In times of trouble

If only I had the emotional capacity to forget things and people. I have met people that are able to shutdown their emotions for another like a light switch. I will never be able to understand that thought or the emotional distance that someone like that must have. However, I am grateful that I do not understand that switch at the same time. If I do not understand it, then there is no way that I am the person that they are.

If you read my blog on a regular basis you are aware that I am polyamorous with my husband. Poly means many loves; they combined Greek and Latin to come up with the word which is a trifle icky to many people that study language. The wording is changing over time, but it all means the same. Poly could not be further from cheating than anything. Everyone in the relationship has say in the action of the group.

The last relationship I had lasted for six-years with a man. I remember sitting there and wondering if it was the right decision to be with him because before then it had always been women. I remember distinctly the first time we decided to be a couple. We were sitting in the basement watching Paranormal Witness on SyFy and he was nervously trying to touch me. He was putting his fingers closer and closer to my feet. I told him it was okay if he touched me and he stroked my cheek telling me how soft my skin was. I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and said “but what if I fall in love?”. He said nothing and leaned in to kiss me.

That was how it began, a simple sweet kiss and a worry. Many fights, him cheating on me, so many lies to me, so many changes…I thought it would keep us stronger in our relationship. He was there when I received the diagnosis of my son’s Autism Spectrum Disorder, he was there for counseling to make our relationship better, and he was there when I would have panic attacks or flashbacks.

I was on a medication called Abilify, and it makes you not understand impulse control. We had decided to be just friends so he could find his “white picket fence family” but he was still going to be there for my family. Both my children called him dad and I believed that we would be in each other’s lives forever. I went to his house on a morning after a night of him drinking and had sex with him. A few days later I started to bleed and that is not supposed to happen due to IUD. I contacted my doctor to see if this was normal and they said it could be but take a pregnancy test. As it turns out I was pregnant. It turns out you can get results a lot sooner than you would think. I suffered a miscarriage as is most common with an IUD pregnancy. I handled it by myself, in a pool of blood. I went to my OBGYN to ensure everything was okay with my strings. While she was down there making the adjustments, the rest of the baby came out.

bloodpregnancy test

I found out he was lying again, and I asked him what more he wanted from me. He told me to fuck off. Okay, ouch. Then I heard he was lying and said that I did not have a miscarriage and was saying horrible things about me. I was so upset that he would say such things. We loved each other once, and saying those lies was gut wrenching. What was even more destressing being when my son with autism needed him. He did not answer. I do not understand how someone could be so calloused to a child. Me, yes, I do understand it, but to someone that called him daddy that has autism…I will never understand.

I am trying to understand it. Maybe it is because he was not the biological father. Maybe it was because I was so incredibly blunt with my last conversation. Maybe it was a combination of everything. Maybe we were just toxic. Either way, it is just something that I cannot wrap my head around.

I’m glad I don’t understand it.

Thanks as always to Jenn Bovee for always being there for me.

Light up the Darkness,



I’m fine, the most often used lie.

So, what’s happening? What’s going on? Are you okay?

I have heard these questions for a while now, and I am getting more accustomed to them. I wish there was an easy answer to give to everyone. Trauma and my post-traumatic stress disorder make it difficult for me to cognitively put everything into place where it needs to go on a time line. I will attempt to address it.

I had been fainting, and honestly believed I was dying there a couple months back. My doctors finally hooked me up to a month-long heart monitor (portable EKG, or “event monitor”). Essentially, I was wearing two long cords that attached to a device that tracked my heart’s every move.

We all know that my grammy passed away. I was there for her death, but the shit that gets me is that I wanted to go see her and didn’t. I didn’t because I did not want her to see the heart monitor and become upset or disturbed. Looking back at it now, she probably wouldn’t have cared. My oldest wanted to get her Calvin and Hobbs comic book for her, and couldn’t wait to present it to her. Well, the heart monitor came off, and I couldn’t get that visit. You know the one, the infamous “one last time,”. I never got it, but you better be damn sure that Calvin and Hobbs comic book is buried with her. It was hard to see the once matriarch of a family dead, her mouth open and resting on the pillow. The nurses kept checking her vitals and damn it I kept expecting them to say ‘OH! We have a heartbeat!’, that never came. The woman I love so dear is gone, and I will carry that pain and the visage of her face in death with me.

As it turns out the heart monitor did find a weird defect or whatever called inappropriate sinus tachycardia. Apparently, my heart was beating rapidly (over 100 BPM) and having an arrhythmia even while sleeping. It is genetic and needs to be treated with a beta blocker. So, my first impression was great another medication to be on.

This all happened when I was on the medication of Abilify, which did not go so well. I had no impulse control, and went outside of my boundaries and slept with my ex-boyfriend. Funny how the universe works sometimes, but it turns out my strings or the mirena was a bit dislodged. So, lucky me, I became pregnant. Although I was frightened, I told my ex-boyfriend what was happening. He said he was scared too but would be there for me no matter what. Okay, good, because that is what he needed to do. I told him that while I was in the first trimester that neither of us should be dating so I did not become stressed out. He said he agreed. I tried everything to become pregnant last year, but the stars were not aligning. Jokes on me, almost every conceived child on a mirena will end in miscarriage as it turns out. The baby, or zygote, or fetus, came pouring out of me in a gush of blood. I bled for a long time. I had not had a period since I had the birth control placed so it was interesting. I told my ex-boyfriend and this person told me it was relief because he wanted to start dating and finding his white picket fence. I found out he had been lying all seven years of our relationship. I am forced to see one of lies every day at work. Every time I see that lie (a person) I relive the moment the child was expelled from my body and how relieved he was. I went through the pain myself.

So, heart condition, grandma dying, miscarriage, and being told to fuck off by a person whom I had carried and a lost a child to…I can handle this right? I’m fucking wonder woman of mental illness, and do not let it define me.

Back to the beta blockers. Due to the beta blockers I am able to come off the benzodiazepines one milligram at a time. This is wonderful news for me. I hate taking medicine, and knocking it down to maybe two well that sounds amazing. Then it happened.

I became increasingly tired, and could not get up out of bed. The doctors decided to do a two milligram drop of my Xanax this time (I had been on 8 mg for over a year). Biggest mistake I have ever made. The physical pain that you go through is rough, but that’s just puking and shakes and not feeling good. You know it won’t last though so you just keep pushing on and putting up the good fight. The symptoms fade after two weeks. Ha.

I was still increasingly tired when they removed me from the two milligrams of Xanax, and my depression has become extreme. Extreme enough for me to hate myself. All the wrong things I have done, even if it was a deserving reaction. Everything about myself I have started to hate. I cannot go on living like this. Off to the psychiatrist we went. She was confounded because when you lower a medicine the anxiety increases and you are more awake. Well, not with me. It caused something physiologically to happen with my PTSD. Everything that I have just stated above and more started roaming my head day in and day out…still is. I do not want it to be there, but there it lingers.

They had to put me back on the two milligrams to get me back up to six milligrams a day of Xanax to have a baseline of what is happening. Yay, more medicine…more medicine cocktail. Then they plan to remove me slowly, half a milligram at a time. They wanted me to go to a hospital that specializes in trauma and ptsd. Well, the program is thirty to forty-five days long. Guess who has two kids, and animals to look after? Me. I do not have time for that.

That is what is going on, that is what is wrong. I am trapped in my own head. Filled with shame and the what ifs. I am there, in the dark. After I realized that there was nothing but the dark, I was able to say fuck it. I’m going to go to work physically tomorrow (I have been working from home) and suffer through it. That’s what I do, suffer in silence, fake a smile, say I’m fine, just wishing someone could see me drowning in my life water.

Off to sleep for me.

Light up the Darkness.



She came into my life quite unexpectedly, and like a force that needed to be met head on. I cannot describe the relationship we have as it crosses all boundaries of any natural relationship.

I often wonder how much courage it took her to message me about her pregnancy after everything she had heard about me; honestly, it is still something that I am baffled by today. How do you message a woman you have been told is batshit crazy and scary for years to tell her that you are pregnant with her child’s brother?

She had been told I took all his money, I was a she demon, I was spiteful, I was jealous, I would leave my children to go to orgies every weekend, and the list goes on. Yet, she still picked up the phone when I called her to talk. That is when our relationship began, and it was cautious at first. I cannot blame either of us for that. I had heard horror stories of her upon my ex-husband’s return, but have known him long enough to know his bullshit. Still, one of his exes had tried to kill him with a knife so I was cautious.

Then came time for the abuse she would endure from my ex-husband. I knew it would be coming, but was hoping it would be different for her than for me. His abuse became worse when I was pregnant, and I believe it was because he knew I could not fight him back. However, it seemed to increase for her when she discovered she was pregnant two weeks after kicking him out (it may have been more than two weeks). I listened to the voicemails he was sending her, and read all the screenshotted texts that he had sent her. She cried, and I reassured her that she would be a wonderful mother. Just in case anyone was wondering, she is a fabulous mother.

Then came our first meeting in a face to face situation. She opened the door and all I saw was this very tall beautiful creature in front of me. She looked like a fairy to be honest. Long dark hair and eyes to match. We hugged like we had missed each other from some previous life, and then we got to meet my son’s brother.

I remember her being so nervous about nursing in front of us in the beginning few hours, but was reassured that it did not bother either my husband, myself, or my children. I got to reminisce about what it was like to nurse a small child, and to have that closeness. The first night we (her and I) stayed up until 3 a.m. talking, just talking. We had gotten some wine, mostly for my sake, and sat out on her balcony sharing war stories of the storms we had rode by the same person. I took her to the emergency room when she thought her incision was infected. We took the baby so she could sleep all night to catch up on what she had been missing. We sat on the couch, my feet under her butt because they were cold, and hell did we talk. Not just about one subject, but like we were bursting at the seams to tell each other everything that we had missed since we last met in our previous life (you know, if you believe in that).

And then we wept when it time for us to go. That part has changed now. She cries when we see each other, and I cry when we part.

I do not care what anyone says, this relationship that has been formed is family. It is tribal, but damnit we are there for the other when shit is good, bad, or indifferent.

That is family.

Thanks as always to Jenn Bovee.

Light up the Darkness,


I repent

I must repent for my transgressions against others, and I am full of the karma that has been inflicted. I am a believer in the three-fold path, and have come to understand it better as I move through this life from childhood to adulthood.

My transgressions are many in numbers, but I regret nothing as it has made me who I am. I am a stronger person for everything that I have done and everything that I will do in the future.

I was not the perfect child. As my Aunt tells me: ‘you’ve always marched the beat of your own drum’; as a Pagan, these words take on different meaning to me. No, I never conformed and was a horrible youth to raise to say the least. Yet, I was a trauma victim and blame cannot be solely placed on myself. That would be horrible to be done to any child, or adult for that matter. To place blame solely on the individual that went through trauma. I saw what happened when a family member prosecuted the individual that assaulted her, and I would not go through the same thing after my own assault. Instead, I found diverse ways to cope than the normal societal view of living. I turned to Heathenism as it made the most sense to me and still does. I disliked my biological mother for the way she treated me, and treated me until I went no contact with her. I disliked my biological father for letting the abuse continue through my early and late years; to be honest, I believe I still do dislike him for letting it happen. His answer when I asked him: ‘I don’t know why she did that to you, but she does love you’. What a crushing sentence to murmur even to an adult when speaking of the person that labored you through into this world without medication.


I am not monogamous. I never have been, and not sure if I ever will be. Monogamy may be the societal normality, but I do not believe it should be the default. I believe that monogamy is a choice, just like being a vegetarian. You may choose to be vegetarian, but that does not mean that the bacon will not smell good.


I have danced naked under the full moon, surrounded by the pounding of drums, and danced in a rhythm that would make anyone dizzy, powerful, and joyful. The beat that filled our hearts and made them beat together. The women dancing on the outside and the men on the inside, the attraction of feminine and masculine intertwining into a beautiful sort of energy orgy. Later there was an orgy, but I regret to say I was not there to witness it.


I fell in love with a man when he was still with his other partner, and allowed the relationship which was of great disrespect for the person and myself. I reveled in the attention, and was blinded with joy to have the attention of another male in my life. I remember whispering ‘I love you’ in between the thrusts of lust and pleasure, running my hands through his hair, over his shoulders, and through his chest hair. I later found out that I had been violated through my consensual bonds. I do not sleep with people I am not in love with, and this person knew it; yet, they continued to sleep with me even after they fell out of love. The betrayal is branded onto my heart, and will take some mending to heal.

wounded heart

I have slept with women, and I consider myself to be sexually fluid. I have soaked in the love that only a woman can provide, and loved every moment of it. The relationships are intense and loving, but too much feminine energy throws my balance off. I regret to say that I had to let the woman I loved dearly go to a person that could make her happier than I ever could.


I am involved in the BDSM lifestyle, and have been for almost a decade now. I cannot tell you the trust and love that comes from such blatantly honest relationships. I jumped into the proverbial pool head first and was burned many times. I have worn the leather of people that I love dearly, and have heartbrokenly returned it.


I have recently been accused of telling people that my father raped me; the hurt that came from that was intolerable, as I am sure it was for him if he believed any of it. I love my father, and would not ever spit venom about him. I have made him very angry in the past and most recently the present. When I was told that my father was incredibly angry over our choice of going no contact, and that his health was deteriorating because of me, I became scare of him and what I could do to someone I loved. So, I handled it in the way I had been taught to do my entire life: back off and do not talk. I reached out to my biological mother to advise her that we need to be seen by a licensed professional over the wicked things that she had been spread, but she rejected the notion.

I have caused havoc amongst those I hold so dear, and the ones that know me are still around. They know who I am at my core, and that all my transgressions are simply just who I am and nothing more. That if I hurt someone, it is never intentional.

For this I repent.

Thank you as always to Jenn Bovee.

Light up the Darkness,