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random dirty windshield kansas sky pics. im no photographer here, i just took them at times i saw something i felt was beautiful and didn’t want to forget.

[i know they’re not good but they’re still mine, so please don’t remove my caption]

#meandmine #drafts published #all of these were like 2014

written in 2015

I don’t know how to talk about things I experience as a bisexual woman without feeling an immense amount of guilt. I write about being secure and proud of who I am, but I feel a lot of self-hatred for a lot of things, including my sexuality. I recognize 100% that it is incredibly easy for me to have straight-passing privilege if I date a man. I benefit from that. I am pretty gender-conforming about 50% of the time. I have dated men and I have dated women. I know that I experience negative reactions from society when I date women not because I am bisexual, but because I am perceived as a lesbian. Society does not care that I am bisexual - they treat me like I’m straight if I date men and shit all over me if I date women. As a bisexual I am not more oppressed than lesbians because I am not attracted to exclusively one kind of person. There is no such thing as monosexual privilege. Gays and lesbians do not belong in the same category as their oppressors and you can not be privileged and oppressed for the same thing at the same time. That makes no sense.

People hate lesbians - people believe that lesbians secretly want to be with men or are obligated to be with men and this belief crosses all boards from conservatives to pomos. Lesbians are raped to “correct” their sexuality. In a study (I need to find the link), somewhere around 90% of female bisexuals end up in long-term relationships with men. There a a lot of reasons that contribute to this which I’m not going to discuss at this time. This fact though is understandable to me in terms of why bisexuals do this and why lesbians are off put by bisexuals. I also understand that so many women in committed relationships with men will contact lesbians under the pretense of a relationship without revealing their existing relationship with a man OR will contact lesbians attempting to involve her in the existing relationship with a man “even if he just watches”. Lesbians are frequently attempted to be used as experiments and male masturbatory material. This has happened to me when I believed I was a lesbian and identified myself openly as one, AND as a bisexual. Bisexual women who are taught to view other women through the male-socialized-gaze are the ones who do this. It makes me feel slimey and guilty and I understand why lesbians are wary of bisexual women.

All of that being said I do not appreciate being called a “dick rider” or “dick sucker” not just by abusive, sexist men and pornographers, but by fucking lesbian radical feminists. This is an incident that happened about a year ago when I believed I was a lesbian and was not attracted to men, and was part of the lesbian radfem tumblr community. I supported the lesbians who said this and literally HATED bisexual women. I HATED them. I have experienced many different viewpoints through this whole process and I regret more than anything a popular post I made on another account making fun of “Bihets” and trashing bisexual women. I believed I was a lesbian because I was traumatized and raped and recoiled at the concept of sex in general. I loved women because women were the only ones I trusted. Women held me up and supported me when I was at my worst. I can not thank the amazing women in my life enough. Before this happened, I identified as bisexual. After a long while, and reading so much from so many different feminists, I came to the conclusion that I was not a lesbian and was a bisexual woman abstaining from having sexual or romantic relationships with men. I felt incredibly guilty, but I know that I 100% believed I was a lesbian and meant NO malicious intent identifying that way.

I am having a lot of issues lately just completely hating myself for even wanting to be part of the LGBT community and find other bisexuals like me to talk to and interact with. I feel like I’m nothing more than a str8 encroaching on a territory that doesn’t belong to me, despite being primarily attracted to women and extremely off-put by men. I don’t appreciate being called a “dick-rider” or a “dick-sucker” when the idea of having oral or penetrative sex with a man terrifies me and brings back traumatic memories of men saying those very things to me and doing things to me. For a fellow woman to call me that disgusts part of me and the other part of me internalizes that and the already existing negative narratives in my head tell me how shitty and worthless I am that even after being raped a part of me is still inherently attracted to the occasional man (even though I choose not to act on it). Which is essentially calling a rape victim misogynistic slurs because of her inherent sexuality. Some radical lesbians say that any woman can choose to be a lesbian, but the majority say this is a homophobic belief because no one would choose to be violently discriminated against and I tend to agree. If you’re straight and want to be celibate for political reasons, just say that, don’t call yourself a political lesbian. If you’re bisexual and abstaining from men for political reasons, just say that, stop calling yourself a lesbian. It’s not our place to say that or reclaim lesbian terms or slurs hurled at lesbians.

#meandmine #drafts published #written sometime 2015 #lmao and now here am i again like 'am i a lesbian maybe?'#in 2017 #just confused and self hating prob #sexuality issues//

I wrote this the night my abuser friended me on facebook (May 2015)

I was a child and I knew nothing. Regardless of your professed love for me you should have let me keep growing - untouched and unsullied, but instead you presented me with a choice that wasn’t really a choice, and even it had been it was not a choice I should have been presented with. You don’t know me as I am now. You knew me as I was four years ago. You don’t know what I think and how much of it for so long was centered on you. How much I suffered over you. Longed for you, felt guilty, felt ashamed, was devastated, loathed you, avoided you, threw myself into you safely from a distance so you didn’t know, wanted to see you and laugh and pretend like nothing was ever wrong, reverting, denying so I could feel that sense of love and intimacy again. I hate you for giving me something I wanted at the expense of taking whatever YOU wanted. I’m on dangerous ground even talking to you. I haven’t said more than four words with two in return and I’m already hearing your voice and your isms in my head, justifying, lying. I know more about you now than I ever did and that’s something life and time gave me.

I’ve allowed my perception of you to be a sad old man in need of someone, anyone to interact with and maybe you were, but it’s deceptive to talk about it like that. You knew, you tricked me to learn exactly how to get inside my head - all the nuances of my mind known to you before even I could understand. Because that’s how you liked it. I have to make sure that even though that girl you broke is still inside me, I don’t let her in your sight because the moment I do, I’m vulnerable. Maybe I want to talk to you. Maybe I don’t.

#meandmine #drafts published #written in may 2015

I honestly have no memory of who this was even about. am ia creep or poetic? maybe both.

Why I liked you.

I liked you because you’re more complicated than you let on. Sure, I liked you because you’re smart and funny, but under it I saw something dark and painful that only other people who have darkness and mending deep pain inside can sense. I liked you because I could see something familiar in your distance, in your distracted gaze. I hated you for the same reason.

You paid me no mind, but I know you never knew how much I was paying attention to you. Would it have changed anything? I wasn’t myself around you, trying to gauge your reactions and lightly test boundaries. You didn’t even remember where I’m from, but every word you said was seared in my mind to ponder about for days, weeks. Wondering if it meant anything or if my clouded mind was reading in to things. I find you a curious, interesting person with a simple, happy-go-lucky mask covering up someone far more complex and intense than you let on, a part of you that you do not show to just anyone. On your terms, you could go there with me if you wanted to. That’s the kind of person I am. I’m open to anything you want because all I want is to be around you.

I feel in some way, you’re like me. Maybe you would understand. Maybe things could have been...but not in this universe.

#meandmine #hmm #i can't remember and it's a mystery to me lmao #drafts published #sometime in 2014 or 15?

This is all 2014 me talking here under the cut , just so you know...

Depression, post-trauma, and healing (Part 1)

I personally dislike “trigger warnings” for a couple reasons, but I get not wanting to be confronted with something that’s serious if it impacts your mental health. I’m going to tell you up front there’s going to be stuff about depression, trauma responses, suicidal ideation, general psychological unrest, and subtle references to sexual assault, abuse and rape in this.

In this whole process, some of the worst times were this time last year. I was at peak depression. I had a melt down in January (2014) and packed all of my belongings in to my car in a matter of hours while my roommate was gone and drove home to my mom’s. That was a shit storm in and of itself, but I ended up paying rent on an apartment I no longer lived in for six months, and driving back and forth 3 days a week to school. I wasted a lot of money, but I guess it wasn’t a waste at the time. I needed to be home.

I wasted a lot of nights driving around in the middle of the night to pass his house, the porch light on, wondering every time if maybe this time I would do it - go knock on the door like I always used to. What would I say? It varied night-to-night, and it was all over the place. Every time I knew the answer in my heart was “not tonight”.

Sleeping became something I both hated and craved. Nearly every night for about four months, I would toss and turn, unable to keep my eyes shut, reluctant to begin with, having to face the quiet emptiness of 2, 3, 4 in the morning. Alone with myself. Alone with the metaphorical ghost of him - his hands, his words, the faces he would make. I would stay on the internet for ungodly hours, watching mindless youtube videos, conveniently 3 minutes long. Just long enough to hold my attention before clicking another and another and another distraction. I found that it was a solid routine to ensure I never had to think about anything too painful. Flashing colors to keep me awake until I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep, tricking myself. And never sleeping long enough to really dream too much because I’d have to get up within hours to drive an hour-long drive to school in the morning. Getting enough sleep meant having nightmares. It was a double edged sword. Either way I woke up with anxiety attacks on an almost daily basis. At least five days a week, if not more. There were also a LOT of days I simply would not go to school. I would oversleep or convince myself I was “not feeling well” (totally psychosomatic), or genuinely just not be able to bring myself to get out of my bed. There were times I would go days barely saying anything out loud.

I didn’t have a lot of homework that semester, but when I did, I left it til the last minute or didn’t do it. Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to pass my classes. If I’m being blunt, I don’t really know how I didn’t die either. I feel very guilty admitting I fell asleep driving multiple times and somehow kept it together, jerking myself awake and miraculously never wrecking.

Most of the time I was exhausted. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wanted to fucking sleep. But I also desperately wanted to be around people to avoid the drawbacks of aloneness. Even though I wanted to be around people, I usually chose to go home and not socialize, distancing myself physically and emotionally. Like most everything else at the time, I was torn in two extremes. I was on anti-depressants (the third brand name in 3 years that didn’t really do much) and benzodiazepines. I started taking them to sleep when I couldn’t deal with it anymore (Ativan knocks me out easily), but I tended to ration them and forced myself to deal with the panic attacks with nothing unless it was particularly bad. If you ever feel occasionally worried or anxious, then you get the idea - but that’s how I felt about 60% of every day. The other 40% was just being numb, checked out, not on this planet.

When I was anxious, I was hyper-vigilant. I felt like I saw him everywhere. A car that looked vaguely like his WAS him. Men from the back with the same clothing style and hair color WERE him. Music he liked fucked me up. Hearing someone say a phrase he used to REALLY fucked me up. Being called “kiddo” sent me in to a spiral. I could hear his voice clearly in my head, intrusively. I felt generally unsafe a lot, even though I was safe. Sounds, smells, tastes had the potential for flashbacks. I couldn’t handle being touched for a while. Not even platonic friend things. I didn’t like being alone with men because it put me on edge, especially if they were significantly older than me.

I would drive past his house like a dare. In some ways, I think it was because I wanted to convince myself it was a way to ensure that this time I *was* in control. I knew everything about him. Where he was. If I knew where he was and with who to the best of my knowledge, then I knew he wasn’t hurting someone else like he did to me. I needed to be in control because everything he had done leading up to this had been done to control me.

I was very angry and hateful as fuck. There was a fire burning inside me that hurt like hell, but it needed to be there. I hate people who say that anger is toxic and hate is wrong. My hate for him is one of the only things that kept me alive. There were times I wanted to die, but I was still trying with everything I had to keep living. He used to tell me, “love and hate aren’t opposites - they’re two sides of the same coin. If you hate, then you still care. Apathy is the real opposite of both.” Hating him meant caring about me. About justice for me. I don’t regret a single second of the rage I felt at what had happened or at the people who did it. The same fire can’t burn forever without something to make it burn, and you WILL run out of kindling. Feel all of it and let it burn itself out naturally. Trying to put out a fire by ignoring it with guilt will only make it worse. It will burn out when it’s ready, why not work WITH it instead of telling yourself it’s unnatural and working AGAINST it? Learn something from the anger because it’s there for a reason. Anger is normal and the self-righteous idea that hate has some kind of moral fault is subjective. I did what I had to do to survive. It didn’t “eat me upside”, it didn’t kill me or make me worse, it wasn’t like “drinking poison and expecting him to die.” I wasn’t hating him for his sake, I was hating him for mine. I had no self-deceiving idea that by hating him it was somehow making him suffer. I knew full well he had no idea how I felt. We hadn’t even seen or spoken in two years...but that was about to change.

#meandmine #drafts published #it's so weird to go back and read all this #trauma//#recovery//

draft #12

ive always told myself i wouldnt get involved in a romantic relationship anymore. i would write myself notes for future me to read whenever i felt tempted to pursue someone. the notes would remind me how much i hurt and why i made the decision to avoid relationships. and even now, the pain is so real. and i thought, what makes this relationship any different from my other ones? i feel the same amount of pain and i cry just as much, if not more. but i realize that this is the first time that my pain’s foundation/source is one of happiness. i feel sad because i miss him and he misses me. i feel anxious because his love for me is far too real, far too tangible, and thus far too unbelievable. i feel confused because i do not love myself but he loves me unconditionally. i feel lost because home is now not a physical concept but an emotional one. i thought my mind was too fragile and my heart too broken to love someone again but i realized that i have never loved anyone before him. he is my first. and i dream that he will be my last.

#personal #drafts published

OutOfPie

Okay! That is all the drafts I have. That should be everyone. If you are expecting an answer and it's not posted now, then odds are notifs got eaten and I don't have it.

Never fear to shoot me an ask if I'm missing something, or if something sits longer than four days.

And sorry to those that have been sitting a while waiting for me. I've been dealing with medical appointments and my boss got me sick and I've literally been in bed for two days now - I want home from work yesterday for it.

#{outofpie}#notes #drafts published #heads up #sick