The Times, They Are A-Changing

So, anyone who has been reading lately, has probably figured out that I've been in a manic phase, as evidenced by my sudden daily postings ... after months of inactivity.  I've even created associated Google and Twitter accounts.  Several of the recent posts have revolved around sexuality, and been written in a somewhat explicit manner.  I hope I haven't offended anyone.  I'm just trying to be as open and honest as I can possibly be.  Ha Ha, open and honest!  Isn't that a funny thing for a secret woman to say while writing a secret journal?

Anyway, the times they are a changing.  I started feeling a little different about two days ago.  My husband and I have been skipping the hot sex, and have just been snacking, and watching television, until we fall asleep.  Yesterday I found that I couldn't concentrate on a blog post. It didn't matter much because I didn't really feel much like writing anyway.  


I was also quite irritable, as I had some errands to run, and my anxiety about leaving the house is kicking up.  This particular anxiety acts up from time to time.  Many years ago, the second in a short line of psychiatrists thought she had hit the nail on the head by diagnosing me with Agoraphobia, after a mere two visits.  Well, considering my behavior at that time, I guess it was a reasonable assumption, but that's a story for another time.   


I happen to think it's quite a rational anxiety, considering that I'm embarking on an adventure in transitioning.  Part of it has to do with my inability to concentrate.  As opposed to my regular, slightly dizzy personality, during this time I become sort of childlike ... as in feeling meek and lost in this great big scary world.  It takes all of willpower, not to operate the vehicle, but to remember where I'm going and how to get there.  I had a moment, while staring at items on a shelf at the grocery store, when I began to panic at the random thought that I might not even be fully dressed.  Don't worry, I was.  With thoughts like that, isn't it reasonable that I would just want to stay home?


By the time I got back home, I was snapping at the kids, and then having to come up with reasons why.  "You didn't clean the microwave".  I could have just explained the situation to them, but even they know all about my issues, I think they forget, because I'm pretty good at keeping it all together.  At least on the outside.       


I wish I could just stay in my safe place, and spend the next few weeks nestled down in my comfort zone.

I've Got A Disease

It leaves a stain on every one of my good days.
But I am stronger than you know, and I have to let it go.
Feels like it's making a mess.
I'm hell on wheels in a black dress.
Well, I think that I'm sick.
I've got a disease, deep inside me,
Makes me feel uneasy.
I can't live without it,
Tell me what am I supposed to do about it?
Keep your distance from me, don't pay no attention to me... I got a disease.
It's called Bipolar Disorder.

A Man-Man-Manic Episode

So, what do you do for fun when you're a young, naive, emotional train wreck, in full swing of an early manic episode?

What I did, way back then, with my (ex)husband, was smoke a little crack with the neighbors, until everyone was good and happy.  Then someone would invite another friend over, who would bring a friend, and then someone else would pop in to say 'hello', and the next thing you know it's a party.  Sometimes there would be a little pot, and sometimes there would be a lineup of liquor.  On two occasions, the early hours of the morning found me picking out which of my (ex)husband's friends I wanted to lay beneath.  I would choose the most attractive one who had paid some attention to me, and showed an interest.  Someone who made me feel sexy.  My (ex)husband would pull him aside and quietly make the proposal.   

Now, when one thinks of a hot threesome orgy, one might think that the men would penetrate her body from both angles, simultaneously.  And one would think that a woman who was willing to have a hot threesome orgy would be willing to do that.  But I was actually quite shy, with little confidence in my own physical beauty.  I never went topless, not even alone with my (ex)husband.  Not even with other men before my (ex)husband.  The contents were open for business, but you just had to keep them in the container.


Here's how it all went down... I would lie on the bed, and both men would touch me, until I was I was physically ready.  My (ex)husband would mount me first, (you know, to display ownership and domination).  His stay was brief, and then he retreated to the back of the room, to watch as another man penetrates, and thrusts into his wife.  It was the moment of victory to me.  To be holding a man so close against my chest.  To kiss his neck and chest.  To feel his hands on my body while his pelvis rocks against mine.  They, each, were very handsome men.  The kind that I would never have a shot with in high school.  But one year later, and two thousand miles away, they wanted me.  Two other men, on separate occasions, wanted me.  (There were actually three, but the last one didn't happen like this).  Both men, in those moments, with the weight of their bodies laying heavy on mine, and their hardened dicks being gently squeezed by my soft pink flesh ... they even needed me.  Even my (ex)husband needed me.  He needed to be a voyeur, watching the live sex show.  Sometimes he would he would stick me one more time, before ejaculating on top of the sperm that already covered my stomach.  It was the closest that I could get to love, and I took it.




     

Maybe I'm Crazy... Probably

When everything that you thought you were supposed to know about the world ... changes ... there is no safe place to go, but within your own mind.  "There was something so pleasant about that place. Even your emotions had an echo, and so much space".  "Well, out there, yeah, I was out of touch.  But it wasn't because I didn't know enough, I just knew too much".  If the innocence in your spirit has been damaged in some way, then you, indeed, know too much.  You've seen the darker side to reality.  But that kind of crazy can also bring a wealth of knowledge.  You're perception of life is changed, and you can see many things a lot clearer in the end.  When you've stared Crazy in the face, it becomes that much easier to recognize Crazy in others.

A Sick Circle

They say that someone who was abused has a higher risk of becoming an abuser, and I agree with that statistic.  I also know that with the right tools in place, the cycle can be broken.  But what can you do with a victim who goes on to enjoy being victimized? 

You will find through past and future postings, that I have been sexually assaulted a few times in my haunting past.  You may also find some research on the web, that shows that many rape victims later find themselves aroused by rape scenarios.  Guilty as charged. 

Once upon a time I was shamed by this fetish.  How sick is it for a girl to want to be overpowered and forced into deviant acts, as a submissive sexual slave?  (My goodness... just typing that line caused me have to adjust myself in my chair).  I mean, it is a crime.  Unless the partner is perfectly willing, and not only gives permission, but thoroughly enjoys the act.  In my mind, it's that primal man, with all of his strength and virility, who has pressure to release.  If a woman should stimulate him visually, he may have the natural desire to take her, by force if necessary.  I love being on the receiving end of a man's strongest urges, when his passion borders on the edge of anger.  When  he seems almost possessed by a demon of lust, and he's driven to force himself on the woman he desires.  (Oh, Boy).  Sometimes it's simply a woman being held as a commodity for men to use as a toy, as they satisfy their sexual needs. 


This fantasy branches out into all sorts of fabulous scenarios.  There's the woman being captured by vikings, pirates, or (--insert your favorite savage here--).  The one who was sold into slavery, in another era, and services handsome, wealthy kings.  The one with the biker gang, and the girl bound and chained on a mattress in the corner.  And one of my favorites, the girl who gets so drunk at the frat party that she doesn't even realize that she's being laid out for the wrestling team to line up on.  I sometimes even take that to the next level, and pretend to be the girl who was drugged by her boyfriend, so that he and his roommate can ravage her in ways that she'll be unable to protest against. 


Okay, so it is rape.  And rape is a horrible crime.  I know because I was raped.  But like I said in the beginning, it is the rape scenario that arouses me.  The sex act, not the violence.  In the privacy of my home.  The participants are two people in a loving and committed relationship, who have discussed the acts that they perform, in all their glory, and have agreed on the limitations.  With love, I give myself fully to his will, and trust that he will keep from hurting me.  Neither of us have ever been disappointed.

Is it still sick?

Ups and Downs

   
About six months ago, my husband began taking a mild mood enhancing drug... prescription, of course. As it did for me, the medication helped him a great deal. His anger just melted away, making him a much more personable man, easy to talk to, funny, and just an all around great guy. The way he used to be, before our kids became teenagers, and the economy nearly wrecked his career. He even dropped a few pounds, and began taking me out socially, like he did when we were in our twenties. On top of that, he had finally given in and gotten that vasectomy we'd been talking about for years, and I had been seen my doctor about an anti-anxiety medication to help me relax.

With all of these things coming together, it was no surprise that we would find ourselves coming together, a lot more often. Not that our sex life was lacking. Chemistry, compatibility, and electric excitement had never been an issue, but the frequency of encounters had diminished. It was a shame, too, because when we have an intense sexual history. That's what comes from a deeply committed partnership between two people who truly respect each other. We've felt comfortable enough to share our secret desires, including fetishes and dark fantasies, and we brought them into our bed. This is what you get from having a deep level of trust in a relationship. Hallelujah.


So, after a couple of years of sexual frustration, brought on by stressors coming at us from random directions, we're back to hitt'in it on a regular basis. I'd even say more than most couples our age, who have been married for more than fifteen years. It's funny, because 99% of the people we know see us as such a sweet couple, as they catch us mindlessly moving in synchronization, and finishing each other's sentences.  We're Ozzie and Harriet or Rosanne and Dan.  Wouldn't they be shocked to discover our freaky side. 


We've discovered, however, that my husband's medication is causing a very unwanted side effect.  It doesn't even matter how overcome with passion he may be, or how strong his erection, his gun won't fire.  It wants to, and God knows I want it to.  It's certainly cocked and ready, but the bullet always retreats just as the trigger is pulled.  We've tried every sexual thing imaginable trying to stimulate him further, even though we've already done everything before.  We did them all again.  He's tried meditation and relaxation techniques, to no avail.  He even decided to reduce his dosage, but that led to the partial return of the grump, so that idea was tabled.  The doctor says that this may last a few months, or it could last as long as he's on the meds.  It's a wait and see situation.


Sometimes, it's nice that he doesn't fire it off for long periods of time, if at all.  That gives me a very long time to play with his assets, and to enjoy his manual labor.  Believe me, "he's got magic hands".  It doesn't help me, though, when I'm lost in a sexual frenzy, and I want nothing more than that moment of feeling his warm fluids landing on, and dripping off of, various parts of my body.  That aspect of our problem leaves me very unsatisfied.  Not only that, but several hours of having his semen held captive by his body, and teasing him with it two or three times in a night, is enough to wear a man down, and the gun goes back in it's holster.  Now, by the time that this happens, I'm usually well pleasured, and so dehydrated that it's a battle to even gasp, and pull oxygen into my desert dry mouth and throat.  We both are equally ready to quit, with nothing really to complain about, but the thought of leaving him without a release, for months at a time, makes me feel bad.   

The only solution, besides waiting it out, may be adding another medication to the mix.  I know that Viagra will create a strong and lasting erection, but can it aid in unloading a load?

Mania Made Me Do It

I have found that "mania" has a life of it's own, in a world of it's own.  Like being an alternate personality in an alternate universe.  No two are ever the same, although they sometimes share similar characteristics. 

I can't tell you when I had my first manic episode.  But I can tell you about the strange thoughts that have come over me, throughout life, and the ways that I acted on them.  Like the time that I thought I was under government surveillance for about two months.   I had begun to take notice of white vehicles with tinted windows.  They were everywhere I went, all around me.  White vans, SUVs, sedans... any make, any model... and they all had dark tinted windows.  They were watching me, following me.  I knew, at any moment, a dozen men were going to pop out from somewhere that I least expected, and take me away.  I didn't know why they would want me, but I must've done something criminal, because there they were.  White vehicles, in the parking lot of my apartment complex, in the neighborhood as I walked my children to school, at the grocery store, and the doctor's office, and beside me at the red light.  I was afraid to go outside, to answer my phone, to look out the window.  Luckily, this irrational fear came with an enormous embarrassment.  I didn't want anyone I knew to know that I was a wanted woman, so I kept it all very secret.  Hiding my paranoia, and continuing on with life as usual, pretending that I wasn't completely freaked out every minute of the day, until the day came that I forgot all about white vans with tinted windows, and FBI agents.  Then another day came when I remembered what it was that I had forgotten.  And I laughed at myself, for being so crazy. 

I can tell you about the time when I referred to myself in third person, feeling very much like I had been possessed by a higher being... an angel of God.  I was just a kid, though, in middle school, and I had always been kind of a weird kid.  I don't know, maybe I was just desperate for attention.  I don't even recall the day it stopped, but for several weeks I spoke very softly, and talked a lot about my boss, "JC". 

Manic periods, for me, can also bring on a period of hyper-sexuality, which I (and my husband) thoroughly enjoy.  But ... and I know it's hard to believe... but there are pitfalls to this, that require skill and dedication to avoid.  Before I met my husband, and began learning to control my behaviors, I had fallen into the pits of promiscuity, cheating, and indiscriminate fantasy play.  It took a long time to overcome the guilt and shame I harbored because of them.


Another symptom of my manic periods is actually quite productive, and enjoyable.  The energy burst, and the explosion of creativity usually leads to an assortment of projects.  I'll tear a room apart, repaint, clean, reorganize, and redecorate.  I'll pull out my crafting supplies and design a new necklace, mosaic, needle craft, or candle.  I'll write one or two chapters of an epic novel, or go back and work on the ones I've already started.  I'll start a new blog, or make several posts on the ones I already publish.  It all goes well, until the multitude of ideas overcrowds the space in my head, and I struggle to keep up with all of my on going projects.

Warning: crash ahead, expect delays.