My grief is selfish.

We woke up this morning to the news of a dear friend had passed away. It’s not easy for us to deal with grief. We feel it keenly especially when it is someone most of us has interacted with. And in this online world, touching another’s soul is felt more poignantly as it is the only caress we can feel. Why is it only after do we realize just how much they were a part of our lives?

I don’t even know if they knew that I have DID. Or that they were among the privileged few who interacted with all the parts of me. I feel four times the grief but I received four times the love. He has our trust and respect and he will be deeply missed.

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We need to talk.

It’s not often I feel the pull of the stars in my life. This cycle around it is pulling hard and not pulling any punches with me in my life. If anything, it makes a decent non-corporal scapegoat.

March 6th had things blowing up in my life from the moment I woke up to the moment I closed my eyes to sleep that night. Everything I thought I knew I learned I did not. Everything, since I was 14, was rewritten in a matter of hours. The world, my world was knocked right off its axis. I’m still processing all of this.

I am now looking, considering ending one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had. From 14 to 40 and I have the strongest feeling it is now time to end it. I don’t know if I am sitting here typing this in shock or in horror.

My metamores no longer live close to me. They are several states away and have been for a few years now. When we all had been closer, it was a good seven-year run together. But now, knowing what I now know, I can feel the need for a clean break, a clean ending of things.

I am married. I’m not a single woman raising children alone. I am poly and my husband is a happy satisfied man. I have no intentions of ever leaving my family, not even for a metamore.

sigh, I am not unfamiliar with long distance relationships. Until recently, I was involved with a quite a few. When I do this, I will be down to one long distance relationship, no play partners, no metamores; just my husband and me. I’m looking forward to that. Is that so strange?

I’ve been closing a lot of the doors to the past lately. It feels good taking a moment to pause and chew on this. I will still have a heart that falls often and a body that demands sensation. I will still be the same person I’ve always been. (I hear the laughter in the back row, hush now sweetheart.) Maybe I am closing a door on a larger chapter of my life, or am I turning the page to an even more exciting future? I know I am doing this for me. It’s time for me to focus on me.

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It’s been weird lately. It’s not just you.

The 6th of March arrived like a fire tornado, burning the underbrush everywhere it touched. My life was turned inside out in a matter of hours. Things that had been hidden were now, painful, revelled. And I, I suspect like a lot of us, were sitting down wondering what the heck just happened.

Mercury, that fancy shoed smooth talker of a planet, enter the House of Aries-right after leaving the House of Pisces. Communication moved from emotions to self with all the power of an advancing army. We got water burning! Boy, does it feel weird!

This isn’t a retrograde. I suspect that the Jupiter retrograde on the 8th gave this whole thing a kick in the pants. This is a giant recipe for change and there is plenty of energy to do it. So, what are we waiting for?

Do we sail these winds or what?

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I refuse to celebrate Woman’s Day

It’s everywhere on social media – Happy International Woman’s Day. I won’t click a like or a plus or share any of those postings. The whole movement of Women Power I want to divorce myself from. It has gone way too far. It is no longer about equality but superiority. I do not want anything to do with that.

There was a dream of equality, where men and women could pursue their desires without ridicule, without social stigma. Now it is acceptable to shame men for being male. Now it is acceptable to shame women for being female. Now it is acceptable to shame. I find that unacceptable without equivocation.

I have experienced sexism in the workplace. In fact, I experienced more of it in dealing with women! I’ve worked in male-dominated industries without dealing with untold amounts of sexual harassment from men. But sexism, I got a lot of that from women.

Now, I’m not a butch, not a lez. I am undeniably female. Long hair, big big tits and wide hips-I cannot hide my gender even if I wanted too. I am not fragile. I am built for endurance and hard work. Ten hour days of physical labor would leave me just as tired as the men but I still had hours ahead of me of more work to do. The whole house chore inequality between sexes is a real thing. But frankly, that is more a relationship issue than a social one. The thing is, if I could not have kept up, I would have been washed out and dismissed. And that would have been fair.

Not all women are cut out to do the work I was doing. Hell, not all men are cut out for it either. But the thing I’ve noticed, in tough working environments, it’s about getting the job done and never about what’s between your legs. And strangely, in working environments where most anyone can do the work, sexism pops up it’s ugly little head. Where before women were screaming about sexual harassment in the office, it’s now going to be men screaming. And soon after, women will be silenced about the sexism of their female bosses. All because women power won.

That was never my fight. I wanted equality. I wanted the acceptability to pursue the work, the life and the loves that I desired. I had that for a little while. The women like me, that come after me, will have to be tougher than me. They are going to have to fight harder for the equality denied them and everyone.

I march to my own drummer. So be it.

Equality for All.

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For a friend

A bunch of years back I was in the middle of the worst depression I experienced in my life. I was watching my marriage meltdown from the inside. I lost friends I thought I’d keep forever and I felt so alone, so misunderstood and hopeless. I was nearing the end of my rope. Actually, I had passed that point. Somehow, I was still alive. I had planned to commit suicide, even set a date for it. Everything was planned. And then I reached out for help.

I did not receive help. I was met with horror and then denial. And I faced that date with pure fear and wonder. Would I or would I not? Nothing was going to stop me if I did. I hung on and battled the obsessive thoughts. I had no proof those thoughts were wrong at the time. I had no proof my life was worth keeping.

Now, looking back, I consider those days to be the blackest of my life. But I did have a question, why is my life worth saving? I felt no love, had no hope and yet I was still fighting, for what I did not know. I am an intensely curious creature so I decided to find out.

What if my life is worth saving? What does that mean? I had no idea and no one had any easy answers. I waited. I waited till the black clouds retreated and I could breathe again. I waited and counted time. I waited till I could feel again. Then I went looking for the things I wanted in my life.

I knew I wanted love. I knew I wanted friendship. I wanted to be happy again. I wanted more than anything to get rid of being so damn negative. That last one sounded like something I could change so I researched and studied. I hit upon the practice of gratitude. It didn’t promise much and it was extremely difficult. That difficulty told me I was in the right place.

The challenge was to come up with five things to be grateful for every day. It took a month, the first time out, to come up with five things. It took me six months to manage five things a week. A few months after I could write out five things a day.

I didn’t care if the only thing I was grateful for was that I hadn’t stubbed my toe that day. It counted! And I changed. It was like I was scrubbing the black clouds off my soul. I still had bad days. I still fell down the dark hole but I didn’t fall as far nor did I get stuck. Gratitude taught me the flavour of hope. Hope taught me about life. Shit is still shit but life goes on. And shit grows some mighty fine roses. It’s taken me a long road to here but I am grateful even for the shit in my life. That shit grows my rose garden.


If you or a loved one is considering suicide, please do not ignore it. Reach out and call the Suicide Hotline if in the US 1-800-273-8255


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Blasting thought Blocks

The last three weeks have been a bit of hell for me. I felt the blackness coming and I didn’t run far enough to avoid it. It swallowed me up again.

It was different. I saw it coming and it didn’t last too long. I know it was deep and I’m not sure how in the hell I got back out of it either.

It screwed up some things for me in a big way. I am taking classes for creative writing and I am behind on my assignments. I was given a second chance to catch up. I will have to do two to three assignments per day just to get back on track with the class.

I think I may have broken through – or at least punched a big hole in – my block against writing fiction. For some reason, a little voice whispered in my ear that I needed to write out the bullshits I was having about this. Thank you once again Dreamwalker. I do learn. And I did. But I also rewrote the bullshits, correcting them for positivity and reality.

Twenty-five individual bullshits surrounding this issue between me, my mother, religion and childhood had to be worked out.

Everything is coming out stilted, raw, unready yet it is progress. I have a ton to learn and practice. I’m so raw in this process but I see hope for the first time. I see progress. I see possibilities.

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Help! They had a buttonhold on me!

It’s Friday again.

I think my roller-coaster stopped to let a few of my marbles off. Nothing like going up an down, up and down till you beg for mercy. Mercy!

I started planning this post a few days ago. Between wanting to pick up the gratitude journal again, which really needs to complete the switch to Monday instead and wanting to start a new journaling project; I’ve been ruminating.

I haven’t been pleased with a bushel of things in my life. All of them alone are minor quibbles but like dust-bunnies, they multiplied and ganged up on me. I’ve been held hostage for years by these things! Threating me to be that last dirt dish in the sink..a sparkingly sink…gasp..or to be that one Lego on the floor that makes sure I step on it first in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom…the horror..or even to be that one more thing…that breaks my back…’cause surely I can carry it all on my own. I yanked out my secret weapon! Back you, beastly feigns! I’m waving around my living room with a pen in hand as I start sword fighting with these beasts. And I laugh! I laugh! Deep and full rumbling belly laugh and BAM! glitter rains down all around me.

Teehee. I laugh. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry over all that spilled milk that missed the glass. I’d rather laugh than walk hand in hand with sorrow.

That new journaling project I’m wanting to work on? It’s about self-compassion.

Stay tuned good folks out there and give it a go – laugh!

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