The One Where I Figured It Out

•March 29, 2011 • Leave a Comment

It’s just occurred to me that, in the interests in keeping this blog coherent for my mythical readership, I should update you on the revelation to which my series of recent wangst posts has lead. Although, really, I can’t credit my own introspection. I was ranting at Alexander when he said it, and it was only once he said it, and I did a bit of research, that I realized that was the case.

I am codependent.

My sense of responsibility for the emotions of others, my compassion fatigue, my contrary need to hide my feelings and have them validated, etcetera, etcetera, are all tied up in my codependence. I never realized I was codependent, because I thought codependence was needing someone to take care of you. It turns out codependence is needing to be needed, and, loathe as I am to admit it, everything I’ve read fits me to a t.

Recovery is going to be a long, arduous process. And you will probably hear all about it. But, hey, admitting you have a problem is the first step to solving it, right?


The One Where I May Or May Not Have a Sex Drive At All

•March 29, 2011 • 1 Comment

Hello, again! Long time, no see! It seems that my resolutions to write something every day has finally kicked in. And I’m actually not back to update you on my emotional state, although I may, as I work on my codependency and compassion fatigue, continue to post on my progress. There just aren’t a lot of resources, and if I can do something to fix that, especially by simply talking about myself, I totally will! At the moment, though, I’m here to talk about my sex drive. This blog is, after all, meant to be primarily about sexuality.

Ages ago, I thought I might be asexual. I told plenty of people, including therapists who then came to completely erroneous conclusions, that while I certainly enjoyed getting off on my own, and I did think about sex quite a bit, I didn’t think my interest in sex was strong enough to override how much I don’t like getting out of my clothes, or having people touch me. I figured I’d be completely content never getting laid.

Then, my sex drive suddenly ramped itself up to eleven, and stayed there for a while. Sex became all I thought about, and all I talked about, and all I wanted to do. Everyone around me found it very irritating. I found it very irritating, especially because I didn’t think I would actually get to have sex any time soon. Thankfully, I was mistaken. With the assistance of mind altering substances, I finally got laid. Which did not go how I expected it to.

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The One About Emotional Culpability

•March 27, 2011 • Leave a Comment

This is the last mushy gushy, ewwy gewwy, let’s talk about our feelings post. I promise. Or rather, I hope. But I’ve had something of a revelation, and I wish to put it down in my own writing, for, at the least, my own future reference, if it fails to reach an outside audience.

I am not responsible for other people’s feelings.

Doesn’t sound like much of a revelation, does it? Of course I’m not responsible for other people’s feelings! But allow me to explain the importance of that statement.

I have, for as long as I can remember, felt responsible for other people’s feelings. In fact, I have felt crushed under that responsibility. And I still do not believe that this is without basis. It’s not as if I have no control over how other people feel. Those feelings do not occur in a vacuum. Any interaction I have with someone is likely to elicit an emotional response of some sort or other. And while my interaction with that person is not the only factor acting on their emotional state, it is possible that, if I fuck up that interaction badly enough, it could be the primary factor in making their emotional state a really, really bad one.

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The One Where I, Annoyingly, Have More To Say About My Feelings

•March 24, 2011 • 1 Comment

Yes, I know, I said I didn’t want to talk about them. And I don’t! But, I’m also the thinking-out-loud type, and there are new things on my mind. So you’re going to hear about them.

I’ve identified some problems I have, but I have no solutions, as of yet. Perhaps you, aetherbutts, shall help me. Perhaps typing them out is good enough, too.

The first is with the way I have been socialized. I was socialized, first, by Star Trek: Next Generation, which is the only Star Trek to have a ship’s councilor as a main character for their entire run. They’re pretty big on talking about your feelings, and seem to think it will fix them. This, sometimes, is true, but not always. After being socialized at home entirely by Trek reruns and some Buffy, and managing to make it through most of my childhood without coming into contact with gender roles, I made my first real friends ever in Middle School, all of whole were girls. I’m still friends with most of them, and they’re good people, but we did have sleepovers and talk about boys and now all of that stereotyped behavior is built into me.

Then, I went to Mary Baldwin. As if getting the staying up late talking, eating ice cream, and watching chick flicks behavior written into my head wasn’t enough, now I’ve got Lesbian Processing, too. And then I started seeing therapists. All I really know how to do is talk about my feelings. It’s not only the way I’ve been taught to solve problems, it’s the only social skill I have. I can’t talk about the weather. I can’t talk about sports. I can talk about my feelings. They might be about my parents, about my exs, or about fictional characters, but make no mistake, they’re always my feelings.

The second problem I’ve found is that my callousness vs. sensitivity rating falls in the decidedly unhelpful middle of the road. You’d think that would be a good thing. Not too callous, not too sensitive? No. Instead of being neither, I’m both.

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The One Where I’ve Been Avoiding My Therapist

•March 16, 2011 • 2 Comments

Alright, that sounds really bad. But by avoiding my therapist I don’t mean, like, I’m having some really intense issues and hiding them from the person best equipped to help me. That such a situation is what the phrase probably calls to your mind is, I think, one of the things that’s broken about psychotherapy and the mental health industry in general. We assume that therapy and/or medication is the only valid solution for mental dis-ease, and that’s not true. It doesn’t work for everyone. In fact, it doesn’t really work for me.

Which is, I suppose, why I’m avoiding my therapist. You see, I have to keep seeing him, because to get top surgery and a scrip for T, I basically need a doctor’s note. I have to stick it out with the same therapist for however long it takes to get that note, and the money, to transition the way I want to. And I like my therapist. I’m happy to keep seeing him. But we don’t ever talk about gender or transitioning. I’ve got nothing new to say on the subject, anyway. You can’t make an hour-long session out of “Can I get my tits hacked off yet? How about now?”

What we talk about, instead, is my parents. I always have plenty to say on that subject. A new complaint every day. But none of it is progress. I can complain about my parents until my head falls off, and I probably will, but it won’t improve my relationship with them. At this point, I’m not sure I want it to. We’ve had multiple family sessions, too. Every time, it’s emotional and agonizing and seems like a breakthrough has finally, finally been made. Every time, as soon as we get out of my therapist’s office, nothing at all has changed. I’ve bent myself as far as I can go in every direction trying to find a place where the line of my life might again meet my family’s. As long as they won’t bend to meet me somewhere in the middle, nothing will change.

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The One Where Someone Was Wrong On The Internet

•March 11, 2011 • 2 Comments

I’ve just read yet another post defaming the entirety of Stone sexual expression. It seems there are far more pages calling us dysfunctional, claiming we’re ashamed of our bodies, that we’re delusional about our genders and what our bodies symbolize, that we’re all broken victims of abuse, that we hurt our partners by denying them contact with our genitals like it’s their fucking inalienable right, than there is anything informative or affirming.

Well, fuck that! You know something? For some people, stoneness does arise out of a search to reconcile their bodily dysphoria with their sexual desires, or to reclaim autonomy after some sort of violation. That is not unhealthy! That isfinding a way to be healthy and to heal from the shit life has thrown on you.

You know what else? Not all of us are dysphoric. Not all of us are victims of abuse. Not all of us who are either of the above are ashamed.

I’m not ashamed of my body. I just don’t identify with it. I don’t have a substantial enough connection between it and my mind, which, for me, is the important part, for it to even be worth it.

I’m not ashamed of my sexuality. I fucking adore my sexuality. A substantial part of my sexuality is giving more of a shit about my really nifty brain than my spectacularly derpy nerve endings. Another part is getting to enjoy and explore my partner’s body without having to drag them through the agonizing trial and error of looking for a way they can touch my genitals and have it actually feel good, only to ultimately fail.

And, yes, some people do find it upsetting to not be allowed to manipulate their partner’s junk. But compromise is a natural part of any relationship, and a partner who isn’t Stone should not be allowed to invalidate our form of sexual expression just because theirs is more common.

The One That’s Bound To Upset Somebody

•March 11, 2011 • 1 Comment

I’ve been in a rather awkward place lately, and I have to just come out and say it. Somehow, I’ve fallen into being The Crazy One and The Only Sane Man at the same time.

I mean, it’s not an absolute thing, of course. And when I say Only Sane Man I don’t mean everyone I know is a wack job. What I mean, really, is we’re all crazy. Pretty equally crazy, in a bunch of different ways. But most of my coping mechanisms are internal, and a lot of my friends’ coping mechanisms are external. There’s nothing wrong with this. We all do our coping in the way which is most natural and effective for us. That’s good.

But when I internalize all my shit, and I let everyone else externalize their shit on me, let’s face it, I end up with all the shit.

I wouldn’t even mind, if I weren’t getting the feeling everyone had forgotten I have shit of my own.

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