Accepting my Demons, One at a Time

 This is one of my favorite pictures of me, despite it being about 5 years old now and I have since grown my hair out and retired the piercings. Most of my selfies are taken from a strategic angle from above, but this one, I am actually looking down. And I think that's it. I think that's why I like it. But why? 

For a little back story, I took this in my first year of graduate school. I had actually done the makeup because I was doing a presentation in a class and (I think) going out with classmates after. At that time, I was newly single, and had started doing domme work for extra money. My specialty was humiliation and verbal abuse; I never touched a single submissive, it was all done via text, with the exception of a few sessions with a local guy that was into feet. I had always identified myself as being a "switch," someone who was okay being dominated or dominating, and I based this on my limited experience being dominated by a man, and being dominant to the point of being pretty sadistic with a woman that I neither liked or was attracted to. Being a domme taught me a lot about myself. A big thing I learned is that I do not like being dominated outside of a little light ropework and some spanking. I am too dominant and aggressive a person-- albeit introverted-- to submit to anyone, let alone a man. I like dominating men and treating them like shit. I've gotten a lot of compliments on my style and take pride in getting to know my submissive to make their session personal and extra painful. 

But this blog post isn't about me as a domme or sex work (but reminder that sex work is legitimate work) but about how I view men. It took years for me to examine my feelings, wrestling with it through the shambles of a long-distance relationship, and as I carefully constructed responses to decline advances from men when I really wanted to decline them in the most condescending, abusive way possible, I had an epiphany: I don't respect most men. It's a hard thing to admit. When men try to white-knight me, when they send unsolicited dick pics, when they position themselves as "nice guys," (spoiler alert, self-described nice guys aren't nice at all), when they apologize unnecessarily, all I can think of is grinding them under the proverbial heel of my cruelty, and I see, in my head, the picture of me that is above, looking down, cold, indifferent to the viewer, beautiful and untouchable. They are pathetic, and I have power over them. 

As you can imagine, this does not lend itself well to meeting people, especially when you're lonely. It is, however, something I am constantly mindful of when interacting with people. It's not all men, as I said, just most feel so pathetic and unworthy of any time or effort beyond charging them for it. I do make an effort to make meaningful connections, and I can typically tell within a very short time frame if someone falls into category A or category B. I know this is something that seems horrible, why would I admit this, let alone publicly? Because I am, and have always been, a firm believer in introspection, understanding oneself, understanding the why behind the feeling or thought, and either making a modification/learning from it, or accepting it as a facet of who I am. And here we are, the learning and acceptance phase. I once wrote in a long-defunct online journal that people can't hurt me with what I know and accept to be true, and I still believe that.

Ghosted

 Exactly a month ago today is the last time I heard from someone I considered a romantic partner. Someone I was making plans for the future with. Someone I thought might finally be The One. We had a very brief discussion about European metal festivals being scheduled for next year and then... nothing. My messages weren't even opened. My texts have gone unanswered, and while he hasn't unfriended me on any platform, he's been hiding his presence on online spaces we used to spend time with. I'm hurt, but mostly because he's ending a 5 year friendship, and I have no closure as to why. That's what hurts the most. I'm a big girl, I can understand and know when I'm not wanted, and move on from that, but friendships are so valuable and hard to make when you get older that I feel... lost. I see something cool and I can't send it to him. An announcement for a long-anticipated game, movie, or concert? Nope. Because I've been completely ghosted and cut off, and I don't know why. We're 40 years old, we're too old for that shit. I've cycled through a range of emotions, I want to rage, I've cried a little, but mostly, it's hurt. And loneliness. I just want a conversation between adults, I can handle it.

I don't want anyone to vilify him or call him names or give me any of the meaningless, unhelpful platitudes people give at the end of a relationship. I'm focusing on me. I've rebounded with the same person I rebound with every time a relationship dissolves. I'll be fine. I'll double down on saving for a house. It'll be me, and my cats, and it'll be fine.

But my advice, if you're with someone long term, whether friendship or romantic, don't just ghost them unless it's an incredibly toxic, harmful relationship. Be adult enough to have a conversation with them about why things are hanging. Give them some closure.

On Strong Female Friendships

I am a woman that has a hard time forming meaningful female friendships. Not to sound like one of those cringey "I don't get along with women, they're all drama," people, but my issue is having a hard time relating to other women. I'm a middle-aged woman that neither has not wants (or likes) children, I'm happy being alone, and like to talk about stuff that other people find uncomfortable (death and dying, anyone?). I have interests that women my age typically don't. I also have this toxic tendency to fall quickly and madly into (platonic) love with girls that sweep me off my feet with how fun and spontaneous they are. I usually find these girls and befriend them when I am manic, and when the high of the shopping trips, dinners, and platonic cuddling wears off, I realize that they are really bad, toxic people for me. The last such friend like this I had ended up selling prescription drugs and fucked up my taxes to the tune of $1200 that I had to pay back during a period of unemployment. 

Making and maintaining friendships as an adult woman is exhausting and sometimes very frustrating, when I feel like I'm the one always trying to make plans, make connections, so I'm grateful when I can find that rare unicorn of a friend that reaches out, checks in, accepts and appreciates me for who I am, and is content to sit in silence instead of filling the void with useless chatter. A rare friend, indeed, that I can have fun with, hang out with, and not feel exhausted by. I feel like I don't express my appreciation for those few friends enough, and today I realized, as I went on a "cemetery crawl" with my friend Kate, that she is one of those friends that I can always count on, and because we both have our issues, we can be flexible with each other if one is having a bad mental health or physical health day. We can have long meaningful conversations over coffee at Starbucks and have mutual interests we can explore together, but we can be silly and irreverent too without leaving our encounter feeling exhausted by the other. I am so grateful for our friendship, especially at times when I sorely needed distraction from the pain of everyday life. Thank you, Thing 1, for being a unicorn.

Feeling Small

This weekend, I climbed two mountains (three, if you get technical about it, since it was an out-and-back trail) which resulted in a new highest peak for me at just under 2600 feet. As I sat on the top of the second mountain (which was the highest), overlooking a wind farm, I felt small. 

Insignificant.

And I liked it.

There is something so comforting to me about feeling small in this world. Looking at the overwhelming size of the wind turbines, the height of the mountains, the sheer distance we could see from the top, and there I was, 5'3" of nothing that matters in the grand scheme of things. I know it sounds nihilistic to say but it's true. When I am in nature, I am in my spirituality. Being in nature in and of itself is spiritual practice, so when I say I feel small and insignificant and that it's comforting, it truly is. I am a speck of dust on the Mother's body, which has existed long before me and will continue on after I rejoin her soil in death. Feeling small and being in awe of this world that created me is both humbling and comforting. It's the only way I can think of to express it. 

 

September and October are Manic Months

I realized today, and I'm not entirely sure what made me realize it-- perhaps a Facebook memory triggered the thought-- that I am typically manic in September and October. I have no idea why, since I hate Fall, but it's a recognizable pattern in me. Even today, although I spent most of the day on the couch, my mind was going a mile a minute with ideas of things I could do (sexy photoshoot in my room! cleaning! exercise! baking!) and ultimately doing none of them (okay I did go for a run). I can look back at old Facebook posts and there it is, some tell of a manic episode. And maybe it was spending all morning scrolling through online shopping sites for Halloween accessories that made me recognize this. I've been extremely hypersexual which is honestly frustrating since I haven't seen my partner in almost a year and sometimes a vibrator just doesn't cut it. Why am I so hypersexual this time of year? Is it because September 1st is the start of Halloween for me, and it makes me think of demons and vampires, which makes me thinking of biting, which is one of my fetishes? Inside I feel like a succubus needing to sink her fangs and claws into her partner. I've been spending money and impulse shopping (and again, buying sexy things). All I want to do is shop, lately. And I've been listening to electronic music more, which isn't a manic thing per se, but in the Fall months I usually listen to metal more than anything. I've also been experiencing the more negative side of my mania, which is irritability, but thankfully no rage. Recognizing my manic periods (and patterns) helps me to self-regulate. Understanding that I'm manic can help me not act inappropriately and also keep myself out of situations that would trigger a rage episode. I can't do much about the hypersexuality but at least I don't use a vibrator that uses batteries any more.

What Hiking 100 miles in 108 Days Taught Me

Looking at the Bigelow range from Flagstaff Lake

Since all travel was restricted this year due to COVID-19, I decided in May that I was going to hike 100 miles this year, and I even took vacation time to go hike in order to beat the crowds. I didn't set a time limit for completion, and didn't disqualify duplicate hikes (you can see I visited some trails a couple times). If it was a mountain or a forest trail, the miles were counted and it went in the journal. I bought a state park pass (and used it all of two times, ha) so that I could take advantage of some of Maine's state parks. As a result of this goal, I hiked more mountains than ever before-- a total of 7, although I didn't summit all of them-- and even did some with my sister (we just won't discuss how every time I hike with her I fall). I really challenged myself to do harder, longer hikes, and as a result I beat last year's highest peak twice: first with Rumford Whitecap (which was also my sister's new highest) and then Mt. Zircon at 2,240 feet, which doesn't sound very high to experienced hikers and mountain climbers, but it was 452 feet higher than my last year's highest. So what did all this hiking teach me, if anything?

From the overlook on Borestone

• I will whine the entire way up a mountain, especially when it's steep, but I love the way my legs feel. I love the feeling of used muscles, and how they're a little tired after a rest.
• I really belong in nature. I feel most alive when I'm out in the woods
• I also really prefer being alone. I do enjoy hiking with my sister, but sometimes I just want it to be me and the forest. I get annoyed when I can hear other people on the trail.
• Hiking on day 1 or 2 of my period is fucking amazing for cramps. Honestly. I'm on my period now and wish I could've skipped out on work to go hike because I've been having miserable cramps.
• I am capable of doing more than I give myself or my ability credit for
• I can and will take a fun goal and have destructive, obsessive thoughts about it
• I'd like to upgrade my backpack to one that has a waist/hip strap for better support
• Water is heavy and bottles are hard to arrange in a backpack so that they are comfortable, and I want to eventually upgrade to a bladder
• I really can't trust any dog, especially a loose one, that I see on the trail (I got bitten)
• I feel real and true joy and gratitude for nature, which I have expressed before

Just because I've reached my 100 mile goal, I'm not done hiking. I plan on hiking until it gets too miserable out to continue, but I don't plan on winter hikes. No thank you. Plus, I don't want to invest in winter gear. What I will need to invest in is some blaze orange if I'm going to hike this fall, since some public lands allow hunting, and I don't want to be mistaken for a deer. Will I set goals for next year? Probably. I don't know if I will increase the mile count, but one thing I'd like to do is learn to camp so I can do some multi-day hikes, perhaps along sections of the Appalacian Trail or the Maine Huts and Trails network. I also want to try more challenging mountains and take advantage more of the state parks (and Acadia, which I've never been to, in my whole life of being a Mainer). One thing I do know is that I want to spend as much time out in the woods as I can for as long as I can, and that hiking is going to be a permanent lifestyle choice going forward.

Thornback Woman

I am 40 years old.
My tits sag.
Losing weight gets harder each year.
I have grey hairs.
I am unmarried, and childfree.
I have gone beyond "spinster" to "thornback" and while this term used to be derogatory, I think reclaiming it and owning it gives me power.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my body. I think most women do, since we are indoctrinated and brainwashed at an early age to live up to an ideal, that our bodies are dirty, that we must be thin/pretty/feminine/delicate perfect enough for society to deem us worthy, and even then, we aren't. I've been overweight probably since puberty. I had C-cup breasts at 14 and was fully in a D-cup by the time I was 18. Even now I wear a DD, but it's hard to tell what my actual size is due to recent weight loss. They sag, anyway, and this is one of the recent body image crises I've endured.

Why is loving an accepting your body seen as a sign of radical feminism? Shouldn't it just be... the norm? Shouldn't we just love our saggy bits, jiggly bits, and wrinkly greying bits alongside our smooth and firm bits, muscular bits, and sleek bits? When I hit 40 I thought I just wouldn't care any more, but I honestly do care-- I care that my partner finds me attractive, I care that the world finds me attractive, I care that my body can do things, I care about how my clothes look. It's infinitesimally harder to not care than to care. So what if caring wasn't so bad, and not caring shouldn't be the end goal? Like, my tits may sag but they're healthy, my hair may be greying but it's long and shiny, weight comes off slowly but I have curves and a soft belly that reminds me of ancient artworks. I'm 40 and unmarried but I still go out and do what I want to do.

People worry a lot about me hiking solo but as an animist, I never feel like I am alone. These hikes give me time to reconnect with my spirituality, and reconnect with myself. I often spend my hikes in awe of what my body can accomplish, reveling in the tired muscles that seem to bounce back after a rest to eat and drink to carry me onward. Today, I went on a hike and, for the first time in my entire 40 years of existence, peed outside. I was terribly worried I would get it all over myself, but you know, I didn't. I actually watched the stream of urine and marveled that our bodies are made to do this. We're so disconnected from some of the functions of our bodies by modern convenience-- toilets hide our waste process, sanitary products disconnect us from our menstrual cycle. These things are unclean and not to be marveled at. But, despite being voluntarily sterilized 5 years ago and generally being uncomfortable every 22 days, it is a beautiful, holy process that was once revered for the sacred event it was. I may grumble about my cramps and weight gain each month, but deep down, my menstrual blood makes me feel powerful.

It has been a struggle to love these things about me-- sagging breasts, menstruation, grey hairs-- but more and more as I get older, I do love them, even if the relationship with my body is still difficult, my body is strong and amazing. Women get more powerful as they get older. I am a thornback woman, and I can't wait until I can call myself a crone.