Greenstorm's Journal

I still feel it peeking around the edges. It comes when it's inconvenient: when I'm in a crowd of strangers stuck on a rush-hour skytrain, when someone who would be inconvenienced by my breaking down is speaking of something altogether else. I am, of course, a fucking world champion of stoneface when I need to be. I spent many years breaking down that skill, living outside of it, and now a year or two of practice and it's walled me inside.

Inside, outside, apart. I don't know. Metaphor breaks down and I am apart from myself.

I sometimes use music as a tool to break through this. I have not done that. When I had finished the tattoo sitting and Angus came in and I was worn out from resisting the pain I knew it would break when I looked up into his face (so warm! and I can be so, so cold) and it did, but only for a moment.

I think I am avoiding it. I am avoiding some people, for sure, because I'm afraid of being inconvenient. My pain very much wants to be inconvenient, it wants to be a storm or a flood and it won't thus far be contained in a quiet room where I can sit patiently and wait it out.

I find myself fantasizing about a good top who cares about my well-being, someone who could draw the pain out of me (it wouldn't take very much; physical pain is a very open gateway here. I amost broke down in the doctor's office when she drew blood) and revel in the process, who could a big enough, sure enough safe space to contain the storm the first time until it passed a little. I have even thought of asking some people.

But while my pain wants to be inconvenient, I do not. And. I. Feel. Inconvenient.

I guess that's my word right there. Other people don't like to be called bad, or wrong, or irresponsible, or whatever that trigger is that's been built into them. This is the trigger that's been built into me surfacing right now.

It occurs to me that I should think of ways I'd like to feel, words of power for myself. I've been trying during these last two paragraphs to think. I don't want to be necessary, helpful, needed, not even really desired. But-- wanted. I want to be wanted. I want to be liked. I want to be cared-for and cherished. Interesting comes and goes. Correct I reject wholeheartedly. Admired? Yes. I like being fascinated by myself, but not fascinating. I like feeling interconnected, I can tolerate feeling self-sufficient (that is where I'm sliding, these days).

And, I like to feel... sufficient. Enough. For everyone, myself included and especially.

Wanted and sufficient. I'll think about that more later, but for now I will feed myself like a good girl and go curl up under the protection of Kynnin, he who has loved me longest and knows as much about my history as anyone. I am enough for him as I am, and he will not allow me to be inconvenient. So there we are. Maybe I will even, finally, be able to cry a little.

My very dear friend Andrew went on a vacation and left me his keys, so I've been staying in a space with my own real bed and a locking door for the last few days. There's a kitchen where the dishes stay clean if I do them, and I can play music, and a bonus cat. It's close to my friends and work, so there's no commute to keep me from sleeping or break to my spontenaeity.

I've been cooking meals for myself: salad, meat, sides. I've been petting the cat for half an hour a day. I've been going to sleep at 10 or 11 and feeling human when I wake up.

It seems like Blake is out now, but he's left some stuff and doesn't want to talk about getting it back. I guess that means it's my job to pack it up and either store it or throw it out. He would no doubt be livid if I threw it out. He also still has the keys, but isn't yet ready to return them to me, so things are not as well as I'd like. I've been popping by to feed and water the animals; tonight is New West potluck so I'll be staying there and waking there and trying to feel out how to best start the massive cleanup job that space requires.

I wish I had a little more money to get some nice house things. That went on hold for two years, it was so irritating at the time (he never even got a dresser for his clothing, I would have had to pay for it) but now there's nothing to lose or divide on that front. I want another book-case (for my canning stuff) and a rug for the front of the fireplace.

I have my bike back, and went biking with a rainbow-haired poly dude I met at the masquerade. I love biking, and it was so, so nice to talk about poly to someone who is independently coming from a similar set of desires to me: not dyadic or heirarchical is particularly a thing to me right now. I do not want to get sucked back into that ill-fitting trap.

My brother is trying to convince me to buy a juiced-up electric scooter/"bike". It's pink and lovely. See: I wish I had money.

I sat down to write about my experience of kink originally; I'd had a discussion with a friend where he said something about a belief or experience that it was usually less intimate than sex. That was so far from my experience that it spun off a lot of thinking that wanted to lead to talking, but by that time there was nobody to talk with.

I'll have to write it later. For now, I should go get ready for work. Be well, folks.