.  I began to kind of lose my emotional cool at that point. I had tried to sleep I couldn’t doze for more than a few minutes because the contractions were very painful.
My midwife told me I should take some Gravol to make me tired, and have a hot bath to stop the labour. It didn’t work. When I got into the bath, it only took a few minutes before I began to have even worse contractions.  After stalling out again, I decided to call the midwife once more. She recommended I come to the hospital and they would give me some Demerol to help me sleep so I could labour more productively the next day. I arrived at the hospital, they put me into a wheel chair and I was wheeled into the hallway by the nurses’ station, parked by the wall and left alone. I waited for 15 minutes or so because the nurse said that there were no rooms ready. I remember nurses walking by me, not paying any attention to me whatsoever. I was actually embarrassed whenever a contraction would come on and I did my best to stifle my pain. I was given a room and Demerol, but it only seemed to make me stoned, it didn’t help me sleep.  They wanted to put me on fluids, but unfortunately I couldn’t have the sugar solution because I am allergic to corn, an integral part of the sugar solution. I was given saline, but that was all. No one, not even my midwife thought to give me anything to drink.
My mum went home. My midwife had delivered two other babies on the same day, so she also was exhausted.  She fell asleep on the floor.
Hubby curled up on the chair next to my bed and tried his best to get some sleep at my recommendation. I was still in full painful labour. 
And it was the most mindblowingly painful thing I can remember ever experiencing. My entire being was pain. 
For 5 or 6 hours I laboured in that darkened hospital room, swimming in the pain, not able to focus, no support from anyone.  I remember wondering how a midwife would be able to sit on the floor and try to sleep while hearing someone crying and wailing through contractions.  She should have called her backup. But then she wouldn’t have been paid. Fucking selfish bitch.

I was devastated. Alone. Terrified. In massive pain. Trapped in my body not knowing what was going to happen or when it would end. Helpless to help myself. Like being trapped in a car after an accident, sick and injured. Not knowing if help would come. So horrible. So helpless.

At about 6:30 the next morning I was about 4 cm dilated, still 50 % effaced, and the baby’s head still hadn’t engaged.  The shower became my best friend.  I was so much more able to take the pain with that hot water flowing over my belly and legs.  I had been throwing up since the previous night, but since I had nothing in me, I mostly felt nauseous the whole time. I let the shower run over my tongue which was so dry it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t swallow the water, because I’d puke it up. But I could moisten my tongue.

At 2pm I began to feel the need to push but I was only 6 cm dilated, cervix still the same, and baby still not engaged.  The midwife suggested AROM (sweep of membranes) to pick things up, since I still had transition and the pushing stage to go through. If stage one labour had been so painful, what would transition be like?  Again, I was terrified.
I just wanted to sleep.  And to have a respite from the pain. At this point, every time I so much as breathed deeply I would have a terribly painful contraction.  I was afraid to move, talk or breathe, never mind speed up labour.  But I didn’t see how I could go on either, without something to get my contractions organized.

Before this point I had a terrible feeling that something would go wrong, I knew I was likely going to have to go for a c-section. So much for my all natural home birth. 😦
I also knew that the AROM would most likely be the beginning of a snowball effect. But I wanted to try, I wanted to fight for a natural birth with all that I had.  So, we ruptured the membranes. Labour continued for two more hours with no signs of change.  The midwife suggested an epidural.  After I had the epi, he next thing was to have oxytocin introduced, to pick up contractions while I was comfortable. I had one blissful hour of the epidural working, and then as my contractions finally did come more frequently and strongly, the epidural stopped working. The pain worsened.  Contractions happened every two minutes and lasted for about 40 seconds to a minute each.  The pain was all in one area, just above my pubic bone on the left.  It was suggested by the attending nurse that the baby’s head was resting there.  When we tried adjusting my position to see if it would make a difference, the baby’s heart rate dropped.  
I was given two top-ups of the epidural to try and curb the pain, but no such luck. They even got worse.  I was throwing up frequently at this point, and I was so depleted that it was only stomach bile, I had nothing in me to come up. The nurse asked me if I had been drinking grape juice because my vomit was dark purple.

For the whole 24 hours I’d been in the hospital I hadn’t been offered anything to eat or drink.  Only the photographer/doula, who came in during the last 5 hours before my c-section got me a drink of ice water with fresh lemon squeezed into it.
My stomach was beginning to feel like it was full of knives, sharp stabbing pain was a constant, even when I wasn’t working through a contraction, I was in pain.  God, what a terrible feeling.
Finally, a doctor came in to check me, this was at 6pm on the 9th of August.  No progress. He reported that my baby’s head was actually locked into my pelvis, that the midwife had been feeling his shoulder all along. He was transverse, lying across my cervix.
Nothing could be done to bring the baby down, so I had laboured nearly 36 hours with my baby transverse. Fucking midwife didn’t pick up on that.
Doc offered the suggestion of a c-section, and without hesitation, I accepted.  I had been so miserable for so long, I just wanted it done. I didn’t care how it ended, and frankly, I was relieved to think that I wouldn’t have to go through transition and pushing (the most painful part of labour) feeling the way I did.
I cried. My husband cried. My baby’s heart rate dropped again.
Surgery was scheduled for 7:30pm.
My mum was there. I have a picture of her with a worried look on her face.
She was looking at the clock. Surgery was bumped back by another two hours. She was afraid I would die. She saw nothing in my eyes.
I had also been afraid that I was going to die. So much pain. So much vomiting and no relief, much of it faced alone.

When I was on my way into surgery, my mother-in-law was in the hall. She waved at me as I was wheeled by and said “hang in there!” with a smile. It felt like I was in another universe from her. Hang in there?
Then, I left my body.
I was suddenly aware that my life was ending. I knew I wasn’t going to survive, and for a few moments, I felt nothing but peace and resignation. I was dying, but I was comfortable with that. I didn’t feel any pain, I didn’t have any awareness of anything around me, or even that I was in my body. I just knew my life was ending, but it was peaceful.

Then, I snapped back into awareness in the operating room and every bit of the pain and illness I had been feeling was back. They told me they were going to give me a spinal because the epidural wasn’t doing anything for me.  I was told to move off the gurney onto the operating table but felt so sick that I could barely move. I vomited again when they moved me.
When I finally was given the spinal it was one of the most blissful events of my life.  I felt it warming and numbing my body almost immediately.  The surgical shield was put up, my arms were tied down, and I was given an oxygen mask.  I got the shakes really bad from the morphine and had to keep reminding myself to relax.  My teeth were chattering.
My husband came in in full scrubs, he looked so good to me.  He bent down over my face and talked to me softly while they completed the surgery.  He has such beautiful blue eyes.  I lost myself in them.

The doctor who performed my surgery was very gentle with my feelings. He explained everything he was doing, he was very kind and helped me to feel that I was in good hands. I faded in and out until he said there would be a moment of pressure.  Not too much later, there was a pressure on my belly and then we heard a very healthy squall.  The doctor announced that it was a boy.
They whisked him off to make sure he was okay, it turned out that I had an infection in my womb, and he had a mild fever. I realize now that I was the last person in the operating room to see him. What a crime. From my expectation of having him unmedicated on my breast within a moment of being brought into the world, to being the last one to see him after his cord was cut, he’d been held by a half dozen others and I couldn’t even reach up to touch him.

I don’t remember a lot of what happened after that, I only remember seeing him and having him put on my breast by the midwife, but his being too drugged to suckle, then another blank, and then I was in the mother and babe ward for recovery with my family.
My was 9 pounds, 3 ounces and 21.5 inches long. He was beautiful, though I didn’t see it at first, and very healthy from day one.

Follow up: For the next three days, I remained in hospital having fluids
pumped into me like there was no tomorrow.  I was so dehydrated that my urine
was dark orange, crystalized.  Through my whole labour in the hospital they said I had ketones, but never bothered to do anything about it. : (  I was itching like crazy from the spinal, and sore everywhere from 45 hours of hard labour.
The nurses were mostly kind to me.
I was upset when they insisted that I get up the morning after my surgery to walk around a bit. Did they not know I had a huge gash in my belly? That I had been in labour for two full days, 45 hours? That I had puked until I was dry the day before? I did as they asked, but it was very difficult.

Thus began my struggle with PTSD. I didn’t realize it at the time. I blamed myself for what I’d gone through. If only I’d made different choices, advocated for myself more, been less stubborn…
I went numb, emotionally. I didn’t connect with my son for months.
I lost a lot of time in my memory, but had flashbacks to certain images and scents. I developed fear of the hospital, of being pregnant. I wanted to scream at women who were trying to conceive to warn them.
I had bouts of rage mixed with periods of utter disconnection.
I lost a lot of time with my son, and he suffered because of my trauma. I wasn’t able to be the mother I wanted to be. I couldn’t. I could barely keep myself alive.

Three days ago he turned 18. I still struggle. It’s mostly managed. I have my triggers. I have a therapist. I have a loving husband. I have a second child-amazingly, after this.
I am strong. I am weak. I will not give in to my PTSD.

All the letters

I haven’t written for a while, even though there’s been quite a few good things to write about.
Today I’m overwhelmed. Not sure what to say except that I want to get things out.

Meds that doc prescribed to help me with my migraines made me more depressed. Stopped those, felt better. Pms hit.
PTSD trauma date is upcoming. Don’t know if that’s contributing, but anxiety is through the roof. Chest is heavy. Hard time breathing. Heart pounding.

Our floors are being ripped up tomorrow. Hardwood. Really good quality in excellent condition. Fucking termites. So no functional living room for roughly a week.

I know I should be kind to myself … that’s what I keep hearing. But I feel like I’m just always going downhill. Maybe that’s not the case. Maybe I’m just focusing on the negative. I just feel like I can’t get a step up. Most days are ‘meh’. Few are good. Many are awful.
I might need to talk to my doc about changing up my antidepressants. But that scares me because the last time I tried changing them I got close to committing suicide.
I keep thinking tomorrow will be better.
Tired of struggling. Tired of not being who I want to be.


The sub guy that I had amazing sex with bailed today. I was almost certain it would happen. So often the men like to fuck, and then if they’re asked to do anything else it’s too much. In this case, I told him I wanted to communicate regularly to build our mental connection. But that was too much to ask. -sigh- I am very sad. He felt so good, he looked so good. He smelled so good.
Lots of doubts about myself came to my mind BUT I didn’t spiral. I felt sad, and still do. But I didn’t spiral. For that I’m proud.
He may not have been in it for more than casual sex, but it doesn’t mean I am not worth more.

I do however feel a little hopeless right now about finding someone that I’m really attracted to to sub for me. I feel like it’s not worth trying. But I also want it badly.

On the flip side, I worked in the garden for several hours today and it felt really good. I seem to have my passion back. I got a lot done and feel more connected with myself.
I also got out my tools and put together the drywall and plywood frame for our new fireplace. I need to do taping and mudding before painting. The messy part. It’s going to look really good when it’s done.
Next we have to tackle the termites under the floor. I’m balking at that because it means lifting the entire living room of primo hardwood and sub-floor, then getting the exterminator in, then putting in a new hardwood floor. I hate renovations. And I fucking hate termites.

After that I think we can mostly sit back on our heels for the rest of the year since nothing else is really urgent. Next year we can tackle some of the other bigger projects. I feel like we’re making progress in this house. Thankfully it’s got really good bones.

In the garden: daylilies are blooming, I’m starting to collect seeds to give away and sell, I’m planning what to divide and which areas need redoing. I can’t do a lot of things till it’s cooler again, but it’s fun to plan. So grateful to have reconnected with my garden.

Glad I get to sleep in tomorrow.

What goes up must come down

I had three amazing days in a row. That’s more than I’ve had for a couple months now I think. Then, yesterday-crash.
Yesterday morning-no problem. Started to flag mid-morning so I tried to nap it off. Didn’t work.
I did some chores and some errands and then around 4pm my in-laws came over. First visit since Covid started. It was nice to see them…
BUT- my MIL has alzheimers and I can see it really affecting her now. And conversation turned to all the children’s graves that have been found and I spiralled quickly.
I retreated upstairs and napped. Nightmares. Except one nice little part where I was dancing the Mambo with Benedict Cumberbatch. That was lovely. Tee hee. The rest sucked. Something about my son doing something terrible.
He’s been acting out lately, I think he was overwhelmed by summer camp last week. Might have also picked up on the behaviours of some of the other kids. They all have some kind of disorder: ASD, Down Syndrome etc. I don’t know how they acted, but he’s been doing things I’ve never seen before. Yesterday he told my hubby (his dad) that he wanted him to die. 😦 That coming from a 6 year old Autie. Harsh.

After I napped last night I was still very tired, but had some good conversations online and then slept amazingly well.
This morning I attempted to head to the lake with Bean (6 yo) to visit with my girlfriend and her daughter. It was terrible. Bean ended up throwing a metal trowel and hit my friend in the head. Then he pushed a young boy under water. I know he doesn’t really understand the consequences for his actions, but that was rough. My anxiety was high before we left and peaked while we were there. We left early.
When we got home, Bean napped. I napped. All afternoon I’ve had this heaviness in my chest, depression settling in. But my boobs are also sore, so I know it’s also hormonal. I ovulated really early this month, only one week after my period. Which means 10 days of PMS out of 21. Fuck. I hate being at the mercy of hormones.

I think I’m also feeling antsy because the man that I had sex with on Friday has been away all weekend so I haven’t been able to talk to him. I like to connect regularly with new lovers. Not sure if he’s going to accommodate that or not, I need to figure that out. I’m worried he’ll bail, but also trying to give myself some credit and not allow myself to overthink or project. It’s hard though.

It’s been hot again here. Not at night thankfully, but during the day. Gardening isn’t pleasant when it’s really hot outside. And I’m tired. -sigh- I’m taking my medication boost to help with the PMS, hoping that’ll kick in tomorrow or the next day.
For tonight, I’m going to try to put my mind to sleep and try to focus on how happy I was the last little while. I will have that again.

Water lilies at the lake today